Page 37

37

VEYLAN

T he fortress is still. It’s the kind of silence that doesn’t belong.

I should be elsewhere. With my father. With my brothers. We should be sitting in our war chmaber planning our next territorial warfare. I’m supposed to be waging wars that actually matter.

Instead, I am here. Watching a locked door. I can’t stop thinking about her, she lives rent free in my head. Also, I can’t help but worry about a possible assassination attempt.

It is infuriating. I should leave. But my boots refuse to move.

Then, suddenly, shadow flickers beyond the door.

Someone is inside her room.

My dagger is in my hand before I even realize I’ve moved.

The door creaks open a fraction. I slip inside. Silent. Calculated. Deadly.

Sera is asleep.

But she is not alone.

The assassin stands over her, blade poised at her throat.

Something in my mind ignites.

My body takes action almost instinctively.

I just move.

Steel flashes. Blood splatters the wall.

The assassin collapses before he can even scream.

Sera bolts upright, her breath sharp, eyes wild.

Her gaze meets mine. Then lowers. Sees the body.

She does not scream.

She should.

Instead, she stares at the corpse, then at me.

“Who—” she starts, but the words fail.

I do not let her finish.

I grab her arm, hauling her from the bed. “Get up.”

She resists, confusion flickering through her features.

I grip her chin, forcing her to face me. She has to understand.

“They will come again.” My voice is sharper than I intend. “Do you hear me, little siren?”

Her jaw tightens. “I didn’t ask you to save me.”

Foolish girl.

I release her, turning toward the body, my boot pressing into the assassin’s shoulder, flipping him over.

A silver insignia glints on his chest plate.

My father’s mark.

He has made his move.

A slow rage builds inside me.

I knew it was coming.

Something in my ribcage tightens as I look at her again. At the way she’s gripping the table, shoulders squared, but hands trembling.

She hides it well. But I see it.

Not fear.

Something else.

I step closer. She does not move away.

I should not be here.

I should let them come for her. Should step aside and let my father erase this mistake before it poisons me further.

But I don’t.

My hold on my blade tightens. “We’re leaving.”

She tenses. “Leaving?”

I turn, moving toward the bookshelf. Fingers press against the hidden latch. A mechanism shifts. The stone wall shudders.

The passage opens.

Her eyes widen.

I do not explain or give her time to think.

I grab her wrist and pull her into the dark.