Page 48 of Daggermouth

“Your Daddy should hear when I make his perfect little prince squeal in pain,” Shadera said from behind him.

Greyson’s head shot up, eyes locking on to hers as annoyance flared in his chest. Shadera’s back straightened.

“Put the fucking mask back on, Serel. Taking it off is what landed us in this shit situation.”

Greyson couldn’t hide the exasperation that washed over his face. “You trying toassassinateme is what got us into this situation. And why should I? We’re already as good as married according to mask law.” He turned away from her, moving along the wall as the scanner light turned green.

Shadera scoffed, the sound sharp enough to cut glass. “I’ll never marry you.”

She moved past himtoward the kitchen, her gait slightly uneven from whatever damage the Veyra had done to her. Greyson tracked her movement peripherally while keeping the scanner steady. She opened the first cabinet—empty. The second held crystal glasses he’d never used. The third—

“There we go.” She pulled out a bottle of vodka, made before the city’s partition. Worth more than most Boundary residents saw in three years. She twisted off the cap and drank straight from the bottle, no wince, no hesitation. Just a long pull that made her throat work in a way that drew his attention before he forced his eyes back to the scanner.

She was actually insane.

Nine devices so far. Another one in the entrance to the bedroom hallway.

“Fuck, that’s smooth,” Shadera breathed, wiping her mouth and inspecting the bottle.

“My father doesn’t care what you want,” Greyson said, circling back toward the living area. He would inspect the bedrooms last. “Or what I want. The law is the law, and now that we’ve seen each other’s faces, there are only two options. Death or the Vow.”

“You’re all riding the law like it’s a dick,” she said, perching on one of the kitchen island stools like she already ran the place. Another pull from the bottle. “Your own dick, I might add, since you made them. How does it feel to get fucked by yourself?”

“I didn’t write any of these laws, my father did,” Greyson snapped back, his patience with her childish remarks growing exceedingly thin.

“Oh, so incest. That’s pleasant. Tell me, little heir, what’s Maximus packing? Seems like maybe two to four inch—”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Greyson finally hissed, cutting her off. “We don’t have a choice, so either deal with it or prepare to be executedbeside me.”

Greyson had no intention of dealing with it, or being executed in the square. He did, however, have every intention of finding an open window and shoving her from it. They couldn’t blame him if she died trying to escape.

A horrible accident, an unfortunate mistake.

She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “There’s always a choice. You could have kept your mask on. You could have let me kill you instead of whatever dramatic surrender that was.”

“Would you have?” he asked, turning to face her. “Killed me if I’d kept the mask on?”

Her green eyes met his over the bottle. “Without remorse.”

He believed her. There was something clean about that, something honest. She would have ended him and felt nothing but satisfaction. No guilt, no second thoughts. Just another Heart elite removed from the world.

“Then you shouldn’t have hesitated,” he said, returning to his search.

Ten devices. Another one behind the ventilation grate in the main room.

Shadera slid off the stool, bottle in one hand, and moved toward the small table near the entry where mail accumulated through the automated drop system. Her fingers reached for the stack of papers.

“Don’t touch my shit.” The words came out as a bark.

Greyson crossed the room in three strides, snatching the papers from her hand before she could examine them. Supply manifests from the Cardinal, coded but still dangerous if someone knew what to look for.

She smirked, that particularly infuriating expression that made her split lip pull tight. “Ourstuff now, My sweet, spineless heir.” She took another drink, eyes never leaving his face.

The insult landed precisely where she’d aimed it.

Spineless.

It was the word he whispered in the dark, the word that festered beneath his skin, that fed on his cowardice. He was too weak to stand up to his father. Too weak to stop the abuse of his mother. He lived in both worlds, smuggling for the rebels while carrying out executions that tore at his soul. Each death a fracture, a silent scream, another piece of himself lost. But Shadera wasn’t an innocent. She was a Daggermouth.