Page 45 of Fate’s Sweetest Curse (Mirrors of Fate #2)

But he was a Mighty Knight. They were trained to keep the kingdom’s secrets. “I agree, but that’s not the world we live in.” He glanced toward the other end of the pub, where the scuffle was getting louder. “You better go. Shae just drew her daggers.”

Indeed, she had—two wicked blades, each the length of my forearm.

What had I been thinking, strapping Uriel’s dagger to a belt at my hip and trying to track down Viren’s maybe-attempted-murderer, a vicious Valiant Knight that even Idris—burly, trained fighter that he was—seemed wary of?

Who was I to singlehandedly solve the mystery of cursed blood and secret Orders and the clandestine politics pulling the strings of Phina’s studies when Phina herself—who knew far more than I did on all counts—had not?

I was an apothecary student, not an adept, knight, or spy.

I had my own secrets to keep; digging into others would only draw attention to mine.

But Noble , I thought with an agonizing twist of my stomach. My desire to help him had eclipsed my sense of caution—but even recognizing that fact wasn’t enough to make me want to stop.

Then again, maybe I was going about this all wrong. Maybe I should’ve tried harder to confront Phina or Noble in the lab, rather than rushing to the Ire.

I stood. “Thanks for your time, Faren. No offense, but I hope we never speak again.”

He laughed. “That’s probably for the best, Hattie.” But then his eyes narrowed and swept over my features more shrewdly. “Wait, what did you say your last name was?”

A wooden chair flew through the air and crashed into the wall with a sharp crack.

Faren was on his feet in a heartbeat, reaching up over his shoulder for one of the shortswords strapped to his back.

Not wanting to stick around long enough for him to question my family name again—or see how the brawl unfolded—I hurried toward the front door, tossing the barkeep an extra coin on my way out.

Compared to the ruckus inside the Ire, this part of the city was quite peaceful.

The night sky was clear, the half-moon shining without obstruction.

The air was fresh, chilly. A thin fog slithered along the street, clinging to the base of the buildings; I tasted snowmelt in its vapors as I walked purposefully in the direction of the Royal Inn of Fenrir.

As my head cleared, I became more and more grateful that I hadn’t found Mariana tonight—and more and more stupid for trying. There were other loose threads to follow, though—plenty that didn’t involve a potentially murderous knight.

I’d thought that if Noble didn’t want to talk to me, maybe I could help him from afar—but that was silly. He was the only person I truly wanted to talk to about what was going on—and perhaps the only person who’d be honest with me, at least within his capability.

Not to mention the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about our kiss ; I felt raw just thinking about his hands on my hips, his tongue in my mouth, his intoxicating taste. The revelations of the past couple days had been dizzying, but curse or no, I wanted him. Badly .

Did that make me a hopeless romantic—or simply hopeless?

I picked up my pace, boots echoing on the cobblestones. Perhaps by now, Noble would’ve returned to his room, and—

My vision went dark, fabric smothering my head.

A burlap sack, judging by the flashes of moonlight I managed to see through the open weave.

I shrieked, and a hand closed over my mouth on top of the fabric.

I tasted the grass-like fibers, along with soil and potato skins, and the faintest bit of salt from my captor’s sweaty palm.

An arm came around my middle, dragging me sideways.

I tried to recall what Oderin had taught me about escaping holds like this, but instinct overpowered all else.

I thrashed and kicked wildly, screaming, but my assailant’s grip was unyielding.

“Stop. Struggling,” a female voice growled into my ear.

I fumbled for Uriel’s blade at my hip, but my attacker noticed and got to it first, deftly angling the dagger against my throat.

Suddenly I wasn’t in Fenrir, but back in Marona, my nightgown tangled around my legs and my bare heels kicking against the rug in the hallway.

A different blade against my neck, scraping the delicate skin under my jaw.

Distant shouts echoing through the keep, the clash of steel too far away to give me hope.

The memory made me go slack, my libs weak and shaky .

“Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me,” I begged into her palm, fear lancing through me like a blade itself. “Please, please, please.”

“Shut the fuck up and perhaps I’ll spare you,” she hissed.

I whimpered, doing as I was told as she wrenched me down the street. Not long after that, she shifted her hold from my mouth to grip the burlap at my crown, catching some of my hair in the process. In one swift move, she yanked the sack off my head and shoved me to the ground.

I fell on my hands and knees on the rough cobblestones, my scalp stinging. There was a stone building in front of me, some wood crates off to my left. I was in an alley—one that looked frustratingly familiar.

With effort, I rolled to the side, sitting with my back propped up against the wall. I blew a frizzy coil of hair out of my eyes, feeling roughed-up and afraid, but also deeply annoyed. When I looked up, I couldn’t help but scowl.

Mariana loomed over me wearing all black, her legs braced in a cocky stance, arms folded across her black breastplate, a half-snarl-half-smirk causing her scarred upper lip to curl. She tipped her head as she regarded me, her expression gradually morphing into amusement.

Apparently, my irritation was funny to her.

“I heard you were looking for me.” Mariana spread her arms invitingly, Uriel’s dagger still gripped in her hand. “How can I be of service?”