Page 10 of In The Dark

Given? More like forced into. It’s not like I had a choice, not really. Especially not at five years old, needing to survive, be fed and housed.

I could disappear if I wanted to since money isn’t an issue, but where would I go—north or south? A city or a town? The quiet conflict of leaving or staying pulls at me, and no matter how hard I try, it’s one I never can seem to explain.

Still I remain at the castle, unable to find the courage to leave as my duty to King Elion trumps my urge to leave.

I pat myself, feeling for my daggers before turning the crystal knob with a sigh, looking over my shoulder one last time to scan the chamber behind me.

Finally, the door creaks open and I scan the corridor. Still empty.

I quickly note where everything is, having passed by in a blur to follow the guard. The ledger desk sits straight ahead, and across the desk is the guest corridor, leading back into thebuilding. It’s a little after ten but not very many are up, and thankfully, the inn isn’t busy.

On silent feet, I rush down the hall, reaching the front desk for the names on the inn’s ledger.

“No,” I mutter, flipping the thick pages. “No, not him. No—” I stop flipping and grin as I tap the only name in red with a finger.

Alec Thorne, room eleven.Just who I’m looking for.

Quickly grabbing extra rags, I stuff them in my arms to blend in as an innkeeper. My pace is slow and controlled as I casually walk down the hall.

Since the Silver Lily is a private inn, we use Helga, the innkeeper, as one of our informants. She’s the one who relays information to the king, usually by a leaf message, which is Elderheim’s quickest way of communicating. After scribbling on a leaf, you light it with the intention of sending it to who you want, vanishing only to arrive next to the recipient. Helga is how we knew about Alec in the first place.

My steps come to a halt at room eleven and I knock, looking down as I wait. “Sir Thorne, I have towels for you!”

It doesn’t take long before shuffling emerges from behind the door. At last, the door clicks open, and I glance up.

The Fae male towers over me, his large frame taking up the entirety of the doorway. His pointed ears peek out from beneath his perfectly tousled auburn hair, as if he just rolled out of bed. I scan him, noticing his strong jaw, light-colored eyes, and a faint scar across the right side of his upper lip.

My eyes narrow at the scar, the familiarity of it, though he’s the most striking Fae I’ve ever seen.

He looks down, then back up in a deliberate once-over, tilting his head to the side with a squint. I shift my gaze down and sheepishly extend the rags—feigning innocence—but he doesn’t take them.

“Who are you? I didn’t ask for these.” His voice is low and smooth but seemingly annoyed.

Then my stomach drops at the sound of his voice. I recognize it. It’s the male from the brothel last night. Now that I can see him without a mask, I almost groan. Why does he have to be attractive?

It’s too bad I have to kill him, but now I suddenly find myself wanting to bolt in the opposite direction. Instead, I stand with lethal composure, giving him a soft, convincing smirk right before I lunge.

In a whirl of movement, I toss the rags in his face. My dagger slices through the air to swiftly swipe across his neck, but before the blade makes contact, he sharply pivots to the side, movements precise and fluid. His body twists, quickly darting back into the room, leaving me no choice but to follow him in.

I grunt and lunge again, and the faint hiss of my blade grazes past as I swipe, but I don’t make contact. Instead of him retreating like I expected, he steps into me, his arm deflecting my strike with ease, and before I can recover, his fist drives into the side of my ribs.

Crying out, I stumble back as the impact knocks the air from me, his counterattack catching me off guard. I dart out of his range when the door clicks shut, but my eyes focus on him slowly circling like a predator.

“Who are you?” he growls, icy rage sliding into place.

My eyes flick to the daggers in his hands, dark as night, as if they’re swirling in shadow. He twirls them, widening his stance with a knowing grin, circling the chair near the wall.

I quickly scan the room. The area is spacious—the bed rests against the windows, and there’s enough room for a chair and a small fireplace. I’ll have to work around the furniture, but I can do it.

“I’m Isa Valedara,” I get out, tilting my head. “Here by order of King Elion.”

I catch a flash of surprise before it vanishes, and I smirk, eyeing my new threat. Maybe he recognizes me. Or perhaps he’s heard about the king’s specially trainedguards. Whatever it is, he ignores it, easily keeping his pace with mine as he assesses my footwork. He’s clearly skilled.

He throws me a menacing grin. “Just who I wanted to see. Couldn’t wait to see me again, darling? You know, I was just thinking about you and what I wanted to do right between those legs.”Ah, so he does recognize me.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t going back,” I say, but I know that’s a lie, especially with how quick a heat settled low in my core. I had every intention of going back tonight, but my mission is more important than a quick release. I suddenly fling the chair to the side, allowing more space as we continue to dance around each other, waiting for someone to make a move.

“How did you know it was me?” I ask.