Page 13 of The Beginning (Covert Moon, #1)

Another thought hit, one that made me feel like even more of a fool.

The kitchen girl and the courtier. How out of place they were. Now, in hindsight, the entire scene took on a different character. The timing had been too convenient, the location too coincidental.

I'd walked right into a trap. The courtier was probably a friend of Lady Annaliese's.

And the girl? Who knew? Someone paid to play a part, perhaps?

Someone willing to scream and struggle to create a convincing distraction?

My instincts had considered why she was in that corridor to begin with—what business did a kitchen maid have in that part of the castle at that time of day?

The questions I should have asked then now seemed glaringly obvious.

“Sweet mother of goblins.” The curse escaped my lips in a whisper. I had been played like a child's toy, manipulated with embarrassing ease.

The thought of making King Jharak angry made that pit in my stomach just keep going.

No end in sight. The King of the Fae was not known for his patience with failure, particularly when it involved members of his personal guard.

He was generally kindness itself, until one failed him.

Then, his displeasure was the stuff of legend, spoken of in hushed whispers among the guards when they thought their officers weren't listening.

The pit in my stomach kept falling and like the moments right after I’d heard the woman’s shriek in the hall, my heart began to beat faster.

The memory of that sound, the way it had cut through the air and demanded immediate attention, now seemed like the opening note of my downfall.

The thought flashed before me that I was walking to my doom, that I was lost. This might be the last time I walked these halls as a member of the King's Guard.

I raised my hand and knocked on the door. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the corridor, final and irrevocable.

"Enter," said the voice from within. Commander Devlyn's voice was familiar to me as my own father's, though it carried none of its usual warmth.

I waited a moment, my hand on the door handle, trying to decipher his mood.

As though that one word would do it. As though I could divine my fate from a single syllable.

As though dawdling was going to help. But still I hesitated, unwilling to cross that threshold and make this conversation real.

I opened the door and stepped in. The office was exactly as I remembered it—neat, organized, everything in its proper place.

Devlyn was writing something, intent on the piles of parchment all around him.

His dark head was bent over his work, and the familiar sight of him in his element almost made me forget why I was there.

He didn't look up immediately. I took another step into the office and closed the door behind me.

As the latch of the door clicked it seemed to echo around the room.

Almost like the gong of a bell, sounding my doom.

The finality of that sound reverberated in my chest. I told myself that this didn't have to be this way.

I was being melodramatic, like a player in the king's theatrical troupe.

That perhaps Gavin knew something I didn't, and this was not the end of everything I've worked for.

But the feeling of doom stayed with me, like a black shroud on my shoulders, heavy and suffocating.

This was a plot, and I was the one left at the scene of the crime. The unwitting accomplice, the perfect fool who had played his part without even knowing there was a script.

Just then, Devlyn looked up. "Is the Lady Annaliese away?" His quill was still poised over the parchment, ink glistening on its tip. He looked exactly as he always did—composed, authoritative, completely in control of his domain.

His tone of voice told me that he expected to hear nothing out of the ordinary.

This was routine for him, just another escort duty completed, just another box to check off in his daily responsibilities.

Before I could answer, he spoke again. "Where's Gavin?

" The question was casual, almost an afterthought.

"The Lady Annaliese did indeed leave just a short while ago," I began, fighting the bile rising in my throat.

The words felt clumsy in my mouth, formal and stilted when I desperately wanted to sound confident and in control.

"I'm afraid, however," and at that, my commander's eyes became more intense.

He heard something in my tone, some note of distress that cut through his casual expectation. The change was immediate and unmistakable—his entire demeanor shifted from routine bureaucracy to sharp attention. He stood, placing the quill down, his movements deliberate and controlled.

"What is it, Eamonn?" There was no warmth in his words, no familiarity—just the cold professionalism of a superior officer dealing with a problem.

"Pardon me, sir, but was Gavin assigned orders that were different from mine?" I hated how the question sounded—desperate, grasping, the plea of someone looking for an escape route that didn't exist.

Commander Devlyn stepped around the desk, his hands behind his back, his eyes never leaving my face.

The movement was predatory, calculated, and I suddenly understood why people feared him.

He had always been kind to me, supportive even, but now I was seeing the side of him that criminals and traitors faced.

I felt like a small animal, hunted by a hawk or some other bird of prey.

The walls seemed to press in around me, trapping me in this moment of reckoning.

Commander Devlyn was not a big man, but he was very imposing.

His presence filled the room, commanding attention and respect through sheer force of personality.

At this moment, I could tell that I was right to be afraid.

Not that he would hurt me. He would never—Devlyn was an honorable man, a fair man, but honor and fairness didn't necessarily mean mercy.

Whatever punishment awaited me, whatever consequences would follow from this conversation, I could see them gathering like storm clouds on the horizon in the expression on my commander’s face.

I took a deep breath and consigned myself to the fates. If my luck had truly run out, then there was nothing left but to face what came next with whatever dignity I could muster.

Please let my luck hold . The request formed unbidden in my mind, though I wasn't sure I believed in it anymore.

"Why would you ask that, Eamonn?" His voice was deceptively calm, but I could hear the steel beneath it.

I recognized this technique. He wanted me to tell him everything I knew so that all the knowledge at hand gave him an advantage.

It was a sound strategy—let the other person talk, let them reveal the full scope of the situation before deciding how to respond.

I knew this technique because I'd used it before—after watching and learning it from Devlyn.

The irony of being on the receiving end of my own methods was not lost on me.

The perspiration gathered at my temples, and trickled down between my shoulder blades, making my uniform stick uncomfortably to my skin.

For the briefest of moments, I felt empathy for those who we of the King's Guard had questioned.

This must be how they felt. No way out, nowhere to go, pinned like a butterfly under glass while someone else held all the power.

The problem was, I didn't have any answers to give—not the kind he wanted, anyway.

I could already see where this was going.

Something had gone terribly awry—to put it mildly, and it was all down to Gavin.

Even though I was not at fault—not entirely—I could tell that I was going to bear the blame for this.

The responsibility would fall on my shoulders because that was how command worked, how accountability flowed upward.

As I should. The admission hurt, but it was the truth.

Damn it all. The curse echoed in my mind, inadequate to express the depth of my frustration and fear.

I pulled my shoulders back and faced my commander squarely. "The reason I ask, sir, is because I was distracted and?—"

"You were distracted?" The words cut through the air like a blade, sharp and unforgiving.

"Whatever could have distracted you from a mission commanded by the king?

" The emphasis on the last words made it clear exactly how serious this breach was.

This wasn't just any duty—this was a direct command from the throne.

Devlyn's voice reached a dangerously low pitch.

It was almost as though the rumble of thunder had rocketed around the room, a sound that seemed to come from the very foundations of the castle.

He had not moved, had not even come an inch closer to me.

His hands remained clasped behind his back, and I was struck by the contrast that this dark man in his dark uniform made against the white walls of his office.

The visual was stark, unforgiving—light and shadow, right and wrong, order and chaos.

The room seemed unnaturally bright. The sun shining in the window was a light focused on my face, as if the very heavens were illuminating my shame for all to see.

Despite the warmth of the sun, the room felt cold and unwelcome.

I had always thought it bright and cheerful; a direct reflection of the commander within.

But now it was harsh, and full of the chill of Devlyn's disapproval. As if I stayed here too long, it would be the death of me. Never had I felt a stranger in this office. In fact, the last time I’d been here was a shining moment of pride.

Commander Devlyn planned to recommend me for a transfer to the Fae King's personal guard.

That recommendation now seemed like a dream from another lifetime.