11. Seraphina
11
SERAPHINA
T he Midnight Den is a labyrinth of stone and shadow.
I’ve spent days wandering its halls, learning its breathing, the way the walls seem to press in, like they have a heartbeat of their own. It’s quieter than it should be, always thick with the implications of secrets not meant to be found.
And tonight, I find one.
The smell of damp earth clings to the air as I press my palm against the cool stone in one of the back corridors. I shouldn’t be here. Rylan made that clear. There are places in this house that belong to him and him alone. Places where the walls whisper his name, where the shadows remember his voice.
But rules have never suited me.
I lean in, inhaling slowly. The corridor is empty, yet the air carries a faint disturbance, something just slightly off. A draft, curling from somewhere it shouldn’t.
A hidden door.
I move my hands along the uneven stone, searching. My fingers find it. A narrow gap, barely visible in the dim light.
I press.
The wall shifts with a soft, grinding sound, revealing a dark, narrow passageway.
My pulse quickens.
I glance behind me once before slipping inside, the cold swallowing me whole. The smell of dust and old stone invades my lungs as I step carefully, my movements light, silent.
Then I hear the voices, low and hushed.
I move toward the sound, the walls pressing tight against me. The passage opens to a hidden alcove, a narrow slit carved between the stone, just wide enough for me to see into the adjacent room.
And there, standing in the glow of candlelight, is Lartina.
Her figure is a sharp silhouette against the flickering flames, her black gown pooling like ink around her feet. She stands near a desk, fingers idly tracing the curved edge of a dagger lying there.
And across from her—a man I don’t recognize.
He is tall, broad-shouldered, with silvered hair and dark elven features that are too sharp, too cruel. A scar runs down his jaw, disappearing beneath the high collar of his tunic.
I still.
Something in my gut tightens, warning me.
I know who he is. The dark elf is famous for all the wrong reasons. His cruelty knows no bounds, and he’s a frequent visitor in the pleasure clubs with the females ending up dead come morning.
Nhilian.
The name slithers through my mind like a curse, heavy with the heaviness of danger.
I barely breathe.
"You took too long," Lartina murmurs, her voice silk-soft but edged with steel.
Nhilian exhales sharply, crossing his arms. "Patience never was your strong suit, was it?"
Lartina lifts a delicate brow, amusement flickering in her crimson eyes. "Not when I have something I want."
Nhilian chuckles, dark and bitter. "And what is it you want, Lartina?"
She steps closer, trailing a single finger along the surface of the desk. "The same thing you do."
Nhilian tilts his head. "You want Rylan dead?"
A slow, sharp smile curves Lartina’s lips. "I want Rylan ruined. There’s a difference."
My fingers curl into the stone, my nails biting into the rough surface.
She’s working with him.
She wants him destroyed.
Nhilian exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. "He’s more slippery than I expected. The assassin failed."
Lartina waves a hand dismissively. "Did you really think a single blade in the dark would be enough? Rylan thrives in the shadows. You’ll need to do better."
Nhilian’s jaw tenses. "And you? What are you offering?"
Lartina leans in slightly, her voice dropping into something almost intimate. "I know how he thinks. I know his weaknesses. And I know about the girl."
My stomach drops.
Nhilian lifts a brow. "The human?"
Lartina’s smirk deepens. "He keeps her close. That means something. And that, my dear Nhilian, is how you break him."
My breath turns shallow.
Nhilian hums, considering. "Rylan doesn’t care about people. He never has."
Lartina laughs softly. "That used to be true. But people change." She straightens, her expression sharpening. "If you want to crush him, you take what he values. Make him choose between survival and her."
The words press against my ribs like a dagger.
I force myself to think.
I need to get out of here.
Carefully, I step back into the shadows, moving as silently as I can. My heart hammers as I retrace my steps, my pulse a drumbeat in my ears.
The passageway closes behind me, sealing the secret inside.
I press my back against the wall, trying to steady myself.
But I can’t shake the implications what I’ve just heard.
It’s something very dangerous.
This isn’t just about Rylan’s past.
This isn’t just about power.
This is about me.