Chapter 4
Huntyr
Icough violently, choking on the bitter wine I sipped just as those impossible words echo through the room.
“Come again?” I ask, my brows shooting up in confusion.
“I want the Fae prince dead,” Mr. Dunklee insists, his voice level and calm as if he’s simply requesting updates on the weather.
I stare at him, waiting for someone to tell me I’m hearing things or that this is all some sort of joke. This must be some kind of practical joke, a manifestation of Kristona’s twisted sense of humor. That is the only explanation for this ridiculous turn of events.
And yet, as I look around the room at the familiar faces of my perverse little family, my stomach clenches.
Flannigan smirks back at me with a demented little smile.
The twins both lean back casually in their seats, watching my reaction with clinical focus.
Christof and Jacobi haven’t even paused their eating to breathe, let alone marvel at what’s happening.
No one else is surprised.
Which means they all already knew this was coming.
“If a Mortal enters the Fae lands, they don’t leave them alive,” I protest sharply, crossing my arms over my chest.
No one, and I mean no one, wants the Fae royals dead more than me, but I am no fool. I do not go on fools’ errands.
Kristona tuts. “You won’t be going to the Fae lands, my dear.”
His tone is entirely too calm and unfazed, and he gestures for Mr. Dunklee to elaborate.
“The King is planning to marry his daughter to the Fae prince,” Dunklee explains.
His words carry the weight of carefully guarded information, which means only one thing…
he’s come to us directly from the castle.
He’s a traitor to the crown. “A delegation of Fae arrived just a few nights ago. A masquerade ball is to take place tomorrow evening to celebrate the engagement. The prince will be in attendance. I’d like you to ensure this wedding never happens. ”
I narrow my eyes at our guest, scrutinizing every inch of his lanky, noble figure, from the way his lips fold in on themselves in a tight line to the slight tremble in his fingertips. “If the King knew you were here, he'd have your head on a spike,” I mutter.
“Some things are worth the risk,” Dunklee responds, his gaze never wavering. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, though.
Perhaps desperation?
Ah.
I drain the last of my wine before placing the glass back on the table with deliberate care. I take a moment to dab my lips with the napkin before leaning forward, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “So, how long have you been in love with the princess?”
Dunklee sputters, his face turning a brilliant shade of red. “That’s not—I’m not—”
“I’ve heard enough,” I say, cutting him off with a dismissive wave of my hand. I turn to Kristona, trying to keep the growing irritation from my voice. “This is stupid. Reckless. Two things that I am not. I’m not going to endanger my life because of some heartsick little lord.”
Kristona, always patient, smiles at Lord Dunklee and turns in his seat towards me, leaning in close and whispering for me alone.
“You asked me to teach you how to kill a Fae, Huntyr. I’ve done that.
Now, what are you going to do with that knowledge?
Because you won’t get another opportunity like this. ”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek sharply, hard enough to draw blood, just as a pulse of something dark and heavy wells up inside me. Based on the glint in Kristona’s eye, though, it's the exact reaction he wanted me to have.
Suddenly, I’m not in this room anymore. I’m a little girl again, standing in the doorway of my father’s chamber.
All these years later, I can still clearly see his lifeless body, twisted and broken.
His eyes had been nothing more than horrible black pits sunken into his face.
His mouth had been frozen in a scream that never ends.
Blood dripped from his ears, staining the floor like a scar on the earth itself.
I press a hand to my temple, willing the memory to fade as the ache in my head steadily intensifies.
“I thought this would be a particularly special way to celebrate your birthday,” Kristona says before spearing a sliced bit of meat on his plate and sliding it into his mouth. He watches me intently, a challenge clear in his gaze.
The room is silent as I stare at him, considering.
Kristona has given me everything. He’s offered me a place in his home, given me the skills necessary to defend myself against any enemy, showered me in gifts and love, but he’s also taught me to be clever. He was the one who warned me to be skeptical of any gift that seems too good to be true.
Even if that gift comes from him.
“Why me? Flannigan is far more experienced, and as your second, it makes more sense for him to begin the business of managing contracts.”
A soft cough from Flannigan makes me cut a glare in his direction. He doesn’t deny it. No one does.
He’s clearly better suited for this kind of mission.
Still, Kristona’s expression darkens as he quickly glares at the other assassins, silencing any further argument.
He pushes out his chair and strides across the room to the large oak hutch that lines the far wall.
From its top drawer, he retrieves a folded parchment and slowly lays it down in front of me.
“This came for you.”
I hesitate a moment, struggling to command my fingers to move and reach for the letter. It’s cold to the touch when I finally grasp it. Silently, I unfold it, scanning the neatly scrawled words across the page. My heart stutters painfully in my chest.
It can’t be...
I look up, meeting Kristona’s gaze as he explains, “I’m giving you this job because you’re the only one who can do it. Your stepmother passed away three days ago, and your father had no other heirs. Therefore, you, Huntyr, are now the Lady Lachlan of Vastile.”
The room spins. The letter sits limply in my hands as I force myself to breathe in and out, to stay present despite my every instinct telling me to scream and run from the room.
This isn’t real.
How did the crown even locate me? I left that life behind years ago.
I can’t be the Lady Lachlan. I don’t know the first thing about nobility and, more importantly, I don’t want to learn.
As if it had burned me, I throw the letter onto the table, needing it away from me.
I clench my fists, my knuckles turning white as I try to control the tremors in my hands.
Later. I’ll give myself a moment to fully digest all of this when I’m alone.
As much as I consider these people to be family, I cannot let them see me break, not after so many years of training myself to be invincible.
Kristona’s voice softens as he places another item on the table before me.
A mask.
“Happy birthday, Lady Lachlan,” he murmurs gently.
The mask is silver, intricately crafted with swirling designs that glimmer in the candlelight. A beautiful invitation to step into a world I swore I’d never be a part of again.
I stare at the mask, my stomach churning.
A masquerade ball.
An assassination.
And me, the assassin with noble blood. The irony isn’t lost on me.
The only thing standing between me and the vengeance I’ve been preparing to enact all this time is the identity, the life, that was stolen away from me as a child. My fingers brush the cool surface of the mask.
“I don’t care about the title or the land,” I confess, my voice weaker than I intend. I don’t want it. I don’t want to step one foot back into that house. “This changes nothing.”
“Doesn’t it?” Kristona counters, his tone unreadable.
I glance at the letter again. Lady Lachlan.
Just that one extra word before my name opens doors to me that no other assassin would ever be able to walk through.
Tomorrow, if I want it, I’ll have the opportunity to walk into the ball, dance with the elite, and get close enough to the Fae prince to end him.
No one would question the presence of the newly named Lady Lachlan of Vastile.
But Kristona won’t force me to go if I refuse my inheritance.
The choice is mine.
The mask glints in the firelight, daring me to take it, to accept the responsibility that comes with it. I hesitate for only a moment longer before finally picking it up, sliding my fingers over the delicate straps.
I am no noblewoman. I am a killer.
But for my father’s memory, I will play the part.