Chapter 6
Huntyr
Nothing, in all my years of training with thieves, assassins, and generally the worst people in the kingdom, had prepared me for this. For being so… desirable.
How am I supposed to find and lure the Fae prince away from this party to kill him when it feels like every man in the ballroom is tripping over himself to fawn over me?
One goes to fetch me lemonade, only for another to ask for a dance.
And when I finally spin out of that one’s arms, another appears, attempting to discuss the weather in Vastile.
I don’t know how the weather is. I haven’t been in Vastile since I was a girl. I don’t know whether the flowers have bloomed or if that lovely bakery in the city is still open. I certainly don’t know how to lead a damn province of the kingdom.
It doesn’t matter though, I remind myself. It won’t get that far.
Once I kill the Fae prince, I’ll shed this ridiculous gown and slip back into the shadows. Back to the life I built for myself before my stepmother’s death revealed me as the sole heir to a title I never wanted.
As I half-listen to the man prattling beside me, I glance around the room casually. The princess sits with her father at the head table, her posture perfect and her eyes downcast, but the seat to her right remains empty, as it has been since I arrived. Her betrothed is nowhere to be found.
“Dance with me?” I interrupt, batting my eyelashes at the man beside me with a soft smile.
He sputters softly, caught off guard by my attention. “Oh. Of course, Lady Lachlan. I’d be honored.”
I pull him to the center of the floor, easily mirroring the twirling steps of those dancing around us. I’ve never been trained in court dances, but the movements are easy enough to replicate, and the constant spinning gives me the perfect excuse to scan the crowd.
Men of all shapes and sizes. Some tall and lean, others thick around the middle. A few with gray streaks in their hair, others too young to be at a party this late. But none have the pointed ears I’m looking for. None except the man sitting beside the king, chatting easily.
I recognize him immediately. Roland Jellard, the diplomat charged with maintaining relations between Velia and the Fae Lands. He’s not the Fae I’m after, but if I watch closely enough, he’ll eventually have to move and speak with the prince. And then I’ll have my target.
I’ve waited sixteen years for this. I can be patient.
“So, Lady Lachlan,” Duke Walter Eyewig purrs my name, leaning uncomfortably close. “Surely a young lady like yourself will need assistance managing such a large expanse of land. Was your mother arranging prospects for you before her passing?”
I stiffen, angling my neck away from the putrid scent of alcohol on his breath. He’s been talking at me for nearly five minutes, and the stench is starting to trigger one of my headaches. “She was my stepmother, actually.”
The distinction might not mean much to him, but it means a hell of a lot to me.
The young blonde girl hanging on the arm of a gentleman who’s been following me like a puppy all night laughs bitterly. “That’s right! Isn’t it true she sent you away after your father was murdered? What have you been doing all these years?”
She tilts her head, blonde curls spilling over the pink lace peeking out of the bodice of her silver gown.
She hasn’t bothered to wear a mask, proudly showing her perfectly proportioned face to anyone who cares to look.
As she speaks, she presses herself closer to the man at her side, staking her claim.
“I was in school,” I lie, offering a half-smile. It’s not entirely false. I have been learning after all, just not the kind of lessons anyone here would expect.
“Your father was murdered?” the man attached to the blonde asks, frowning. What’s his name again? Jensen? Jaxon? Maybe Junsin?
I flinch at the casual curiosity in his voice as pain begins to pulse in my temple. “Yes, he was.”
“My,” Jenson—no, Janson—sighs. “I’m sorry. Did they ever find who was responsible?”
The blonde laughs, a sharp, venomous sound. “Who else would have done it?”
Walter squints, his words slurring slightly. “What do you mean?”
Her eyes sparkle with malice as she looks at me. “The Fae killed him, of course.”
For the briefest of seconds, I imagine how easy it would be to grasp onto the champagne bottle behind me and bring it down onto her head. No one would expect it. No one would move fast enough to stop it.
I feel the men’s gazes on me, waiting for confirmation. It takes all the willpower I have to nod as pain explodes behind my eyes. I press my fingers to my temple, trying to push back the throbbing. What started as a dull ache is quickly progressing towards a full-blown migraine.
Not now. This cannot happen now.
“It must be difficult for you, Lady Lachlan,” the blonde continues. “Celebrating the creatures who ruined your life.”
A hand touches my elbow and I jerk, my fingers instinctively reaching for the weapon hidden in the bodice of my gown, but I slow as the smell of whiskey drifts closer.
“Are you alright, dear?” Walter whispers, his breath rank with alcohol. “You look pale.”
“Truly,” the blonde agrees with mock concern. “Has something upset you?”
Actually, violence is too good for her. It would be much more satisfactory to dump the champagne atop her perfectly coiled hair and watch her sputter like a fish in shock.
“Just a headache. If you’ll excuse me, I need a drink.”
“Allow me,” Jossan, or whatever his name is, offers, but the blonde’s grip on his arm is too tight for him to follow.
“That’s okay,” I call over my shoulder. “I’ll only be a moment.”
I hurry away, walking past the drink table and straight out the doors of the ballroom. My head throbs harder with each step as I slip into the hall, searching for an empty room. Any quiet space to find a reprieve in until the pain subsides a bit will suffice.
The first room I push into is a small, darkened office, and I slam the thick wooden door shut behind me, leaning back against the heavy frame and breathing deeply.
Breathe in for four. Hold. Breathe out for four. Hold.
I focus entirely on the familiar technique. Kristona had shown it to me shortly after he’d taken me in and realized I suffered from the recurrent pains. The steady rhythm helps to dull the near-constant pain temporarily, but never seems to make the headaches stay away.
“Am I interrupting something?”
My eyes snap open, my hand instinctively flying to the knife hidden in my gown. I scan the room, cursing myself for being so distracted by the headache that I didn’t notice someone was already here. The office I walked into is very much occupied.
The man lounges in a chair behind a large mahogany desk, feet kicked up, arms folded behind his head, his posture deceptively casual.
But there’s nothing relaxed about the way his dark eyes assess me, sharp and unyielding.
His jacket is pristine, his trousers pressed, and a black mask covers half his face.
Dark curls frame his features, grazing his neck in a way that should soften him.
It doesn’t.
When our gaze collides, a jolt runs down my spine so sharply that I would have stumbled backwards if I wasn’t already pressed against the door.
“I just needed a moment away from the party,” I say, straightening. I force my voice to remain steady, ignoring the hum in my chest at the way he watches me, eyes unblinking. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“You’re not the only one,” he replies smoothly, his voice low and warm, like velvet stretched taut. I feel it more than I hear it. It dances across my skin like a physical presence.
I step further into the room, keeping my distance as I study him. He looks at me with a quiet intensity I’m not used to. Most men stare too much at my breasts or look away too quickly, unsure how to handle me. Especially those I’ve interacted with tonight.
He just continues watching me with that appraising expression.
“Shouldn’t you be out mingling with the eligible young ladies?” I ask lightly, tilting my head. “Isn’t that the point of tonight’s festivities?”
“Not for everyone,” he states simply, his gaze steady.
Another shiver runs down my spine, and it has nothing to do with the lingering ache in my temples. He’s utterly beautiful. All sharp lines and dark features. It’s positively distracting.
“Not for you?”
The corner of his mouth tugs up in a barely-there smile. “And you, Lady Lachlan? Shouldn’t you be preparing for the marriage season?”
I raise a brow, letting a small, practiced smirk curve my lips. “I’ve never been one to meet expectations.”
He leans forward slightly, resting his arms on the desk.
The shift is subtle, but my pulse quickens nonetheless.
Even seated, his presence fills the room.
He seems… different from the other men from the ball.
Those men are either too thin, lacking any real muscle, or too large from being able to afford more than their fair share of meals.
But this man?
Even in the dimly lit room, under fine clothes, I can make out the lines of thick biceps. He’s lean and sharp, every inch of him pure coiled strength. His hands, rough with calluses, rest lightly on the desk.
This is a man who has spent time outdoors. This is a man who has wielded a blade and knows how to throw a punch.
A general perhaps? High enough to have earned an invitation to these festivities despite having gotten his hands dirty in war.
“Are you unwell?” he asks, his tone dipping lower, smoothing over the tension like silk.
I jerk my attention back to his face, and his gaze pins me in place.
I force myself not to fidget under its weight.
It’s an odd sensation, being thrown off balance like this.
I don’t typically get unsettled by other people.
More often than not, I unsettle others. Yet here I am, somehow flustered in a way that is both frustrating and maddeningly intriguing.
“Just a headache,” I reply, my voice sharper than I intend.
“You should sit.” He gestures to the armchair across from him. When I don’t move, he slides a glass of water toward me. “Drink.”
The faintest edge of command laces his words, and I bristle at it. Still, I give him a sweet smile. “I’m already starting to feel better, actually.”
Not entirely a lie.
Apparently, the distraction of an attractive man is enough to soothe the ache.
His lips twitch. It’s not quite a smile, but it's enough to tell me I’ve surprised him. “I used to get headaches all the time as a boy,” he says, leaning back again. “They were debilitating. Still get them, depending on where I am.”
His gaze flickers, and he studies me with renewed focus. I do the same, knowing that I’ll have memorized that face before I leave the room.
The silence stretches, charged and heavy, until he finally says, “You’ve had them before—the headaches?”
“Since I was a girl,” I answer honestly. “They come and go.”
“Painful things usually do,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “With enough time, at least.”
“Usually?” The word slips out before I can stop it.
His eyes darken, and the faint smile vanishes. “When we’re lucky,” he says softly. “Other times pain can have a tendency to cling to the unlucky.”
There’s a rawness in his tone, an honest appraisal that feels familiar. The weight of it settles between us while I study him closer, trying to decipher what kind of man carries that much darkness in his voice.
“So, if you’re not here to find a husband, what are you here for, Lady Lachlan?”
His clothes are expensive, his posture far too relaxed for someone concerned with offending the wrong people. Whoever he is, he’s clearly important, maybe even more important than the men who’ve been hovering around me all evening.
Which might mean he knows more than the men I’ve been talking to.
Might as well see how useful this encounter can be.
I reach for my mask, untying it and placing it on the desk in front of me. “Well, it’s all rather exciting, don’t you think?”