Chapter 8
Huntyr
Iturn the corner of the hall sharply, pressing my back against the cold stone wall as I struggle to catch my breath, my chest heaving.
What in all of the Ever Realm is wrong with me?
Heat coils in my stomach, and my skin prickles as though I’ve been caught in a storm. My pulse is erratic, and I’m uncomfortably aware of the dampness between my thighs.
This isn’t me.
I’m not some simpering court maiden, entirely undone and left wanting by a handsome man with a sharp jawline and piercing eyes.
Men don’t faze me like this. I’ve never shied away from pleasure, but I also haven’t ever romanticized it.
I’ve taken lovers when it suited me and discarded them when it didn’t.
When you spend your life in the shadows, not knowing which day might be your last, you learn not to waste time on notions like modesty or propriety.
And sure, some of those men have made my breath catch. Some have even made my toes curl. But this...
I’ve never been so affected by a simple conversation.
One conversation. One man with an enigmatic smile and a voice like velvet, and I’m trembling, my body humming with need.
And I didn’t even think to ask his name.
“Get it together,” I hiss under my breath, flexing my fingers in an attempt to dispel the tingling that lingers since I left him.
I have a job to do.
I cannot let some beautiful, dark-haired man distract me from my purpose here.
My thoughts shift, grounding me in the present. Based on what he said, the prince isn’t at the ball. That means returning to the party is a waste of time. If the prince isn’t mingling with the court, where else could he be?
He’s a guest here, and a dangerous guest at that. The royal guards wouldn’t leave him unsupervised to wander the castle grounds. If he isn’t downstairs… he has to be in his chambers.
Closing my eyes, I picture the castle schematics Mr. Dunklee sketched for me in meticulous detail. The guest rooms are on the second floor, tucked away in the eastern wing. I’ll need to take the staircase at the far end of this hall, then follow the corridor—two lefts, one right.
I let out a slow breath, my hand instinctively brushing the hilt of the blade hidden in my bodice. My resolve hardens, my vision narrows, and my purpose focuses.
Time to go to work.
Adjusting the folds of my gown, I step lightly down the hall, my ears straining for any sound. The staircase is narrow, made of iron rods with a faint layer of dust. It’s likely reserved for servants moving discreetly between floors. It creaks faintly underfoot as I ascend, clutching my skirt.
When I reach the second floor, I freeze, listening carefully. The hall is eerily silent, the faint echoes of music from below barely reaching this space.
Room by room, I search. The first few chambers are pristine, the beds perfectly made, the drawers empty. Guest rooms, yes, but clearly unoccupied.
Where are you, you pompous, immoral bastard?
My frustration climbs as I work my way down the corridor, the silence amplifying the sound of my footsteps, no matter how carefully I step.
Finally, at the end of the hallway, my fingers close around a brass door handle.
Unlike the others, this one is warm to the touch, faintly polished from use.
Anticipation flutters in my stomach, sharp and insistent.
I ease the door open, its hinges groaning softly in protest.
The scent hits me first—a heady, intoxicating mixture of smoked leather and citrus. It invades my senses, wrapping around me like a second skin. It’s decadent, bold, and utterly infuriating.
The room is a stark contrast to the empty chambers I passed.
Silk pants are draped haphazardly over the bed, as though discarded without a second thought.
The desk is littered with parchment, some scrawled in neat but hurried handwriting, others blank and curling at the edges.
A book lies open on the rumpled sheets, its spine cracked from use.
The disarray tells me as much about him as the scent lingering in the air. He’s powerful, yes, but careless. Accustomed to claiming spaces he enters as his own. Entitled and spoiled.
I take a cautious step inside and close the door behind me, my grip tightening on my blade.
This is it. This is the prince’s room.
So where is he?
The floor creaks softly behind me, and I spin, releasing a second dagger from where it’s strapped to my wrist as I turn to face the Fae male in the doorway.
He’s ridiculously tall, and he wears a brown leather vest and tight breeches, leaving his enormous biceps and thick thighs visible. His chestnut hair falls easily to his shoulders, braided back away from his face. My lip curls as I take in his pointed ears.
“Who are you?” he demands, his voice firm as he reaches for the sword on his hip. “You shouldn’t be here.”
I grin menacingly. “And you should have gone to your party, your highness.”
I waste no time, running forward and brandishing both my blades.
He moves impossibly quick, pulling his sword and swinging it down to meet my crossed daggers in the air.
Shock reverberates through my arms from the force of the blow, and I lash out, kicking him in the stomach as I twist the blades away and dance to his left.
He hardly even flinches against my strike, his face a picture of rage. He swings his blade again, and I dodge, only for him to seize my left wrist.
I gasp.
After years in this business, I’m no stranger to pain, but this is more than simple pain. It takes everything in me not to scream. I’ll count myself lucky if my bones don’t snap under the pressure.
My blade drops from my hand and clatters to the ground, earning me a taunting smile from the prince.
He releases my wrist, and I back away, subtly flexing my fingers, desperate for the pain to subside so I can finish this.
“You’re fast,” he compliments, “and obviously well-trained. But you didn’t think it would be that easy to kill the Fae here, did you?”
“I don’t need to kill all the Fae, just you.”
Ignoring the throbbing in my wrist, I lurch to the side, spinning effortlessly so I can wrap my arm over his shoulder and pull his blade-wielding hand hard enough to force his grip to release.
Two can play the disarming game.
I kick his sword to the opposite side of the room and twirl my remaining dagger in my fingers, preparing to pierce it through the gentle flesh under his jaw.
The blow shakes me before I even have time to realize it’s coming.
He backhands me so sharply I go flying to the floor, my vision blurring for a moment.
Fuck.
My head spins as I scramble forward. I need to get out of arm’s reach. There’s no way I’ll hold up if that bastard hits me again with his Fae strength.
He stalks forward, wrapping his fingers around my ankle and pulling me back toward him.
I yelp, swinging blindly, my head still spinning, and feel my nails slide down his cheek.
“You bitch,” he hisses.
Gripping my arm, he tosses me, flipping me onto my back before crawling over me.
I buck my hips, thrashing as I try to shake him off, but I’m no match for his superior strength. His hands climb to my throat, applying enough pressure to make my chest lock up in panic.
He’s going to kill me.
The Fae prince is going to kill me.
My vision blurs, dark flecks swimming in my sight, and in my mind’s eye, I see the image that’s haunted me since I was a child.
My father’s lifeless body in his bed, skin sunken in, eye sockets black and hollowed as though his eyes had melted into his skull. His mouth stuck open in a perpetual scream, his veins black with poison.
That’s what the Fae did to him.
That’s what they’re about to do to me.
All these years of darkness, of murder and deception, and I’m going to die at the hands of the same monsters who took everything I ever loved.
Panic rises in me, louder than anything I’ve ever experienced before. I gasp, clawing at the Fae prince, smacking his meaty palms as my entire body locks in tension, heat burning suddenly through my spine.
“No!” I groan, pushing my hands against his face.
And light explodes from my fingertips.
My heart pounds like a drumbeat, echoing in my ears, as I hurry through the halls back toward the ballroom, Kristona’s instructions looping relentlessly in my mind.
When the deed is done, do not leave the party immediately. It will look suspicious. You cannot be followed. Above all, maintain your calm.
How am I supposed to stay calm after what just happened?
My pulse is a chaotic rhythm, and broken fragments of the memory flash before my eyes. The way he flew off me, his body hitting the wall with a sickening thud. The way his veins turned golden, glowing under his skin like molten metal. The way his eyes turned completely white.
He must have done something, some Fae trick. Maybe he pushed his strength too far, or tried to use his powers against me, only for it to backfire. That’s the only explanation.
I slow my pace as I near the ballroom, the music spilling out from under the doors like a seductive whisper. Time for the last phase of the plan.
My steps grow deliberate, my breathing deeper and more controlled. I sweep my hair back over my shoulders, straighten my posture, and carefully school my expression.
Just a little longer, Huntyr. Then you’re out of here.
A few more moments. Long enough to show my face, dance a little more, and make an exit without drawing suspicion. Then I can go home to Tyla and leave the cursed Lachlan name behind forever.
My lips twist into a bitter smile. I wonder what my stepmother would think now if she knew I’d just used her name to kill the Fae Prince.
When I step through the ballroom doors, warm light washes over me, and the hum of laughter and conversation fills the air. Happy, expectant grins from eligible men meet my gaze, and I paint a demure smile on my face, allowing myself to be swept into their world once more.
A short man with carrot-colored hair steps forward, extending an eager hand, and I accept his invitation to dance. As we fall into step, moving in time with the music, the rhythm should settle me, should ground me.
But it doesn’t.
A prickle dances over my spine, the feeling unmistakable and sharp.
Someone is watching me.