Chapter 28
Huntyr
Everything hurts. From the lacerations that linger on my arms, to the muscles that were pushed past their limits, to the bones that had taken hits harder than they should.
Even combing through my hair feels like torture.
After I’d been returned to my room by Rhen, he’d seen to it that healers came to tend to my most immediate injuries.
They’d been silent as they assessed the wounds and stitched up the gaping hole in my stomach.
Then they’d left, thankfully leaving behind a tonic that had taken away the most severe bites of pain.
It hadn’t, however, dulled the edges of my anger.
I’m tired of playing these games. I’m tired of being spoken down to by the Fae, and I’m tired of watching Mortal women die in the most gruesome ways.
Because of me.
Every single one of those Mortal women are dead because of me.
I worry my lip, combing out the last knots in my hair as I play the fight with Elise over and over again in my head.
“That victory had been hard-earned.”
I sense Kaia’s hesitation at my words. “You will not give up.”
After she was confident my wounds weren’t life-threatening, she left to hunt down some dinner, and I hate how much I need her presence now.
As angry as I am, I’m also dangerously close to accepting the inevitable defeat of this Conclave.
Elise’s powers, as invasive as they were, weren’t offensive in nature. Yet it still took every inch of my strength, training, and strategy to beat her. How could I hold my own against a Fae who could control my weapons, and another who could burn me alive with a single thought?
Even if I managed to get them to fight each other first, I would still have to face the victor.
And neither of them would go easy on me.
Seraphina, especially.
Maybe taunting her so much hadn’t been my best idea.
A sharp knock sounds at the door, and somehow I’m aware of who’s decided to bother me before I even twist the doorknob.
“What do you want?” I snap, cracking the door just enough to see his face.
Derian leans lazily against the frame, smirking as his eyes dart to my hand, my grip tight on the wood.
“You know I could just push it open, right?”
“You could try.”
“Let me in, Huntyr.”
His voice is quiet, carrying a heaviness I’d only heard that night in the tavern, when he’d spoken of his years training his powers.
“I don’t think I will,” I tell him. “I’m not interested in playing games with you tonight.”
I can’t.
This is my last night before the final trial.
My last chance to plan and strategize.
My last night to stare at the stars outside my window and imagine I’m back home with Tyla.
It’s just… my last night.
He sighs heavily, his patience wearing thin. “The other ladies will get terribly jealous if they see me at your door in the middle of the night. They might think I’m showing you favoritism.”
“There’s a simple solution for that: you can leave.”
“Oh, but I can’t.” He steps closer, his body nearly brushing mine. The mint and leather scent of him floods my senses, his heat pouring off him in waves I struggle to ignore. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you. So, let me in, before I’m forced to be a little less than gentle with you.”
A vivid image burns in my mind suddenly. His hands on my hips. The door slamming shut behind us. His mouth against mine.
Nothing gentle about it.
“Ask nicely,” I whisper, tilting my chin defiantly.
His lips quirk into a crooked, dangerous smile, and I know he’s relieved that I’ve given into the teasing that’s become so characteristic of our interactions. “So, you like a man who begs?” He leans closer, his voice a low purr, his mouth only a breath away from mine. “I’ll have to remember that.”
Rolling my eyes, I step aside, holding the door ajar and allowing him entry. He chuckles softly as he walks past me, invading my space as easily as if it’s his own.
“What do you want?” I repeat.
He wanders to the window, staring out at the night sky as raindrops streak across the glass. Moonlight spills over him, making his shoulders seem broader, his skin brighter, his dark hair impossibly more enticing.
This would all be so much easier if he weren’t so damned attractive.
“Your performance today was surprising,” he says finally.
I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself.
“Yes, well, it was a terrible experience, and I’d like to sleep now,” I say coolly. “So, if you wouldn’t mind—”
“You’re the last Mortal in the Conclave.”
Unease travels down my spine. “So?”
“So,” he draws out the word as he turns to face me, arms crossed, “I find it odd that a noblewoman fights well enough to survive a competition meant for only the strongest Fae warriors.”
I mirror his stance. “I told you, I’m a quick learner.”
His gaze rakes over me, lingering on the curve of my hips. The intensity of his stare leaves me feeling bare and exposed.
“I don’t think so.”
There’s a heaviness to his words, and a chill sneaks down my spine.
He knows.
Derian takes a step closer, forcing me to look up to meet his gaze as he towers over me. “Do you know why I called the Conclave instead of marrying the King’s daughter?”
I run my tongue over my teeth, crossing my arms across my chest. “I assume you enjoy the idea of women fighting over you.”
“Oh, I do, but that’s not why, and I think you know that.” His voice darkens as thunder rolls in the distance. “On the night of the ball, one of my guards was murdered.”
I keep my face neutral, my posture relaxed.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
This is how it was supposed to have happened all along.
Just him and I.
The Fae prince and the assassin sent to kill him.
My eyes are steady on his. “Why would I?”
He studies me for a moment, then smiles coldly. “You have quite an interesting story, Lady Lachlan.”
“That’s not my name,” I snarl.
He smirks, backing up a few paces. “See, that right there was the first thing that tipped me off. What sort of noblewoman insists on being called by her first name instead of her title?”
“Someone with a complicated history.”
He nods, pointing a finger at me in acknowledgment. “Now that, I believe. Your father died when you were six, right?”
“Five.” My fingers twitch toward the blade on my hip.
“Five, that’s right. Then you were sent away to school. Except no one seems to know where you went to school or what school it was.”
My stomach churns as he rubs his jaw thoughtfully. I really should have seen this coming. All this time, his attention had been so obvious. I dismissed it as whatever sexual tension existed between us, when all along, he’d been digging into my past.
And it appears he may have circled too close to the truth.
“I did some research on Velia recently,” he continues, leaning back against the wall with his hands tucked into his front pockets. “Your kingdom has quite the crime district. Overpopulation and a lack of resources breeds desperation, after all.”
“I imagine that’s why we decided an alliance with the Fae kingdom was worthwhile,” I say, my tone icy.
“I also learned quite a bit about the slums in your kingdom, all run by some pretty nasty gangs. The kind of people who will do anything to accomplish their goals.”
“Fascinating.”
His lips quirk into a quick smile as his dark eyes burn into me. “I’m glad you agree. It seems there’s a very promising league of assassins willing to do their dirty work.”
I stiffen.
How does he possibly know that?
Even if he’s managed to figure out what I do, why I was at that ball, he shouldn’t know about the others. There are only two ways to know about the league: you’re connected enough to hire us, or you’re unfortunate enough to be killed by us.
Exactly how deep did the prince investigate?
“One assassin, in particular, caught my attention,” he says softly.
Here it comes.
I spread my feet, letting my hands drop to my sides, closer to my blades.
“Her first known kill was about five years after you went to school. Odd timing, don’t you think?”
My jaw tightens.
My stomach sinks.
This is the moment where it all ends, where I either kill the Fae prince or he kills me.
“And,” he adds, pushing off the wall to step closer to me. “Her last known kill was just before the ball.”
He reaches out, catching a strand of my hair and running it through his fingers, tugging slightly as he reaches the end. His touch sends a shiver down my spine.
“That’s quite interesting,” I say dryly. “Can I go to sleep now?”
“Not just yet.” He takes a deep, slow breath before finally releasing it. “You see, every good history lesson ends with a test. So, here’s my question for you.” He pauses. I tense. “What’s the assassin’s name?”
Time freezes.
In truth, I’ve never actually publicly claimed the name.
It had started as a pet name from Kristona.
Then it became a legend among the streets of Velia.
Huntyr. Lady Lachlan. The Huntress.
Three different roles that I’ve never managed to reconcile into one identity.
“Well?” he prompts.
Time stops. Sound quiets. There is only the male in front of me and the secret that has existed between us since the day we met.
“She’s known as the Huntress,” I finally whisper.
Derian’s grin widens, wicked and triumphant, even as his fingers remain tangled in the ends of my hair. “Oddly similar to your name, don’t you think?”
Adeep grounding breath in. A slow steady exhale out.
I let the oxygen move through me, filling my mind and muscles with everything they need for what's about to happen.
A quick glance out the window shows a clear night sky, peppered by sparkling stars painted across the sky. No rain. No wind. His magic is controlled. Or perhaps he's saving it just for me and whatever punishment he plans to enact.
Derian is silent as he watches me, that knowing smile still on his lips. I feel the spark of every place his eyes trail over me. My brows. My eyes. My nose. My lips. My throat.
Will he do it by magic or by the blade? How exactly will the Fae prince end my life?
“Coincidence,” I mutter, sounding more than a little breathy.