Chapter 18 Thank You
Chapter eighteen
Thank You
Shadera stood before the mirror, turning the mask in her hands. Beautiful and macabre. A Daggermouth symbol brought into the heart of her enemy’s world. She hated that she loved it.
Her fingers traced the contours of the cheekbones, the hollow of the eyes, the curve where the nose would be. It was exquisite craftsmanship, far more detailed than anything she’d expected them to give to her.
A gift. She’d never been given anything before. Everything in the Boundary always came at a price. She supposed that this would too.
“Fuck,” she muttered to her reflection.
In the Boundary, faces were weapons, identities were armor. To cover yourself was to admit fear, to tell the world that you were a coward. But here, in this prison, she had no choice.
She lifted it to her face, the cold material sending a shiver down her spine as it made contact with her skin.
The weight of it surprised her—heavier than expected.
The edges suctioned to her skin, holding it snuggly in place.
It fit perfectly, but wearing any Heart mask felt like surrender. Foreign. Invasive. Like betrayal.
She didn’t bother looking at her reflection, not now. Not with what she would see staring back at her.
Shadera adjusted her mask for the third time as Chapman held the car door open, the black town car idling at the building’s private entrance.
She caught her reflection in the car’s tinted window—death staring back at her, silver-traced and elegant.
At least if she had to wear their mark, she would wear it as a threat.
Chapman had looked appropriately horrified when she’d emerged from her room wearing it, his eyes darting to Greyson as if expecting him to object.
But Greyson had merely nodded once, something like satisfaction glinting in his eyes before he donned his own.
A matched set of nightmares, ready for their public debut.
“It suits you,” Greyson said from behind his mask, the familiar obsidian hiding whatever expression might have accompanied the words as he gestured for her to enter first.
Shadera didn’t respond, just slid into the back seat, the leather cool and supple beneath her.
Another luxury that made her skin crawl with the knowledge of what such excess cost the rings.
She shifted to the far side, maintaining as much distance as possible between them as Greyson followed, settling into the seat beside her.
Chapman closed the door behind him, then took his place in the driver’s seat.
He was a thin man but strong, older than she’d expected for a Heart servant, with methodical movements that spoke of military training.
Cardinal born, Greyson had said. Not a slave.
She wasn’t convinced there was a difference when it came to Heart service.
The partition between them and Chapman was half raised, creating an intimate bubble that felt suddenly too small for the two of them. Shadera felt her lungs constricting, her chest tightening.
Her eyes tracked their route as the car pulled away from the building, cataloging landmarks, intersections, security checkpoints.
Three turns to the main boulevard. Four security checkpoints between here and the outer Heart perimeter.
Two surveillance drone hubs visible on rooftops.
All information she could use if—when—she found her chance to escape.
Information Jaeger and Jameson could use to plan their next strikes.
The thought of Jameson sent a pang through her chest. He would be frantic by now, thinking her dead or worse. And here she sat, in a luxury car beside the Executioner, wearing a Heart mask like some prized pet. Shame burned hot beneath her skin.
“Where are we going?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral.
Show nothing. Reveal nothing. Gather everything.
“The military district first,” Greyson answered, his attention on a tablet he’d brought. “Then the farming dome, security headquarters, and the Entertainment District. You should see what you’re up against before tonight.”
“You mean what I’m being forced to endorse.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her tone.
He looked up from the tablet, those blue eyes bright and unreadable behind his mask. “Yes.” The simple acknowledgment of truth surprised her. No justification, no Heart propaganda. Just recognition of her reality.
She inclined her head. “Practical of you to show your assassin exactly how well defended you are.”
A soft huff escaped him. “Consider it mutually beneficial. You get to satisfy your curiosity, and I get to impress upon you the futility of any thoughts of further assassination attempts.”
“Bold of you to assume that will stop me.”
She swore she saw a smile reach his eyes. “Bold of you to assume you’ll get another chance.”
They lapsed into silence, but it felt different from before—charged with something that didn’t quite feel so hostile.
Shadera turned to look out the window as the car wound through the Heart’s immaculate streets.
Everything was pristine—the sidewalks spotless, the buildings gleaming in the early afternoon sun.
Even the trees seemed perfectly shaped, not a leaf out of place.
It was beautiful in a sterile, controlled way that made her stomach twist with anger.
People walked with unhurried steps, their faces hidden behind masks of varying designs, though none as provocative as hers.
They wore clothes all similar to each other—elegant, understated, expensive.
From a distance, they looked like figures in a simulation rather than real people. Perfect and empty.
“After tonight’s dinner,” Greyson said suddenly, breaking the silence, “we should discuss what Lira mentioned.”
Shadera turned back to him. “About what to expect?”
He nodded, his gloved fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his knee.
“There are aspects of Heart society, of the Vow ceremony you should be prepared for. Things that will be expected of you. Things you’ll see that .
. .” He trailed off, jaw working beneath his mask.
“Things that will be difficult . . . shocking for someone not raised here.”
Something in his tone made her study him more carefully. The rigid set of his shoulders, the way his hand had curled into a fist on his thigh, the slight increase in his breathing rate. Signs she’d been trained to read in targets before the kill—signs of fear, of distress.
“You don’t want to go to this dinner. You’re worried about it,” she realized aloud.
His head snapped toward her. “What makes you say that?”
“Your body is screaming it.” She gestured to his tense posture. “I’ve been reading people’s fear my entire life. It’s coming off you in waves.”
For a moment, she thought he might deny it, might retreat behind the cold facade he usually maintained. Instead, he exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping a fraction.
“I don’t,” he admitted, the words so quiet she almost didn’t catch them. “But the consequences of not going aren’t worth it.”
The admission shifted something between them—a crack in the perfect Executioner’s armor, a glimpse of the man beneath the monster.
Shadera found herself wondering, not for the first time, who Greyson Serel might have been if he hadn’t been born into this family, if he hadn’t been shaped by the Heart’s poison.
“What happens at these dinners?” she asked, genuine curiosity replacing the tactical assessment she’d been conducting.
Greyson looked away, staring at the city passing outside the window. “Nothing good.”
The car slowed as they approached a checkpoint—the first of many, she guessed, based on the military presence ahead. Guards with pulse rifles stood at attention, their own masks more utilitarian than decorative.
“For now,” Greyson continued, straightening as they pulled to a stop, “remember that you’re no longer just Shadera Kael, a Daggermouth from the Boundary. As far as anyone knows, you’re my fiancée. My chosen partner. Try to act accordingly.”
“You want me to simper and hang on your every word?” she asked, unable to keep the edge from her voice.
He actually chuckled at that, a small quirk of his lips visible at the corners of his eyes. “I’d like to see you try. No, just . . . don’t threaten to kill anyone in public. That should be sufficient.”
Despite herself, Shadera felt an answering smile tug at her lips. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
A guard approached their window, and Greyson rolled it down with a touch to a panel beside him. The guard’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of Shadera’s mask but recovered quickly.
“Identification, sir?”
Greyson handed over a sleek black card. “Greyson Serel. Security clearance alpha-nine. And my fiancée, Shadera Kael. She’s been cleared by the patriarch himself.”
The guard scanned the card, then nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir. We received the notification. You’re clear to proceed.”
Shadera’s brow furrowed as the window rolled up. “Maximus would never give me access to the Veyra base.”
“No, he wouldn’t.” Greyson tilted his head, a smile in his voice. “But Callum would.”
As they drove through the gate, Shadera found herself studying Greyson again.
There was more to him that she was starting to see—layers beneath the Executioner, the son, the Heart elite.
A complexity she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge because it was easier to hate a simple monster than a complicated man.
“What?” he asked, apparently noticing her scrutiny.
“Nothing,” she replied, turning back to the window. “Just thinking that maybe we’re both prisoners here, in different ways.”
He didn’t answer, but she felt his gaze linger on her profile for a long moment before he too turned to look out at the Heart—the beautiful cage that held them both.
The car swept through three more checkpoints, each more heavily fortified than the last. At each stop, Greyson’s name opened gates like magic—no questions, no delays, no searches, just immediate compliance.