14. Zhetrin
ZHETRIN
The cold ambient light of the Undercity begins to bleed through the shattered windows of the study.
Waking to the quiet, I find the dark hide of my coat spread beneath us, shielding our bare skin from the freezing stone floor.
Megan lies flush against my chest, her even, quiet breaths stirring the dark hair falling over my collarbone.
Her petite body is entirely slack in the profound exhaustion of sleep, honey-blonde curls spilling across the black leather like spun gold.
Shifting slightly to avoid waking her, I wrap my arm securely around her waist to anchor her to my side.
For three centuries, my bed has been a sterile expanse of silk, my sleep a rigidly scheduled necessity.
Waking with the warmth of another living creature tangled in my limbs is an entirely foreign, staggering sensation.
My focus shifts to the cracked, ruined ceiling of the study. The beast in my chest is sated, the feral hum of my magic reduced to a low, steady thrum beneath my skin. Yet the brutal reality of the ledgers she uncovered remains.
Varynth engineered the slaughter of thousands. He harvested our own bloodline to extend his rotting life. And my cousin, Seredryl, is currently maneuvering to sell the woman sleeping in my arms to the flesh-brokers.
Sliding my arm carefully from beneath her waist, I watch her brow furrow at the loss of my heat, though she does not wake.
Rising from the floor, my frame casts a long shadow over her delicate form as I swiftly gather and don my torn clothing. Fully armed, I return to her side. Sliding one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her shoulders, I lift her effortlessly from the stone.
Bypassing the guest corridor entirely, I carry her out of the ruined study.
My boots make no sound upon the obsidian as I cross the threshold into my own private master wing. Pushing the ironwood doors open, I bring her into the vast, temperature-controlled sanctuary of my chambers and lower her gently onto the massive bed, sinking her into the indigo silks.
Retrieving a warm, damp cloth from the washbasin, I trace the linen over her soft skin, wiping away the sweat and the faint, dried remnants of our union.
Once she is clean, I pull one of my dark linen sleep-shirts over her head, the fabric completely swallowing her petite frame, before drawing the thick velvet blankets up to her chin to seal her in the absolute safety of my bed.
She sighs, turning her face directly into the pillow carrying my scent.
The protective instinct coiled in my chest hardens into absolute resolve. I will tear the ancestral palace down to its foundation stones to ensure no harm ever breaches this room. The Patriarch will pay for his sins—to my people and hers.
Pivoting away from the mattress, I walk out into the corridors, sealing the large ironwood doors of the master wing behind me.
The estate is eerily quiet. Clinical satisfaction registers as I note Tharion's men have already cleared the assassin's corpse and scoured the blood from the stone outside her former suite.
Striding down the grand staircase with my long blade slapping rhythmically against my thigh, I step out into the freezing air of the courtyard. The morning watch has just begun.
"Captain!" The single word cuts sharply through the thick mist rolling off the high walls.
Tharion emerges from the southern armory, his Miou armor fully fastened, his jaw tight. He bows his head sharply as he approaches.
"My lord." Tharion's dark focus immediately registers the predatory tension vibrating through my form.
"Initiate a full audit of the perimeter defenses." My volume drops to a lethal murmur. "Every gate. Every ward. Every brick in the wall."
Tharion nods, though his expression darkens. "The audit is already underway, Lord Zhetrin. But the threat is not just external. I swept the lower counting rooms before dawn. I found a massive, off-ledger transfer of Khuzuth coin traced entirely through shell accounts."
My boots halt instantly upon the cobblestones. "Who authorized the transfer?"
"Lady Seredryl." The grim reality hardens the captain's tone. "She bled a massive sum from the secondary vaults last night, most likely to cripple our resources and hoard her own wealth for the usurpation."
"And why did my analysts fail to report this?" My magic erupts, causing the mist around us to rapidly crystallize into frost. "A sum of that magnitude should have triggered the alarms in the High Ledger."
Tharion's hand drops instinctively to the pommel of his blade.
"There are traitors in the management tier, my lord.
I only discovered the deficit an hour ago.
She used her bloodline signet to bypass the lower vault sentries before the lockdown you ordered could be fully implemented.
Our loyal men obeyed the old standing orders. They did not question her access."
The realization strikes like a sledgehammer.
I had rushed back to fortify the stronghold, but Seredryl moved faster than anticipated, striking the exact moment I was summoned.
I intended to use my cousin’s arrogance against her to spring a trap.
Instead, she weaponized that brief window to steal the keys to my treasury.
"The strategy is void." The finality in the air brooks no argument. "We are no longer waiting for the Patriarch to strike first. Initiate a total lockdown of the estate. Seal the iron gates. Arm the archers on the parapets. Seredryl is moving her pieces today."
"Understood." Tharion turns to signal his lieutenants, then pauses, extracting a rolled parchment from his belt. "There is one more sum, my lord. The internal guard manifest. I checked the rotation for the residential wing."
Snatching the parchment from his gauntleted grip, I track the columns of ink.
"She bribed the night scribe of the vanguard to stamp the rotation before my morning review," Tharion adds, a lethal edge in his tone. "I have already thrown the traitor into the lower prison cells, but the roster shifted before we caught the treason."
The names listed for the morning watch along the corridors of the main suite do not belong to the elite Miou guard.
Kaelen and Voss have been rotated out. The names stamped onto the vellum belong to low-born mercenaries drafted from the outer borders—guards whose loyalty is easily purchased by the massive sum of coin Seredryl just stole from my vaults.
Untrusted, heavily armed dark elves are currently stationed directly outside the doors where Megan sleeps.
A sharp, muffled crash echoes from the upper levels of the estate.
It is followed instantly by the metallic screech of a halberd striking stone.
The blood in my veins turns to ice.
Dropping the parchment onto the cobblestones, I sprint back toward the grand entrance of the stronghold. Tearing across the courtyard, the sheer speed of my Khuzuth physiology carries me up the sweeping central staircase in a blur of black leather and violence.
My enemies have infiltrated.
They are inside my walls.
And they are hunting Megan.