3. A New Threat
A New Threat
Cahira
Cahira twisted the dagger between her fingers.
An anxious trait she never outgrew since her swordmaster had taught her the trick at age twelve.
She hid within the fog cloaking the bathhouse.
Lavender and rosemary oils perfumed the luxurious space.
The faintest breeze of cool air slithered into the room, the only tell her target had entered.
Soft pitter-patter of elegant feet echoed against the walls.
Water rippled as the woman entered the bath with a content sigh, unbeknownst to her, death stood a mere foot away.
The woman took a deep breath before dipping her head underwater and swimming closer to her demise.
Cahira scoffed and glided her boots on the slick marbled floor, straight to the edge.
She crouched and drew the curved dagger at her hip, waiting with steady hands.
The woman’s agile body floated to the top and she slicked her brown hair away from her face. A ghost of a smile danced on her lips as if she kept a secret, but there were no secrets within the Arkan palace and no one collected them as well as Cahira did.
She snatched the back of the woman’s head, fingers tangling into her hair, and yanked her backward. Eyes which seconds ago held a calming peace widened in shock, and then recognition.
“Nothing personal, darling. The King of Arkan makes enemies of us all,” Cahira whispered.
Her blade sliced through flesh and sinew, straight to the bone.
A wet, gurgling plea choked from the incision.
Cahira watched the light fade from her eyes before pushing her body face-first into the water.
Blood spread in the pool until the entire top layer was the same vibrant color as the ruby potent ring on her finger.
She dipped her blade into the soapy bubbles, washing away any remnants of her victim.
Slipping a gloved finger underneath the latch of the window she lifted and swung the shutters wide.
The last warm breeze of the season drifted in, clearing the fog and filling it with the sweet smells of the gardens below.
Winter was setting, even in the south. The chill of the sea air whipped at her face as she hauled herself up from the window ledge and onto the parapet.
She raced on top of rooftops and scaled brick downspouts.
The palace drew closer with each leap and bound.
She was thankful her rooms were only on the third floor.
Her fingers ached and arms burned as she flipped onto the balcony, landing with a soft thud.
A sigh escaped her lips as she bit at the tips of her gloves, removing them with ease and tossing them onto the table.
Her rooms were immaculate and spacious and a disgusting shade of cotton pink.
As a princess she had much to lose, especially compared to Kaiden.
He was heir to the throne, the future king.
The very title made her lip curl in disgust. Any fatuous dreams of marrying into a promising kingdom like any doe-eyed noble was dashed to the depths the moment the king required an inside spy — an assassin — with skills only an heir of Valencia could possess.
As the “extra” child, she had been the perfect clay to mold into a killer.
The only dolls she played with were the ones given to her as target practice.
The welts, cuts, blows, falls and damaging words which created her childhood were a true testament to the meaning of strength over blood.
A legacy created by her great, great-grandfather and upheld like a badge of honor by the king.
A reminder to all. It didn’t matter who you were, if you were not a cold and ruthless individual who won at all cost …
well you had no place in the Valencia court, least of all in the family.
She shed her fighting leathers which were encrusted in phoenix scales and unsheathed countless blades concealed within the slips of her hooded cloak.
In the palace, like her brother, she covered her true face behind the docile, beautiful princess she fooled the kingdom with.
Here, long blonde hair tumbled down her back in neat curls and pins instead of the whip of a braid she usually wore.
Instead of skintight leathers, she had donned a decadent dress of ruby opal.
Tiny diamonds glinted like fire in the sunlight and added a bronze appearance to her skin.
Cahira’s gaze caught on a slip of paper by her door. Neat penmanship was written in one line. She didn’t need to know what the words read. The royal seal at the bottom gave her the only answer she needed.
Her father had called for her. Never a good sign.
Dread slowed her steps as she made her way to the tower and into the war room. A large dome-shaped space with high vaulted windows, allowing light to pour in and heat the area. The clock struck midday, chiming throughout the palace.
“Always early,” a dark and familiar voice said from the doorway.
Cahira forced herself not to stiffen, instead kept her gaze on the ceiling, which painted a stunning depiction of the first war.
Her indifference to the king was the one thing he found amusing.
Even Kaiden bowed his head in respect, but she knew the monster which lurked behind his crowd-pleasing smile and glacial eyes.
During these small moments together, she sometimes caught the old remnants of her father before the war stirred his bloodlust, and before the darkness dug its claws into his heart, rotting and decaying what once beat so strongly there.
Their mother. Kaiden. Herself.
It never lasted long, and as she grew older she had stopped searching for the minuscule moments when they would share any genuine connection.
It was only when she realized the day she had stopped caring was the day he finally found her deserving.
When she had already grown heartless and given up any hope for a snippet of love, he accepted her as the “perfect” daughter.
From her peripheral the king moved stealthily toward the large table cut in the shape of Peraynia.
His face was unmoving and completely unreadable as he neared her.
No smile graced his lips as he gave her a once-over.
She knew she was a walking reminder of her mother.
The only consolation was that it might cause him pain to look upon her.
She smiled at the thought and finally lowered her gaze to watch him.
The king had chosen a cutting shade of onyx which seemed to swallow light itself.
The long sleeves cuffed at his wrists and the cloth neckline dipped into an oval, showing the barest hint of scars.
Even as a middle-aged man, his physique was admirable and a true testament to his lethal ability.
She hated how each time he entered a room, his presence seemed to fill the space.
Everyone breathed a bit more within his absence.
He rested his hands on the table, and Cahira watched his ruby potent ring swirl with his mood.
It flickered and shot within the stone, angered at being tempered, meaning only one thing, her father was restless.
He looked out across the maps etched with mountains and rivers, deserts and oceans.
Red flags covered most of the terrain while green flags were placed soundly in the north, controlled by King Durick of Gail.
Yellow flags for Vidrena in the heart of Peraynia.
Blue flags in Zenobia where Queen Iliya reigned under Arkan siege.
South of Randale was Arkan’s territory, but the north still clung to the support of Gail.
“Did you complete my request?” He asked, placing a red flag at the edge of Crindald.
She nodded. “You’ll soon find Randale’s council has replaced their dearly departed elder with one who believes in your future.”
“Our future little phoenix.”
Never.
“Our future.” She forced a smile.
“And what about the other one?”
“Your secret died with her.”
The double doors opened as elders piled in. The king pushed off the table straightening with his hands behind his back. Cahira stilled under his scrutinizing gaze. “You’ll stay today. I will need your skills when this meeting is over.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Fintan entered behind his father and Cahira swallowed at the sight of him.
He wore a black leather vest on top of a pristine linen shirt.
The open collar showcased his dark skin and wide chest. A golden court medallion swung around his neck, with matching black pants and tall boots.
He looked every bit like death waiting to claim its next victim.
Fatal and baneful. A curved dagger was strapped to his hip and the steel glinted off the flames as he passed by a brazier.
His full lips pulled back in a brilliant smile as he shook hands with an elder.
The corner of his eyes crinkled, enlightening the scar which ran down his high cheekbone on the right of his face.
Gods above, he’s perfect.
Their gaze locked across the room, and unspoken words floated between them.
She was everything he couldn't have, and he was everything she didn’t deserve.
Cahira tucked her feelings deep behind the vault she kept locked and guarded.
She had broken his heart more than once and had no desire to do so ever again.
However, whenever he was near. It took every discipline to snuff out the other desires he lit within her.
Kaiden walked with a whispering Master Wilouhby, the eldest elder on the council and who acted almost like a grandfather to them.
She glanced at Wilouhby’s twisted and knobby fingers resting heavily on the same wooden cane he would crack across her desk when she fell asleep during long-winded lectures.
Wilouhby’s breath came in quick wheezes and he gave a bone-rattling cough into a handkerchief.
What the depths is holding him together underneath all those robes?