Chapter 4
It didn’t take long for the guard at the Silver Lily to show his true intentions. After leading me to a dark room filled with chairs, he lunged for my hair as soon as the door clicked shut.
I anticipated the move, sidestepped, and then slid the dagger into his throat, backing him into a chair.
Now, my dagger swipes clean across the slumped guard’s tunic, his eyes open. I’d feel sorry for having him believe I was a courtesan if he hadn’t been so aggressive. But I don’t.
King Elion doesn’t care how I complete a mission, just as long as it’s done, and I’ve never had any complaints about it. Unfortunately, this has allowed me to complete my missions at a much faster rate because males have no common sense.
As soon as a female bats an eyelash, all the blood drains from their face and into their member.
I hate doing it though, becoming this person, as it’s what I do when I want to finish a mission quickly. To be alluring and convincing enough to get these males to spill or allow me access into a private building. It’s what works—luring them to their death with a simple flirtatious grin.
Not always but sometimes.
If my life were different, I’d imagine a quiet one. One without killing and manipulation. One where I could live peacefully by myself.
It definitely wouldn’t be this.
Luckily for me, this will be an easy mission if this is how the rest of the night is going to be.
Blowing the hair out of my face, I fix my dress and check for blood, turning to the vanity behind me.
All clean, not a single drop.
My hair is a mess, leaving me to ensure my auburn mark remains hidden as I stare at my reflection in this frilly olive-green dress. Although similar to what the innkeepers wear, this one hugs tight around my chest, accentuating my muscled figure.
I didn’t choose to be an assassin—a weapon. Smile and be grateful, I was told. But I scoff at the thought.
Given? More like forced into. It’s not like I had a choice, not really. Especially not at five years old, needing to survive, be fed and housed.
I could disappear if I wanted to since money isn’t an issue, but where would I go—north or south? A city or a town? The quiet conflict of leaving or staying pulls at me, and no matter how hard I try, it’s one I never can seem to explain.
Still I remain at the castle, unable to find the courage to leave as my duty to King Elion trumps my urge to leave.
I pat myself, feeling for my daggers before turning the crystal knob with a sigh, looking over my shoulder one last time to scan the chamber behind me.
Finally, the door creaks open and I scan the corridor. Still empty.
I quickly note where everything is, having passed by in a blur to follow the guard. The ledger desk sits straight ahead, and across the desk is the guest corridor, leading back into the building. It’s a little after ten but not very many are up, and thankfully, the inn isn’t busy.
On silent feet, I rush down the hall, reaching the front desk for the names on the inn’s ledger.
“No,” I mutter, flipping the thick pages. “No, not him. No—” I stop flipping and grin as I tap the only name in red with a finger.
Alec Thorne, room eleven. Just who I’m looking for.
Quickly grabbing extra rags, I stuff them in my arms to blend in as an innkeeper. My pace is slow and controlled as I casually walk down the hall.
Since the Silver Lily is a private inn, we use Helga, the innkeeper, as one of our informants.
She’s the one who relays information to the king, usually by a leaf message, which is Elderheim’s quickest way of communicating.
After scribbling on a leaf, you light it with the intention of sending it to who you want, vanishing only to arrive next to the recipient.
Helga is how we knew about Alec in the first place.
My steps come to a halt at room eleven and I knock, looking down as I wait. “Sir Thorne, I have towels for you!”
It doesn’t take long before shuffling emerges from behind the door. At last, the door clicks open, and I glance up.
The Fae male towers over me, his large frame taking up the entirety of the doorway.
His pointed ears peek out from beneath his perfectly tousled auburn hair, as if he just rolled out of bed.
I scan him, noticing his strong jaw, light-colored eyes, and a faint scar across the right side of his upper lip.
My eyes narrow at the scar, the familiarity of it, though he’s the most striking Fae I’ve ever seen.
He looks down, then back up in a deliberate once-over, tilting his head to the side with a squint. I shift my gaze down and sheepishly extend the rags—feigning innocence—but he doesn’t take them.
“Who are you? I didn’t ask for these.” His voice is low and smooth but seemingly annoyed.
Then my stomach drops at the sound of his voice. I recognize it. It’s the male from the brothel last night. Now that I can see him without a mask, I almost groan. Why does he have to be attractive?
It’s too bad I have to kill him, but now I suddenly find myself wanting to bolt in the opposite direction. Instead, I stand with lethal composure, giving him a soft, convincing smirk right before I lunge.
In a whirl of movement, I toss the rags in his face.
My dagger slices through the air to swiftly swipe across his neck, but before the blade makes contact, he sharply pivots to the side, movements precise and fluid.
His body twists, quickly darting back into the room, leaving me no choice but to follow him in.
I grunt and lunge again, and the faint hiss of my blade grazes past as I swipe, but I don’t make contact. Instead of him retreating like I expected, he steps into me, his arm deflecting my strike with ease, and before I can recover, his fist drives into the side of my ribs.
Crying out, I stumble back as the impact knocks the air from me, his counterattack catching me off guard. I dart out of his range when the door clicks shut, but my eyes focus on him slowly circling like a predator.
“Who are you?” he growls, icy rage sliding into place.
My eyes flick to the daggers in his hands, dark as night, as if they’re swirling in shadow. He twirls them, widening his stance with a knowing grin, circling the chair near the wall.
I quickly scan the room. The area is spacious—the bed rests against the windows, and there’s enough room for a chair and a small fireplace. I’ll have to work around the furniture, but I can do it.
“I’m Isa Valedara,” I get out, tilting my head. “Here by order of King Elion.”
I catch a flash of surprise before it vanishes, and I smirk, eyeing my new threat. Maybe he recognizes me. Or perhaps he’s heard about the king’s specially trained guards. Whatever it is, he ignores it, easily keeping his pace with mine as he assesses my footwork. He’s clearly skilled.
He throws me a menacing grin. “Just who I wanted to see. Couldn’t wait to see me again, darling? You know, I was just thinking about you and what I wanted to do right between those legs.” Ah, so he does recognize me.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t going back,” I say, but I know that’s a lie, especially with how quick a heat settled low in my core.
I had every intention of going back tonight, but my mission is more important than a quick release.
I suddenly fling the chair to the side, allowing more space as we continue to dance around each other, waiting for someone to make a move.
“How did you know it was me?” I ask.
He grins. “Oh, I’d recognize your sultry voice anywhere, but I think you were going to go back.” He glances down at my breasts, and I realize the mask I tucked between them has begun to fall out. Shit. “Tell me, did you think of me while you were with Bess?”
“No!” I grunt, lunging again as I attempt to swipe across his middle.
But he’s fast—so fast that his movements blur in the dim light and I barely see him move.
One moment he’s in front of me, and the next, he’s behind.
I blink, and an eerie chill scurries down my spine as I realize he’s no longer where I thought he was.
My muscles tense as his arm comes across my neck, the other holding my arms down to prevent me from stabbing him.
Normally, I’d be able to get out of this maneuver, but he is… really fucking strong, and I grunt against his hold. His grip is firm but not tight enough to cut off my air. I pant beneath him, squirming to get free.
Usually, killing Fae is easy—a slice to the throat, the head, or even the heart, but this one knows how to fight and fight well.
“I bet you did think of me,” he whispers low in my ear, causing a shudder to run through me.
“But how would you feel if I told you I’ve been looking for you?
And I’m not speaking about the Painted Bird.
You are Isa, the only female in the Veiled Brotherhood.
Tell me if I’m right…” he murmurs, his breath hot against my cheek.
“Let’s see, you’re best friends with Ezra, instructed by Ren Demaris, and captured at five… years… old.”
I squirm, using all my strength to break free, but he doesn’t budge. “What do you mean?” I grit my teeth. “Who are you, and how do you know who I am?”
My head spins, wondering who King Elion sent me to kill if he’s this skilled in combat and has been looking for me—how does he know that about me? He shouldn’t know anything about me, and I know that some of my targets can fight, but not like this. This is years’ worth of skill—centuries, even.
His mouth moves against my temple as if rising in a smirk when he whispers, “I’m your past, present, and future.”
My frustration bubbles, and I cry out right before my head snaps back, connecting with his nose. He releases me, and in an instant, I whirl around with my blade. He quickly ducks, flicking his tongue over the blood dripping down to his perfectly scarred lip.
“Mm,” he says, eyes gleaming with amusement. “I like when they’re mean.”
My eyes narrow. “Well, pretty soon, you won’t like anything.”