I Had Full Confidence
SERAPHAE
We would arrive in Verdant after a three-day ride. You'd think a fae kingdom would have something with wings. Magical stallions, perhaps. A portal at least. Maybe even plunging ourselves into that cauldron Xander and I had seen, the one people threw parcels into.
Instead, Caelan and I shared a carriage pulled by an ordinary horse.
I had spent the first part of the trip asking Caelan where he had sent Xander. Each time with increasingly creative consequences.
By the time he finally told me, I was certain he found my threats entertaining.
Xander was on the way to investigate whoever had sent me to Twilight.
I spent the second part of the trip worrying about what that meant and whether he was safe.
Only Maelor rode beside our carriage, and Riven was to meet us later.
If Riven was successful in finding someone who sold veil ash, we could bypass the Hollow and avoid dying there.
Fae didn't rely on numbers the way humans did. A commander and a bonded assassin were apparently more efficient than a dozen armored men. But given that we were infiltrating a kingdom, numbers wouldn't do us any good either.
I had changed from heels to boots for travel. Instead of a dress, I wore a tunic and a cotton skirt. Practical.
Although winter was starting to fade, it was still cold enough that I regretted leaving my cloak with the rest of the luggage.
I hugged myself and thought about last night.
Asking him to spar with me was reasonable.
I sparred with Xander all the time. Then I had asked him to kiss me, which was less reasonable and entirely the wine's fault.
I had thought about it since the dance and had thought about little else.
I would have taken him somewhere quiet and kissed him until he forgot what composure felt like.
It could have been any handsome man. That was the important thing to remember. The gods had been sending men across my path my entire life, and Caelan Vaelor was the latest iteration of that. It meant nothing. The wanting could have happened to any pretty face. It didn't have to be him.
The important thing was that nothing happened.
Though it could have.
He could have stayed last night when my legs had made their own decision about load-bearing and he had to carry me to my bed. I remembered saying something about him being such a gentleman. Then his expression shifted and he looked like he was fighting a war with the gods themselves.
I was not going to think about how I felt about that.
The carriage ride dragged on.
I fell asleep against the window and woke up with a cloak across my shoulders that hadn't been there before. It smelled like night air. Clean and dark, bergamot and citrus underneath. The scent of him, familiar now. I breathed it in and immediately resented myself for it.
I didn't return it. It was lined with silk and softer than any cloak I owned. I had decided it was mine for the duration of the trip.
He didn't ask for it back.
On the second day, I had contemplated my life, considered thirty-two ways I wanted to kill him, and revised half of them when I got bored.
By the third day, boredom had become a genuine threat to Primoria.
I had counted the rivets in the paneling.
The flowers embroidered on the cushions.
The number of times the wheel caught on the loose stones in the road.
Boredom, I had discovered, did dangerous things to a person.
It made silence feel like something that needed filling.
It made the person sitting across from you look like a reasonable option for conversation.
“There are sixty-seven rivets in the paneling,” I told him.
Caelan looked up from whatever he was thinking about and blinked.
I crossed my arms. “I'm bored.”
He smiled. “That's dangerous.”
“It is for you.” I crossed my legs too. “So how old are you, anyway?”
“Two hundred and eight.”
I considered that for a moment. “But what is that in human years?”
He tilted his head. “I don't understand the question.”
“You know.” I waved my hand around. “One dire wolf year is equivalent to about ten human years.”
He quirked a single eyebrow. “You're comparing my lifespan,” he said, a disbelieving smile playing on his lips, “to a dog.”
I shrugged.
The smile turned into something else. Those blue eyes settled on me with the kind of attention that shouldn't exist in a moving carriage. “I can think of some things to keep you occupied if you're that desperate for entertainment.”
I uncrossed my legs and leaned in. “What did you have in mind?” I wasn’t stupid. I knew exactly what he was doing. But I was curious about what nonsense he was going to say.
His gaze dropped to my mouth and came back up. The amusement in his expression softened. “Something that involves someone inconveniently pressed against a wall.”
I narrowed my eyes at him as the carriage rolled over an uneven patch of road.
We jolted forward.
An inch closer.
The desire to close the remaining distance sat low in my chest.
His smile had gone, pupils slightly dilated, darkening his eyes.
My pulse quickened.
Before the gods could truly test me, I pulled back and cleared my throat. Then I stared out the window with great purpose while my pulse worked its way back to something professional.
“Tell me about the Obsidian Hand,” he said after a moment.
I turned to him.
“I want to know you,” he added.
“Why don't you tell me about yourself instead?”
“Alright.” He considered this with genuine thought, which I hadn't expected. “I find myself unhelpfully drawn to you.”
I snorted. “Tell me something I don't know.”
He held my gaze for a moment as he decided what he wanted to disclose.
“I talk to plants.”
The laugh that came out of me was not attractive. It involved more of my face than intended. “I'm sorry.” I smoothed my skirt that didn't need smoothing. “I must have heard wrong.”
“I talk to plants,” he said again, with perfect calm. “I walk through the garden sometimes and just talk. It's nice. They're very good listeners.”
I pressed my lips together. My cheeks puffed when another laugh tried to escape.
“The silverbells are especially good,” he added cheerfully. “Very attentive.”
I wiped my eyes and recalibrated everything I thought I knew about the Prince of Twilight. The man who held untamed magic, who was deemed dangerous and unstable by two realms, spoke to flowers and found them responsive.
“Now tell me something about yourself.”
I considered it. Debated how much I was willing to give and settled on one thing.
“I want to keep chickens.”
His brow lifted. “Chickens?”
“Yes.”
“The birds.”
“Yes.” I folded my hands. “I've always wanted them. They're useful. Eggs. Alarm system.” I shot him a warning look when his lips quivered and continued. “They're highly judgmental. Keeps you humble.”
He laughed. Unguarded and real, one that surprised even him. It changed his whole face for a moment before he caught it.
I found myself smiling before I noticed I was doing it.
When it faded, we both looked out the window. There was nothing but trees and fields and farmlands. I caught him glancing over once, and when I looked, he smiled and turned back to the window.
I didn't think about what that meant.
I was very deliberate about not thinking about it.
The inn sat just half a day's ride from the Mourning Wild.
A crooked sign swung above a door that looked like it would fall off its hinges if you breathed near it.
On the front step, someone had placed a bowl of brightly colored flowers, still fresh, with two sticks of incense burning beside them.
The smoke curled up slow and fragrant. An offering to nature for giving Primoria its magic. Silver Night was close.
Inside, the inn was fuller than its size warranted. Most of the travelers still had their packs strapped, cloaks not yet hung, all wearing Verdant colors—shades of green. They were heading to Silver Night, which meant we were moving with the perfect cover.
Maelor took the horses to the stables and left Caelan and me alone at the tavern.
Before he went, he handed me a dagger. I tried not to be surprised by it and failed by gaping at him until he actually started to look concerned.
I held it like it was sacred. The blade was longer than what I was used to, but it was a weapon and I hadn't touched one since the cursed dagger. When you've had steel against your skin every day since you were eight, not having it feels like something missing.
Before we sat down, I did a sweep of the room. It was a habit. Six tables with clear sightlines to the door. Two back exits. Windows on three sides with a large open one above the bar. A musician in the corner was very ambitious with a flute.
I had expected Maelor to empty the tavern before he left, but Caelan said it would attract more attention than it solved.
My fingers found the cool metal of the sheath at my waist.
Still there.
Caelan studied me from across the table. His face unreadable.
I dropped my hand from the blade and held his gaze. “What?”
The tavern maid arrived before he could answer.
She set down plates with her attention fixed exclusively on Caelan.
I might as well have been another piece of furniture.
He thanked her with a smile that made her beam in a way that suggested this was the best part of her evening. She retreated reluctantly.
Caelan ignored the room entirely and built a plate. Meat first. Then vegetables. Then bread. He passed it to me without comment.
I stared at it.
He kept holding it out, head tipped slightly. “Problem?”
Yes. A prince serving me. That felt illegal.
I took it slowly. “No.”
The food wasn't terrible, which was a minor miracle, considering the inn looked like it had personally fought in the Primorian War.
Caelan had ordered a bottle of something that pretended to be wine. It was disgusting.
I drank it anyway because they all worked the same once swallowed.
We were halfway through dinner when the first window broke at the west wall.
A figure came through fast. The confident entry of someone who thought they knew which way things would go. I had the dagger off my belt before the glass finished falling.
I vaulted the table next to ours, went low beneath his guard, and slashed up. He went down before he crossed the room.
The second one came through the window above the bar.
I moved toward him, kicked a chair back that landed between me and the third one coming through the east window.
I took the bar one first because height had been a problem for me before, but I caught him on the way down and redirected his momentum against him.
Three was lunging for me when I twisted to face him. He slashed for my throat and missed. I grabbed his wrist, turned, and drove the dagger into his abdomen. He folded, perfectly angled for my dagger to drive into his neck too.
Four and five came through the side door together. Four took me longer than the rest because five kept getting in the way. Then five ran for the window. I threw the dagger. He didn't make it out.
Five assassins, four points of entry, designed to overwhelm.
The tavern went completely silent.
The musician had stopped playing. Chaos had erupted at some point, but I hadn't noticed. A couple of merchants were under a table, staring at me standing in the middle of the floor surrounded by five men in various states of incapacitation. A knife still quivering in the window frame.
I walked back to the table, still breathless, and sat down. Then I picked up my fork and looked at Caelan.
He was still eating.
He had not stopped eating. Not at the first window, not at the second, not at any point when five professional assassins came through every opening in the room.
He was working through his roast with the same unhurried energy he gave everything.
He finally looked up when I sat down as if he had been waiting patiently.
I stared at him.
He cut another piece of meat.
“You could have helped,” I said as mildly as I could.
He looked around the room, then back at me.
“Mm.” He reached for his wine. “You seemed to have it.”
“That's not the—“ I stopped and breathed. Decided against committing treason tonight. “Does this happen often?”
“The windows specifically? No. Usually, it's the street.” He considered. “Once, it was a chandelier. That one was creative.”
He ate another bite. “These five were professional, but the coordination was off. Different syndicates. Someone hired from multiple contractors, which means whoever hired them isn't sure which had the better odds.”
I kept staring at him.
“You analyzed them,” I said. “While I was—“
“While you were handling it,” he said pleasantly. “Yes.”
“You could have—“
“I had full confidence,” he said. “You're my guard, Sera. I pay you very well to handle exactly this.” Then he added as if it would make things better, “You were spectacular.”
“You pay me because of the bond—“
“I pay you,” he said, with a faint smile, “because you just took out five in under two minutes in a dress.” His gaze dropped to the cotton skirt and lingered. “That's worth every coin.”
“I want a raise,” I said.
He looked at me over his cup. “Fine.”
Caelan flagged down the barkeep, pressed enough coin into his hand to cover the windows and the inconvenience and probably a new roof if he wanted one.
I ate my bread. It was still warm.
“They weren't after me,” he said, voice meant only for the table.
I stopped chewing.
He was right. The entry points, the angles, the way they had moved through the room. None of them had gone for Caelan. They had come straight for me.
His eyes lifted and held mine. “Someone knows about the bond.”
The implication sat between us like a third person at the table.
They had decided I was the easier target.
I looked at the cut on my forearm. At the tattoo above it, black and unbothered against my skin.
Another possibility was that the Hand was sending assassins after me for the miss. The realization that I might be hunted by both realms made it suddenly harder to breathe.
I picked up my wine and finished it.
It was still disgusting.