Asher
The chamber reeked of smoke, gunpowder, and betrayal.
My Betrayal
Adrian's voice still rang in my head. Those disgusting words, his "options" for Rose. Cousin or servant. Wife or slave.
That wasn't the plan. That wasn't the damn plan.
We had agreed that Rose would be given forty-eight hours to step down from the Viper seat. That was it. A clean ultimatum. Hard but survivable.
Instead, Adrian bared his sickness for everyone to see, wrapping his obsession in velvet and chains. The way his lips curled when he said the word marry
I wanted to break his jaw right there in front of them all.
My fists itched, my blood burned, but I stayed still. Calculated stillness is a weapon, and I never draw unless I mean to kill.
Then Rose moved.
She didn't shake. She didn't cower. She rose like a storm rising over the sea—unpredictable, beautiful, and terrifying.
Her voice cut through the hall, each syllable like steel striking steel. "I'll take the third option."
I held my breath.
Adrian laughed, confused, smug. "And what option is that?"
She lifted her gun, steady as a god's hand, and whispered it like a vow.
"Your head."
The crack of the shot tore through the obsidian hall. The bullet grazed his ear, ripping flesh, spilling blood down his neck. Adrian screamed, stumbling back, clutching his head as crimson ran through his fingers.
The families erupted. Shouts. Gasps. Some laughed nervously, others cursed.
But me?
My chest burned with something close to pride.
That was my girl.
The woman who didn't bend, didn't break. The woman who looked death in the eye and spat in its face. She wasn't fragile porcelain, she was wildfire, and tonight she had lit the entire council aflame.
And then she turned.
Smoke still curled from her barrel, her cloak sweeping behind her like a queen's mantle. "War it is."
Not a tremor in her voice. Not a flicker of hesitation. She walked out, Cassian, Mica, and Nyla flanking her.
Not once did she look back at me.
That hurt more than any bullet could.
They carried Adrian to his chamber, bleeding and wailing like a pig. Shadowhand slithered behind, whispering poison comfort, but I followed in silence. Silence heavier than thunder.
Inside, the doctor hovered over him, hands trembling as he cleaned the torn flesh. The smell of blood soaked the air.
"It will heal in three weeks," the doctor murmured, his voice shaking.
"Three weeks?" Adrian spat, his voice nasal from blood clogging his nose. "Three weeks with half an ear? Because of her?! Fuck!"
My voice was low, steady, cold. "Why didn't you follow the plan?"
Adrian froze. His good eye darted to me. He tried to muster arrogance, but fear flickered through. "Why should I? The house was going to be mine anyway. Why wait?"
Shadowhand leaned against the wall, mask gleaming. "You should've hidden it better. Desire makes men careless." His tone was almost amused, and it sickened me.
I said nothing.
When the bandage was tied, I spoke: "Everyone. Leave."
The command was soft, but it landed like a guillotine.
The doctor dropped his scalpel. The maids scurried out, skirts rustling like frightened birds. Even Shadowhand hesitated before bowing and slipping into the hall.
Only Adrian remained.
He licked blood from his lips, tried to straighten. "Look, Asher… I know I messed up. I got carried away. But you understand…."
"Be quiet" I slid my watch from my wrist. Set it carefully on the table with a sharp click.
Rolled my sleeves.
Turned toward him.
His words died. His eyes widened. For the first time tonight, he saw me not the ally, not the strategist, but the nightmare whispered about in this world's darkest corners.
"Asher," he croaked, shrinking into the chair. "Wait. Let's talk…"
My fist slammed into his face.
The crunch of bone was deafening. His nose snapped, blood exploding across his mouth. He screamed, but I didn't stop.
Another blow. His lip split, teeth clattering onto the floor. His head whipped sideways, blood spattering the wall.
He swung at me, desperate, wild, but he was slow. Pathetic. I caught his wrist, twisted until the joint gave with a sickening crack. His scream rattled the windows.
I didn't relent. My fists were metronomes of destruction, pounding his ribs until I felt them bend, hammering his gut until he retched blood.
Then his ear. The one she had marked. The one she had claimed.
I smashed it again. And again. Each strike sending sprays of red across my knuckles, each scream weaker than the last. Flesh tore, cartilage crumbled. By the fourth hit, the ear was nothing but a mangled ruin.
Adrian slumped, his good eye swollen, his chest heaving. He was a grotesque painting of ruin jaw shattered, teeth missing, ear unrecognizable.
I stood, breath steady, blood dripping from my fists.
"Have a wipe."
His mangled hand fumbled across the table, picked up a cloth. He held it out with trembling fingers. I took it, cleaned my knuckles with meticulous calm, and set it down again.
Then I left him in his ruin.
Shadowhand stood outside. His gaze flicked to my hands, bruised and bloodied, but he said nothing. Only, "Call the doctor."
The drive to the villa was silent. My chest ached not from the fight, but from the memory of her walking away without looking at me.
Inside, the halls were quiet, soaked in shadows. The scent of roses lingered faintly. Her scent.
I found myself standing before her door. My hand hovered near the wood, inches away from knocking.
I wanted to go in. To kneel before her, to tell her the truth that this wasn't betrayal, not from me. That I had bled for her in ways she didn't even know yet. That would burn the world for her
But what if she hated me now? What if the fire in her eyes was only for burning me?
I turned away.
I would gather my things. Leave before dawn.
I entered my guest room. Dark, except for the silver spill of moonlight across the bed.
My instincts flared. The air wasn't empty. A figure lay on the mattress. I pulled my gun, safety clicking off, barrel raised.
I stepped closer.
And froze.
It was her.
Rose.
She lay curled in my bed, hair scattered across the sheets like rivers of silk, each strand kissed by moonlight. Her face glowed with a softness I had never seen in the day, lashes long against her cheeks, lips parted as though whispering secrets even in sleep.
The sight knocked the air from my lungs.
I lowered the gun, heart pounding. I sat on the edge of the bed, eyes drinking her in like a starving man.
Every scar of mine, every drop of blood, every shadow of violence none of it mattered. Not when she was here.
"Beautiful," I whispered, the word torn from my chest like a confession.
I stood, forcing myself to leave. To go before the temptation grew too strong.
But then
Her hand. Soft. Warm. Wrapping around my wrist like a shackle I would never break free from.
Her voice, small but undeniable, brushed against the silence.
"Don't go."