Califer's fist slammed into the mahogany desk, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the small, stifling office. A stack of documents took flight, fluttering to the floor like dying birds with clipped wings.
"What do you mean you failed?" His voice was a low, dangerous rumble, the kind that preceded a landslide.
I stood at stiff attention, the porcelain mask back in place. It was a shield, hiding the dark circles under my eyes and the frantic rhythm of my heart. "An intruder," I said, my voice as steady as the blade at my hip. "He was waiting in the princess's chambers. He was skilled—perhaps the first I've met who truly matched my pace."
Califer's eyes narrowed. The blind fury in them shifted into something far more dangerous: a sharp, predatory curiosity. He leaned forward, the shadows of the room clinging to the deep lines of his face. "Did you see him? Did you see his face?"
I hesitated. For a split second, the gray walls of the office vanished, replaced by the memory of molten gold eyes and a face that looked like it had been sculpted from starlight. I felt that strange, traitorous heat crawl up my neck again.
"No," I lied, the word like a shard of ice. "He was masked. Just like me."
Califer leaned back, his leather chair groaning under his weight. He studied me for a long, agonizing beat, searching for a crack in my armor, a tremor in my hands. Finally, he grinned—a jagged, yellowed expression that never reached his eyes. "Interesting. A ghost protecting a princess. I will overlook this failure for now, Reaper. But do not make a habit of coming back empty-handed. In the Hive, a weapon that misfires is discarded. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Good. Dismissed."
I exited the office, the heavy door thudding shut behind me. The air in the Hive's main artery was thick with the stench of stale ale, sweat, and the metallic tang of whetstones. This was the belly of the beast—a labyrinth of stone where the kingdom's most ruthless blades lounged against the walls. Some roared with drunken laughter; others sharpened daggers with a rhythmic shing-shing-shing that set my teeth on edge.
I ignored them, my gaze fixed on the distance. To them, I was a legend, a nightmare in white porcelain. To me, they were just noise.
"Leaving so soon?" A massive figure detached itself from the gloom, blocking the corridor.
Jak. He was a brute who relied on muscle because his mind was a wasteland of spite and ego.
"Move aside, Jak," I said. It wasn't a request; it was a warning bell.
"And if I don't?" He smirked, glancing at his cronies for the appreciation he so clearly craved. "What's the matter, Reaper? Did the little princess break your toy? Maybe you're getting soft. Maybe you're just a little girl playing dress-up in a dead man's title."
I stepped into his space, the temperature in the hall seeming to drop ten degrees. "Move. Or I will end you."
"Oh, I'm shaking!" he mocked, leaning down until his foul, fermented breath hit my mask. "Is the little princess going to cry?"
In one fluid motion, I slammed him against the stone wall. The back of his head hit with a sickening crack. Before he could draw breath to scream, my hand moved—not for my rapier, but for the throwing dagger strapped to my thigh. I drove it upward, straight into his chest.
The blade found his heart with surgical precision.
Jak's eyes went wide, his smirk dissolving into a wet, crimson gargle. He slumped against the stone, the life draining out of him in a messy tide that stained his shirt and the floor. I looked around the hall, my eyes burning behind the mask. The laughter had died instantly. Every killer in the corridor was frozen, hands hovering over their hilts.
"If anyone else wants to test the 'Princess,'" I hissed, my voice echoing in the sudden silence, "step forward. I have plenty of daggers left."
No one moved. They just watched as I reached over, yanked my blade from Jak's cooling chest, and wiped the blood on his own collar.
"Clean this mess up," I commanded.
I turned and walked away, my boots clicking rhythmically on the stone.
"Nice show, Lysia," a voice called out from the shadows—likely Dylan, the only one who dared use my name—but I didn't stop.
I reached my quarters and sealed the heavy iron door, the bolts sliding home with a finality that brought a hollow sort of peace. The room was cold, silent, and stark. I was the only one in the Hive who lived alone. No one was brave enough to sleep in the same room as the Black Reaper, and I preferred the company of shadows to the breathing of a stranger.
I unbuckled my weapon belt and set my rapier on the table. As I pulled off my mask, I caught my reflection in the cracked mirror by the washbasin. My face was pale, my lips trembling.
I reached for the water to wash the day away, but my hand stopped mid-air. I looked at my fingers—the same fingers that had just taken Jak's life without a second thought. Then, I remembered the way the golden-eyed stranger had looked at me in the garden. He hadn't looked at me with the fear Jak's cronies did, or the disgust I felt for myself. He had looked at me with... recognition.
I sank onto my bed, burying my face in my hands. Jak's comment about being a "little girl" stung more than I wanted to admit. He didn't know how close to the truth he was.
"Who were you?" I whispered to the empty room.
I knew one thing for certain: Califer wouldn't let the Dresvan contract go. He was a shark that had tasted blood. If I didn't finish the job, someone like Kaelen would be sent. And if that stranger was still there, the Hive was heading for a war it wasn't prepared for.
I lay back, staring at the ceiling, the lullaby of my mother humming softly in the back of my mind. For the first time in years, the darkness didn't feel like a sanctuary. It felt like a prison. I wanted to know why a man with eyes like the sun was protecting a girl in a white dress.
And more importantly, I wanted to know why, for one brief moment in that garden, he had made me feel like Lysia again.