The man held up both hands in surrender, his posture calm but not afraid.
“I mean you no harm,” he said quickly, voice smooth, practiced.
He was dressed in the muted browns and grays of a Kruisaan court courier—nondescript, forgettable. His cloak was worn but finely stitched. His boots were clean. Too clean.
“Excuse me if I don’t believe you,” I said sharply, heart thudding in my throat, “seeing as you just broke into my room.”
He bowed slightly, not apologetic—controlled.
“I waited until morning,” he said. “Your squad will wake soon. I simply came to relay a message… from the Crimson Sigil.”
My spine straightened.
I was still in a tunic, bare-legged, unarmed, but I refused to let that show.
“What is your message?” I asked, my voice like ice.
The man tilted his head. “A warning. And a chance.” He stepped forward, just once, enough that I could see the fine scar down his cheek.
“You are being watched, Ashlyn. The purge is coming, and those tied to the crown will not be spared.”
My fists clenched. “And what? You think I’ll betray them?”
“Not betray. Return,” he said, his eyes flickering. “You are a daughter of the Order. Join his legacy, and you will be spared when the cleansing begins. The Crimson Sigil honors your heritage.”
The silence stretched for a beat.
Then I laughed.
Loud. Bitter.
“He sold me,” I spat, taking a step forward now. “He doesn’t own me. Not then. Not now. Not ever.”
The man’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue. He only nodded once, slowly, like he had expected that answer all along.
“Then you’ve made your choice,” he said. “I hope you survive it.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Slipping from my room like a shadow, leaving behind the stench of threats wrapped in silk.
I dressed in silence, my fingers moving through the familiar motions, buckling leathers, tightening bracers, binding my hair back.
But nothing felt right. Not after what had just happened.
The courier’s voice still echoed in my skull like a curse.Join his legacy, and you will be spared when the cleansing begins.
I locked the door behind me.
My squad was already gathering in the hallway, rubbing sleep from their eyes, their exhaustion still clinging to them like soot.
Zander waited at the end of the hall, arms crossed, posture alert despite the weight beneath his eyes.
“This way,” he said simply, and we followed without question.
He led us into a small side room with a stone hearth and a long table. Bread, cheese, and roasted meats had already been laid out, along with a pitcher of watered wine and a single carafe of coffee that Jax claimed like it was sacred.
We sat, grateful for food and quiet.
