“Captain,” Parran’s interjection cut her off, and I couldn’t be more grateful for their sudden arrival.
Stepping through the door frame the medic had just come from, Rohen shifted her gaze between Leilani and me with suspicion. “Is there something I should be concerned about?”
“Aside from what you’ve been instructed to do?” I asked with a hint of playfulness. “No. Parran will get you into the palace with no issues, though they will not stick around. The potential danger is too high, so as soon as your feet touch the floor, you will be left to fend for yourself with your conniving mind and your knowledge of swordsmanship.”
“Lovely,” she huffed, but the sudden upward pull on the corner of her lips suggested she was far from annoyed.
She was ready.
“And what of you?” Parran queried, their large turquoise stare demanding my attention. “The announcement of a royal wedding points to a high likelihood of an increase in royal guards just outside of the castle grounds, as well as within them.”
“Oh, how you wound me.” Holding a hand up to my chest with feigned theatrics, I flicked my tongue against my canine and offered them an open-mouthed grin. “I’ll be perfectly fine.”
They blinked once, but the furrow in their brow spoke of their discontent with my brush-off. Opting to call me out on it, their ability to do so vanished as soon as Syoran rounded the corner to join us.
The cream, lightweight linen shirt Parran had offered him fit well. With him adorned once more in his usual garb—swords, leather holsters, and braided locks—he seemed far more capable than he’d been when I found him practically lifeless in the streets of Veilmar. There was something addicting about the deadly air he carried, as if he’d been blessed by the Goddess of Seduction to wield a weapon with venomous, lethal beauty.
“Is there a reason we’re waiting around?” He gestured toward the empty dock. “Where the hell is everyone?”
Huffing a chuckle, I glanced between the four of them before offering them my departing words. “Awaiting our arrival, of course.”
Steel sparked against steel, my booted foot slamming into yet another royal guard’s chest. With my weapon connected with another, I leveraged the tension he provided and sent our blades skyward to form a harsh arc. Whether granted by his stupidity or pure chance, his unprotected side became a beacon of damnation, and I freed my dagger.
Lunging forward, I carved through his side with ease. Crimson splattered, another fountain of blood tainting my skin. Cursing under his breath, I didn’t give him the chance to utter any of the gods’ names in vain before driving the weapon into his jugular.
I left it there with a plan to pick it up once we were finished, andspun on my heel to face his counterpart, whom I’d fended off momentarily. Stepping back, I felt the breeze of his sword barely miss my throat, a portion of one of my braided strands hacked clean from where it hung.
“You bear the royal crest!” he barked, parrying my attack. “You fucking traitor!”
A grunt escaped me as I readjusted my footing and tossed my blade long enough to adjust my grip. Knuckles whitening with the overhand hold I preferred—the one Caspian often berated me for—I chuckled. “Do you truly think I give a fuck about a title like that? Scream it louder!”
“The king will have you hanged!”
My brows raised as I lowered myself and, in one glide, slid across the brick street. Refined steel positioned perfectly, the tip of my sword tore through his knee. Blood and flesh squelched, the wound traversing from the front of his leg around to the back, carving him open horizontally.
A scream ripped itself from his throat as he hit the ground. Without giving him the opportunity to threaten me further, I swung the blade out and back. Decapitating him without even having to glance over my shoulder, I flicked my wrist toward the ground to rid my weapon of his lineage.
Alternating my hold on the hilt, I guided the steel back into the scabbard on my side. It only took two footfalls for me to tear my dagger from the throat of the other guard and wipe it on my pant leg before ushering it back to its home. Pushing myself upright, I whistled at the grotesque display I’d left behind, all seventeen men who’d been awaiting my arrival slain at my feet.
“Too easy,” I groaned as I turned back to the alleyway I’d been heading toward before they surrounded me.
Navigating the streets with ease, the steady drum of my boots on the streets seemed to be the only sound echoing through the inner workings of Serevalen. Each rounded corner posed no threat, and as I inched closer to the western wing of the palace, the same uncertainty I felt when we ported returned.
Sure, the expectation of attendance for the royal wedding would’ve easily cleared the streets, but the ongoing lack of military presence in the barren blocks of the town made little sense. While I knew Marellan was a senseless fool, I also knew he was smart enough to plan for an infiltration. Especially when his son had been unrightfully snatched from beneath my wing.
Unless he had something else up his sleeve?—
An instinctual dread spread through my gut as a presence unfurled behind me. It felt as if it’d come from an offshore wind, so unexpected it seemed to bloom from nothingness. Then, a timbre that contained a variance of voices came to life, making it impossible to decipher which one carried truth.
“Alastair Seridean.”
The way they spoke mirrored the same hum yet crescendo of Sorva’s voice—the Other who’d paid the king a visit during my demanded attendance. It was haunting yet beautiful, dark yet light. I slowly pivoted on my heel to face them.
Cloaked in a dark robe, the young male cocked his head to the side. A dusting of white hair peeked out from beneath it, covering his forehead with a youthfulness I knew to be a farce. Vibrant orange irises peered into the depths of my soul, the vertical sliver of a pupil serving as confirmation that they were not from here. Their otherworldly aura emanated from the relics carved into the right side of their face, the left charred beyond recognition as if the entirety of that side of their body had been set on fire.
“It seems suitable for me to request your name, considering you are acquainted with mine,” I retorted, casually settling my palm on the pommel of my sword.
Mouth curling, the scorched side of their face peeled back to reveal inky gums and serrated teeth. “While I typically do not provide my name to the scum of your lands, I am feeling rather… gracious today, considering a celebration is underway.” Their forked tongue jutted between their lips, tasting the tense air between us. “You may call me Maulix. I am Sorva’s second in command.”
