Page 127 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

There are no attendants or handmaidens around her.

I scan the garden again, checking every shadow, every corner. She’s completely alone. There are no guards hovering nearby or servants following at a distance. She crouches near the fountain, pulling something from the wooden pail.

Her knees sink into the grass. Then three cats emerge from the bushes, meowing. One is a gray tabby, another orange and white, the third solid black with white paws.

They recognize her. Their meowing is insistent and demanding. Queen Rhianelle laughs softly, breaking the fish into pieces for them. She spaces the food out so the cats don’t have to fight over them. I watch her through the leaves and try to reconcile this image with the person who holds Garrett’s life in her hands.

The Queen who could choose Damnation and order an entire house burned to nothing.

All the reports said ruthless and calculating. But none of those words fit the girl feeding cats in a garden.

The gray tabby rubs against her leg, purring loud enough that I can hear it from here. It weaves between her legs, tail wrapping around her calf. She scratches behind its ears and murmurs something too quiet for me to catch. The cat’s purring intensifies, growing louder.

They trail after her like ducklings as she moves toward the fountain. She adjusts her pace to accommodate them then sits on the fountain’s edge. Her fingertips drag across the surface lazily, watching it break into ripples as she hums a lullaby to herself.

This girl is to be Garrett’s rival, a contender for the ruthless Archon?

One of the kittens rolls onto its back at her feet, demanding belly rubs. All four paws in the air, exposing its vulnerable stomach. Rhianelle obliges, giggling as she bends down.

Her laughter twists something in my gut.

The sensation is unwelcome, unexpected. I don’t get feelings during missions. I can’t afford to. But something about this scene is working its way under my armor, finding the cracks I thought I’d sealed years ago.

Rhianelle Wiolant is not what I expected for someone raised for the throne. Instead of being surrounded by guards and sycophants, she’s surrounded by cats.

There are shadows under her eyes that the evening light can’t hide. They come from too many sleepless nights, worries nursed in the dark hours before dawn. I see it in my own reflection sometimes. Does the weight of the crown keep her awake? Maybe the responsibility crushes her a little more each day.

What the fuck is this? Years of killing and I pick now to grow a conscience?

I’ve taken lives in silence, from range, in alleys and rooms and places people thought were safe. I’ve done a lot of killing. After twenty, they stopped feeling like people and started feeling like numbers. After fifty, even the numbers stopped mattering.

They’re just kills now, missions completed and contracts fulfilled. Some of them probably didn’t deserve the blade I put between their ribs. I had to force myself to forget their faces or I’d never sleep. The alternative is madness.

Rhianelle Wiolant will be one of the faces I remember late at night after this is done. I push the guilt down and lock it away in the same place I lock away all the faces and all the names.

Drop, land, and strike.

I run through the sequence again in my mind. It will be quick. Three seconds, maybe four if she struggles.

Rhianelle keeps singing without knowing what’s coming. She thinks she’s safe here. But she doesn’t know that in the next few minutes, she’ll be dead. Her blood will stain the stones around that fountain and those cats will scatter.

Kitty shifts beside me and raises an eyebrow. Are we doing this or not?

She’s just waiting for my signal, trusting me to make the call like she always does.

Her hand moves to her dagger as she waits for my signal. When I move, she’ll move. When I strike, she’ll cover. That’s how this works. We’ve worked together long enough that she knows not to rush.

Rhianelle Wiolant is harmless. She’s pathetic and I pity her… but killing her ensures Garrett’s survival. Her death protects everyone in his house. I pull my blade, the weight of it feels heavier than usual.

One more kill won’t make a difference.

I prepare myself to land behind Rhianelle. It will be instant death as I drive the blade into the base of her skull, no pain or awareness. Kitty will drop a second after me and cover the exits in case anyone heard. We’ll be over the wall before the guards can scream.

My muscles coil, ready to spring. I adjust my grip on the blade.

Kill the target and protect Garrett.

I take a slow breath and center myself. Below, the black cat’s ears flatten against its skull. Rhianelle straightens, confusion crossing her face.