The night was thick with the kind of quiet that pressed against your skin, heavy and suffocating. The kind of quiet that warned you something was coming.
I sat cross-legged on my bed, staring at the folded map on the desk across the room. Its edges were worn, the parchment creased and smudged, but the markings on it were clear. Routes, trade lines, and drop-off points—the invisible arteries of a system that thrived on chains and cruelty.
Last night, Kiaran and I had traveled west of Aranbiya, where a pair of slave traders had been drinking themselves into a stupor. It had been almost too easy to slip into their camp under the cover of darkness and swipe the map while they were distracted. They hadn't even noticed me creeping through their belongings, too busy arguing over their next shipment.
I should have felt triumphant. But all I could feel now was the weight of what the map represented.
A caravan of slaves was being moved tomorrow. If we didn't act quickly, they'd disappear into the abyss of Aranbiya's underworld—sold, broken, and forgotten. This map was their only chance.
My fingers twitched with the urge to reach for it, to study every inch of it again, even though I'd already memorized the routes. But Kiaran's words from earlier still rang in my ears: "You should rest. You'll need your strength tomorrow."
I glanced toward the adjoining washroom, where the sound of running water echoed faintly. Kiaran was washing up, the soft clinking of his armor audible even over the rush of water.
The room was still, lit only by a single flickering candle on the bedside table. Its flame cast long, twisting shadows across the walls, mimicking the unease that had settled in my chest.
I stood and crossed the room to my dresser, pulling out the garments I wore on raids. The purple scarf, the half-black tights, the white cloak—they were a patchwork of stolen lives, stitched together from the wardrobes of girls who had never made it out of the brothel.
I let the dancer's silks fall to the floor, the fabric pooling around my feet like a discarded mask. The air was cool against my skin, and I felt the tension in my shoulders ease slightly as I dressed.
As I tied the scarf around my neck, a faint rustling sound broke the silence.
I froze, my fingers pausing mid-knot. The sound was soft, almost imperceptible—like the scrape of fabric against wood. I glanced toward the door, but it was still shut, the latch firmly in place.
"Just nerves," I muttered under my breath.
But the unease lingered.
I finished tying the scarf and turned back to my desk, but a sudden, sharp creak made me spin around. My eyes darted to the corner of the room, where Madam Odette's prized vase sat on a small wooden table.
The vase trembled.
The faint vibration grew louder, more insistent, until the vase toppled over with a loud crash.
I flinched as shards of porcelain flew across the room, one of them slicing across the back of my hand. A sharp sting shot through me, and I instinctively pressed my hand to my mouth, tasting the metallic tang of blood.
The room was silent again, but the air felt... wrong. Heavy. Suffocating.
My heart pounded in my chest as I took a cautious step backward, my eyes scanning the shadows. The candlelight flickered, shrinking into itself as if it, too, were afraid.
"Who's there?" I demanded, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound steady.
No answer.
I turned back toward the door, intent on securing it, but before I could move, the flame of the candle snuffed out.
Darkness swallowed the room.
"Now, now," came a low, mocking voice. "Why would you go and do something foolish like that?"
My blood went cold.
I spun around, but the room was too dark to see clearly. I could make out a figure standing in the corner, his outline barely visible against the shadows.
"You," I whispered, my voice trembling.
The patron from earlier—the one who had caused a scene in the brothel—stepped forward, his grin wide and cruel. His eyes gleamed with something darker than desire, something predatory.
"You think you're too good for us, don't you?" he sneered. "Hiding behind your King's orders, thinking you're untouchable."
My stomach churned as I backed away, my hands fumbling for the drawer where my dagger was hidden. "How did you get in here?"
He laughed, the sound low and venomous. "You think a locked door can keep me out? You think anything can?"
His grin widened, cruel and mocking. "You think you're safe because of that shield dog watching over you? Let me tell you something, girl—he won't always be there. And when he's not, I'll make sure you remember this night."
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I froze, the realization hitting me like a blow to the chest. He wasn't human.
"You're a demi-god," I whispered.
His grin widened. "Took you long enough."
I bolted for the drawer, but he was faster. His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist with iron strength, and slammed me back against the wall.
"Feisty," he hissed, his breath hot and rancid against my skin. "I like that."
I thrashed against him, trying to shift my weight across from him, but his grip was unrelenting. He pinned me down with his weight, his other hand clawing at the fabric of my cloak.
"Stop fighting," he growled, his voice thick with twisted pleasure. "You're mine."
The room seemed to close in around me, the shadows growing darker, the air heavier. My screams tore through the silence, but I knew no one would come. Screams were normal here. They were ignored.
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The patron's hand clamped over my mouth, his breath thick and musky against my ear. "You can scream all you want," he hissed. "No one's coming. No one cares."
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I thrashed beneath him, my legs kicking wildly, but his weight pinned me down like iron. My hand clawed at the floor, reaching desperately for the dresser where my dagger lay hidden. My fingers brushed the edge of the drawer, but he yanked me back with a snarl, slamming me against the floor.
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"Feisty," he sneered, his grip tightening. "I like that."
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My chest heaved, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I realized there was no escape. The shadows seemed to press closer, the air thick with the stench of his sweat and hatred.
My eyes darted to the door, a useless hope clawing at the edges of my mind.
And then, the door exploded open.20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmc2ioKLHQb
Kiaran stood in the doorway, his wet hair plastered to his face, his ruby-red eyes glowing like embers in the dark. His chest heaved with barely contained rage, and the Gae Bolga materialized in his hand, its barbed tip pulsing with malevolent energy.
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"You dare touch her?" he growled, his voice low and cold.The patron froze, his confidence crumbling under the weight of Kiaran's presence. He stumbled back, his hands raised in a pathetic attempt to shield himself. "Wait—wait, I didn't mean—"
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Kiaran didn't let him finish. He moved like lightning, the Gae Bolga slicing through the air with a sinister hiss. The barbed tip sank into the patron's chest with a sickening crunch.
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The man's scream was high and piercing, his body convulsing violently as the Gae Bolga unfurled inside him.
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Blood sprayed across the walls, the dark liquid pooling at Kiaran's feet. The barbs twisted deeper, tearing through muscle and bone, as if the weapon itself were alive, feeding on its victim.
"P-please," the patron choked, blood bubbling from his lips. His eyes rolled back, his limbs twitching weakly.
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Kiaran yanked the Gae Bolga free with a single fluid motion, and the patron crumpled into a lifeless heap, his blood soaking into the floorboards.
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Kiaran didn't spare the body a second glance. He dropped the Gae Bolga, the weapon dissolving into smoke, and crossed the room to kneel beside me.
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"Are you hurt, Princess?" he asked, his voice trembling with barely suppressed emotion.
I clung to him, tears spilling down my cheeks. "I thought... no one was coming to save me," I whispered.
Kiaran's arms tightened around me, but I felt the tension in his shoulders, the barely restrained fury simmering beneath his calm exterior. "Why didn't you lock the door?"
he growled, his voice sharper than he likely intended.
My body flinched at the tone, and his expression softened almost immediately. He sighed, his voice gentler now. "You have to be more careful, Princess."
His arms tightened around me. "I will always come for you," he said, his voice low and firm. "Always."
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