Chapter 6

The blade pressed a thin, cold line against my throat, and I did the only sensible thing.

I stopped breathing.

"Good girl," the voice murmured against my ear, laced with smoke and something sweeter, like burnt honey. "Now walk. Left foot first. Slowly."

He didn’t wait for my compliance. An arm wrapped around my ribs, dragging me backward through the pitch darkness, my heels scraping against the rough stone. The chaos roared behind us; shouts, steel clashing, Seraphina’s furious screams piercing the air. Somewhere in the distance, Lucian bellowed for torches, shouting for the doors and for Cassian, his voice thick with desperation as if he’d just dropped something precious and blamed everyone but himself. Good. Let him choke on it.

A latch clicked, and a cold draft kissed my face  damp, earthy. The war room’s tumult faded behind a heavy slab of stone that ground to a sudden halt, sealing us in an oppressive silence. Just the two of us, the darkness swallowing everything, and the threat of his knife.

"Where are you taking me?" I rasped, my voice rough against the chill steel.

"Somewhere quieter."

"You killed that servant."

"I silenced him. There's a world of difference." A soft, amused breath brushed my hair. "You'd be surprised how many think otherwise."

He navigated a narrow passage, the walls pressing against me on either side. The ground sloped downward, and somewhere ahead, water dripped methodically. The air was thick with the taste of iron and mildew, the underbelly of the Citadel, where no banner dared to reach.

As I counted my steps; twenty, thirty, I felt the short chain between my cuffed wrists swing against my stomach. I flexed my fingers carefully, silently, exploring the edges of the iron.

"You planned this," I said, feeling the weight of my realization settle around us. "The torches, the servants, everything."

"I improvised," he replied, his tone casual. "The plan was simpler, and the Prince was supposed to have you dead by nightfall." His tongue clicked softly. "You've been quite the inconvenience, little scholar. Twice now you've evaded death when you were meant to embrace it."

"Who wants me dead?"

"Oh, no one wants you dead," he said, his grip tightening. "That’s what makes it amusing."

Confusion prickled at the back of my mind, but I tucked it away to simmer with my rising fury for later.

At the fortieth step, the passage split. He turned left without hesitation, and I realized he knew this labyrinthine place intimately, like the back of his hand, by touch alone. This was not unfamiliar ground for him. Whoever he was, he belonged here; he is one of them. That was worth remembering.

"Listen carefully," he urged, his voice low and urgent. "In about a minute, we’ll reach a door. Beyond it, there’s a horse, a cloak, and a road east. You’ll go quietly, and you’ll live. Scream, and I’ll cut your tongue out and carry you anyway."

"What if I refuse?"

"You won’t."

I mulled it over, visions of Lucian's boot heels echoing overhead fluttering in my mind. Visions of the slap that stung my face, of the label ‘creature,’ of every wolf that had eyed me as if I were something that crawled from a drain. In that moment, clarity washed over me: a horse and a road were precisely what I desired.

It wasn’t gratitude; it was strategy. This man with the knife was a problem I could solve later. The Citadel was a grave I intended to escape from standing tall.

"Fine," I uttered, my voice steadier than I felt.

He let out a low hum, almost impressed. "Sensible."

I relaxed my knees just slightly, mimicking the hesitation of a frightened woman. His grip adjusted to support me, and the blade pulled back just enough to ease the pressure on my skin.

With every ounce of strength, I drove my chained hands up and back, the iron links cracking against his jaw. The knife skimmed my throat, igniting a flash of pain, but I didn’t pause. I twisted, driving my knee hard into his torso, and heard the air whoosh from his lungs. Then I ran.

Not toward the door. I bolted back to where the sound of water beckoned, retracing my steps, because I wouldn’t fall into the trap he had laid out for me.

“Stupid girl!” His voice echoed behind me, laced with fury, no longer amused.

Something whistled past my ear, ringing against the wall, a throwing knife. I ducked instinctively, crashing into a corner, then tumbling into a wider tunnel where gray light seeped down from a distant grate. For the first time, I glimpsed my own hands, red-streaked and trembling.

Footsteps pounded behind me. Two sets now.

I pushed myself upright just as a figure emerged from the bend ahead, tall and broad, sword drawn, a smear of dried ink still darkening his jaw from our earlier confrontation.

Lucian.

I skidded to a stop, heart racing, the urgency of my situation ringing like a gong in my skull.

He moved through the dark without a torch, his golden eyes fierce as they landed on my bloodied throat and chained wrists. His gaze flicked to the passage behind me, piecing together the scene with quick, calculating precision.

"Convenient," he said softly, his voice low.

"He took me!" My words were fraying at the edges. "He’s right behind me! He killed the servant, he's the one you want!"

"I heard you running toward me," Lucian replied, advancing with careful steps, his blade lowered but poised. "Not away from him. Toward me. That's how people run when they've finished a job and want someone to find them. I think you set all these up so I think you are innocent"

"You are the most arrogant" I said rolling my eyes in frustration. 

"Where is he, Elena?"

"Right there!" I whirled and pointed, but the tunnel behind me was empty, dark and silent.

“He was just right behind me, now he is gone”

"Someone's always watching," he murmured, stepping closer until his chest nearly pressed against mine. Every nerve in me screamed to pull away, but I stood my ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "First, a stolen page; then a dying servant pointing straight at you. And now, a phantom wielding a knife who vanishes the moment I arrive." His voice dropped to a chilling whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "You have an impressively organized set of enemies, or perhaps a collection of rather devoted friends."

"I'm bleeding!" I shot back, the sting flaring in my side.

"You're alive, isn't that very convenient for you?" he replied, his tone darkening. "That's what truly bothers me."

His gaze darted past my shoulder, a shift in his eyes that hinted at danger. In a swift motion, he grabbed my chain and yanked me against the wall just as the grate above us exploded with sound. A crossbow bolt thudded into the stone where my head had been moments before.

Lucian’s body pressed against mine, a protective force that shielded nothing, merely a position and warning. Another bolt whizzed down, and he didn’t flinch. He shoved me into a dark alcove, his sword suddenly poised and ready. I watched as he glanced up at the inky void of the grate above, and then his head snapped towards the far end of the tunnel. A figure was emerging from the shadows, cloaked and hooded, small yet menacing.

It was a woman. She raised her crossbow, aiming it straight at my heart, a sinister smile barely visible beneath her hood.

“Sweet dreams, little scholar,” she whispered, her voice dripping with malicious delight as she pulled the trigger.