30. SNAKES IN SILK

KIERAN

“I still think it’s a terrible idea not to put men on her,” Dorian muttered, his voice low but laced with frustration as he paced the room, the dim evening light casting sharp shadows across his jawline.

“Kieran, she’s not just any girl anymore. You know it.”

I didn’t answer immediately. My arms were folded across my chest, my eyes fixed on the old blueprint spread across the desk between us—the layout of the grand ballroom, the corridors leading in and out, every possible entrance and blind spot marked. I had studied it so many times it was now etched into my brain, but that didn’t make the unease sitting in my gut go away.

“She’s not just any girl,” I finally said, my voice quiet but firm. “Which is exactly why we don’t put men on her like she’s some kind of target. You think she won’t notice? Or worse, you think Lucian won’t?”

Dorian scoffed, rubbing his temples like I was missing the obvious. “I don’t care if she notices. I care if she walks into that ball with her head held high, and leaves with a blade in her back. You know Lucian—”

“I know him better than anyone,” I cut in, my tone sharper now, the weight of his name sitting heavy in my mouth. “He’s a green snake, Dorian. Smiles too wide, talks too smooth. He slithers when you least expect it, and when he strikes, it’s never in the way you thought he would. He’s not going to come in through the front door waving a sword. He’ll come dressed in silk, with a glass of wine in his hand and poison in his kiss.”

Dorian looked at me then, really looked. His lips pressed into a thin line and I saw that flicker in his eyes—the one that said he wanted to trust me but hated every fiber of what I was asking of him.

“So what do we do then?” he asked after a beat. “Just let her walk in there blind?”

“She won’t be blind,” I said. “She has me.”

He frowned. “That’s not always going to be enough.”

I stepped closer to the table, tapping a marked corner of the blueprint. “I’ll have eyes here. And here. Two trusted men. They’ll blend. I’ll stay close. If Lucian shows, he won’t get near her without going through me.”

“And if he does?”

I paused, then met his gaze dead-on. “Then I’ll do what I should’ve done years ago.”

There was a stretch of silence between us, long and thick. Dorian stared down at the blueprint, jaw clenched. “I hate this,” he muttered.

“Me too,” I admitted.

He sat down heavily, his hands clasped tightly as if holding himself together. “You think he’ll come, don’t you?”

“I’d bet my life on it.” My voice was low, grim. “He’s waited too long. He won’t pass up the chance to make a scene, not when Vee is finally stepping into the light.”

“Then we prepare,” Dorian said, a bitter laugh leaving his lips. “For snakes in silk.”

“And pretty lies wrapped in flattery,” I muttered. “He’ll look charming, harmless, maybe even familiar. But that’s how he gets you.”

I could already picture it—Lucian standing by the golden archway, sipping wine with that damn smirk playing on his lips, eyes darting, calculating. Waiting. That image alone sent a chill creeping up my spine.

“Keep your men invisible,” I told Dorian. “No uniforms. No obvious muscle. I don’t want her to feel like she’s being guarded. We make it look effortless. Like nothing’s wrong.”

Dorian gave a single nod. “She’ll never forgive us if we make her feel like a pawn.”

“She’s not a pawn,” I said. “She’s the queen on the board. And we’re the fools playing catch-up.”

I didn’t say what I was really thinking—what had been haunting me since the ball was announced. That no matter how much I planned, how many guards I placed or threats I made, Lucian always had a way of slipping through the cracks. And if he came for her… I wasn’t sure if I’d be fast enough this time.

But I sure as hell was going to try.

Later on, the morning air was crisp against my face, each breath I took laced with a chill that gnawed at my skin and left a faint burn in my lungs. My feet pounded against the gravel path in rhythm with the guards beside me, their boots making steady, almost comforting thuds. But my mind wasn’t on the run. I couldn’t even remember what prompted me to insist on going this early. All I knew was that I needed to move—needed to chase the feeling gnawing at the back of my skull, the one that crept in every time silence lingered too long.

I tried to focus on the path ahead, tried to center my mind on the distant trees we always looped past, but it happened again—suddenly, violently. My breath hitched. Something flickered. It wasn’t a memory exactly. It was too fragmented, too fractured to hold shape. But I saw blood. Not fresh, not real—just a flash of it, like a smear across my vision. A scream too. Not loud. Just distant, muffled. Like it came from underwater. My legs faltered for a second. Barely noticeable, but Dorian, who’d been at my side all along, caught it.

He reached out, fingers brushing against my elbow as I slowed just a bit too much. “Kieran,” he said, lowering his voice so the others wouldn’t hear.

“You alright?”

I swallowed. My throat felt dry, constricted like someone had tied something tight around it. I gave a half-hearted nod and picked up my pace again, pretending to stretch my arms like I was just adjusting my stride.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Dorian didn’t buy it. I could feel the weight of his stare on the side of my face even though I didn’t meet his eyes.

“You looked like you saw something.”

“Didn’t,” I muttered. “Just a headache.”

He was quiet for a second, then murmured, “You’ve been having a lot of those lately.”

I didn’t answer. What was I supposed to say? That my past had started clawing at me in flashes I couldn’t control or understand? That I was seeing things that didn’t make sense, hearing voices that didn’t belong to anyone in the room? That there was something deep in me that felt… wrong?

Dorian kept pace, matching my silence with his own. But he never looked away. I could feel his concern pressing in, and I hated how it made my skin crawl. Not because he cared—but because I didn’t know how to accept it.

Eventually, he spoke again, his voice low. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know.”

“I’m not,” I said quickly—too quickly.

He raised a brow. “Right.”

The sarcasm in his tone was subtle, but it stung more than it should have. I exhaled sharply and finally stopped running altogether. The other guards slowed, glancing back, but I waved them off, resting my hands on my knees as if I was just catching my breath. Dorian stood a few feet from me now, arms folded, watching like he was waiting for the real answer.

“I keep seeing things,” I said finally. My voice was barely above a whisper. “Things I don’t remember. But they feel real. Too real. And I don’t know what the hell they mean.”

He stepped closer, but not too close. Dorian always gave me space. “You think they’re memories?”

“I don’t know.” I straightened slowly, looking out at the line of trees. The wind was starting to pick up.

“They’re not dreams. It’s like someone’s playing a film in my head with scenes from a life I forgot… or maybe didn’t want to remember.”

He was silent again, but this time it didn’t feel like judgment. It felt like a thought. Consideration. “Maybe it’s time to stop pretending it’s nothing.”

I looked at him. “And what if I’m not ready to know what it is?”

“Then you’ll keep running from it.” He gestured toward the path. “But you can’t outrun your own mind, Kieran. Eventually, it catches up.”

I clenched my jaw, the muscles in my face twitching with the effort it took to stay composed. There was something about his words that hit too close. Something about the way he looked at me—not with pity, but with something steadier. Like he understood.

And maybe that’s what scared me most. Because if he understood… then maybe I wasn’t just imagining it all. Maybe something really had happened.

And maybe… it was worse than I thought.