Chapter 6 — Someone Wants the Luna Dead

The handle turned again.

Maevra moved before the door opened.

She snatched the bronze candleholder from the bedside table and pressed herself against the wall beside the entrance.

Sariel surged beneath her skin.

Blood still scented the room.

Fresh enough that whoever had left the handprint could not have been gone long.

The door opened slowly.

A man stepped inside.

Maevra swung.

He ducked.

The candleholder smashed against the wooden frame instead of his skull.

“Luna!”

Maevra stopped her second strike.

One of the guards from outside stared at her, eyes wide.

“What are you doing?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

He looked from the weapon in her hand to the room.

“Alpha Rhydan ordered us to remain outside.”

“Then why are you inside?”

“You called.”

“I did no such thing.”

The guard went still.

A heartbeat later, Maevra saw his expression change.

Confusion.

Then fear.

“Someone knocked from inside,” he said.

Maevra’s grip tightened.

“I heard a woman tell us to enter.”

“There is no woman here.”

He inhaled.

The blood reached him.

His gaze moved toward the bed.

“Moon preserve us.”

“Don’t touch anything.”

Maevra stepped farther into the room.

The parchment still lay beneath the bloody handprint.

You will never be Luna.

The guard looked toward the outer chamber.

“I’ll call the others.”

A shadow moved behind him.

Maevra saw the glint first.

Steel.

“Down!”

She lunged.

The guard dropped instinctively.

A knife flew through the doorway.

It missed his throat by inches.

The blade struck the wall.

Someone ran.

Maevra shoved past the stunned guard.

“Stay here.”

“Luna!”

She was already in the corridor.

A dark figure disappeared around the corner.

Maevra ran.

Bare feet slapped against cold stone. The ceremonial gown dragged around her legs, slowing her.

She grabbed the skirt and ripped the lower seam.

Expensive Ravaryn clothing could mourn later.

The figure ahead moved quickly.

Male, she thought.

Medium build.

Dark clothing.

No visible crest.

He reached the staircase.

Maevra followed.

“Stop!”

Naturally, he did not.

Sariel snarled inside her.

Maevra wanted to shift.

Doing so in a narrow fortress corridor filled with guards who already believed she had murdered their prince seemed unwise.

The attacker vaulted the final three steps and cut left.

Maevra landed behind him.

He turned suddenly.

His fist caught her shoulder.

Pain shot down her arm.

She stumbled.

He came at her again.

No hesitation.

No warning.

Maevra blocked his wrist, twisted, and drove her knee into his ribs.

He grunted.

Good.

Human enough to hurt.

The attacker slashed toward her face.

A small blade appeared in his hand so quickly she barely saw him draw it.

Maevra leaned back.

Cold metal skimmed her cheek.

She caught his forearm.

He was stronger than expected.

Werewolf.

Definitely.

He shoved her into the wall.

Stone struck her spine.

Her breath left.

The knife came down.

Maevra trapped his wrist with both hands.

The blade stopped inches from her throat.

His face remained hidden behind a black cloth.

Only his eyes showed.

Brown.

Ordinary.

Nothing she could use.

“Who sent you?” she hissed.

He pushed harder.

She smiled.

His eyes narrowed.

Then Maevra slammed her forehead into his nose.

Bone cracked.

He reeled.

She kicked the knife from his hand.

It skittered across the floor.

The attacker recovered quickly and reached beneath his coat.

Maevra saw another flash of steel.

Too many knives.

She stepped back.

Boots thundered somewhere above.

Guards.

The attacker heard them too.

His decision came instantly.

He turned and ran toward the lower gallery.

Maevra chased him.

“Seal the doors!” she shouted.

A guard appeared at the far end.

The attacker changed direction.

He kicked open a side door and vanished into darkness.

Maevra reached it seconds later.

A servant staircase descended sharply.

Empty.

“Damn it.”

More footsteps arrived.

Taven appeared first, sword drawn.

His gaze landed on Maevra.

Barefoot.

Torn gown.

Blood running from a cut along her cheek.

Naturally, suspicion appeared before concern.

“What happened?”

“Someone tried to kill me.”

He looked past her.

“Where?”

“Down there.”

Two guards rushed into the stairwell.

Taven caught Maevra’s arm.

She immediately pulled free.

“Don’t.”

His jaw tightened.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I noticed.”

Rhydan’s voice cut through the corridor.

“Maevra.”

She turned.

He approached fast, still dressed in his ceremonial clothes.

Malrec followed several steps behind him.

Rhydan stopped when he saw her face.

His expression hardened.

“What happened?”

Maevra pointed toward the staircase.

“Your fortress tried to murder me.”

Taven frowned.

“Your fortress?”

“The building itself lacked ambition. I suspect one of the people inside it.”

Rhydan looked toward the guards.

“Report.”

One of them spoke quickly.

“We heard movement from the Luna’s chamber. Harven entered after hearing a woman call for assistance. Someone attacked from the corridor and fled.”

Rhydan’s gaze sharpened.

“A woman?”

Harven shook his head.

“There was no woman inside, Alpha.”

Maevra folded her arms despite the ache in her shoulder.

“Someone wanted him to open the door.”

Malrec arrived.

His expression changed when he saw the blood on Maevra’s cheek.

“Again?”

Maevra looked at him.

The word caught her attention.

Again.

Malrec seemed to realize it.

“I mean after the threat during the ceremony.”

“Of course.”

Rhydan stepped between them slightly.

“Show me the room.”

They returned upstairs.

Maevra entered first.

The blood remained exactly where she had left it.

Rhydan stopped beside the bed.

His face became unreadable.

Taven swore.

Malrec moved closer.

“Is that human blood?”

“Wolf,” Maevra said.

Everyone looked at her.

“I can smell it.”

Rhydan crouched beside the pillow without touching it.

“Fresh.”

“Yes.”

“The message?”

Maevra pointed.

Taven read it aloud.

“‘You will never be Luna.’”

His expression darkened.

Malrec looked toward Rhydan.

“The marriage has enemies. That was expected.”

Maevra turned.

“Political disagreement doesn’t usually come with knives.”

“Ravaryn has extremists.”

“So does Thornmere.”

Rhydan stood.

“That attacker knew which chamber she had been assigned.”

Taven nodded slowly.

“Knew the guard rotation too.”

Maevra looked at him.

“How?”

“The eastern corridor should have had six guards after the ceremony.”

She had seen three.

Rhydan’s face changed.

“Taven.”

“I ordered six.”

“Where are the others?”

Taven left immediately.

Silence followed.

Maevra walked toward the bloody pillow.

“Someone removed half my protection before I entered this room.”

Rhydan looked at the outer door.

“They also knew when you would be alone.”

“Which means?”

“You were watched.”

Maevra smiled bitterly.

“Welcome to my conclusion.”

Malrec crossed his arms.

“If the attacker escaped through the servant stairs, he could be household staff.”

“Or someone familiar enough with the keep to know where the stairs lead,” Maevra said.

Rhydan looked at her.

“You recognized anything about him?”

“Male. Brown eyes. Approximately my height, perhaps taller. Trained.”

“Accent?”

“He didn’t speak.”

“Weapon?”

“Two knives.”

Rhydan’s gaze dropped to the thin cut on her cheek.

“You chased an armed assassin barefoot.”

“He ran.”

“That wasn’t an invitation.”

“He tried to kill me. I considered it rude.”

For one brief second, something like disbelief crossed his face.

Then Taven returned.

He was furious.

“Three guards were reassigned.”

Rhydan’s voice dropped.

“On whose authority?”

“That is the problem.”

Taven held out a folded order.

“Yours.”

Rhydan took it.

Maevra stepped closer.

His seal marked the bottom.

The handwriting looked official.

“Did you issue it?” she asked.

“No.”

Nobody spoke.

Rhydan stared at the order.

Maevra remembered the two versions of military commands connected to her father’s death.

Altered orders.

Forged authority.

The same method.

Perhaps not the same hand.

Still, the similarity crawled beneath her skin.

Malrec broke the silence.

“Someone forged the Alpha seal.”

Rhydan looked toward him.

“Which very few people can access.”

Maevra caught the phrase but said nothing.

Taven’s expression turned grim.

“This cannot leave the room.”

“It already has,” Maevra said.

He looked at her sharply.

“Three missing guards know. Harven knows. Whoever forged it certainly knows.”

Rhydan folded the false order.

“Seal Varek Keep.”

Malrec frowned.

“Rhydan.”

“No one leaves.”

“You have hundreds of guests still inside.”

“Then they remain guests.”

“For how long?”

Rhydan looked at the bloody handprint.

“Until I know who tried to kill my wife.”

The title hung strangely between them.

My wife.

Not prisoner.

Not enemy.

Maevra’s wolf stirred again.

She ignored Sariel.

Rhydan turned toward Taven.

“Search every chamber. Question the servants, guards, ceremonial staff, and council aides.”

Taven nodded.

“Quietly?”

“No.”

That surprised everyone.

Rhydan’s eyes hardened.

“I want whoever did this to know we’re looking.”

Maevra understood.

Pressure forced mistakes.

“Your brother’s killer wanted me blamed,” she said.

Rhydan looked at her.

“And now someone wants you dead.”

“The same person?”

“Possibly.”

“Or someone afraid I’ll help you discover the truth.”

Rhydan glanced at the forged order in his hand.

His expression lost the last trace of uncertainty.

“My brother’s murderer didn’t simply lure you into Ravaryn.”

Maevra waited.

Rhydan looked toward the corridor beyond her chamber.

“They had help inside Varek Keep.”

A shout rose from somewhere below.

Then another.

Taven reached for his sword.

A guard appeared in the doorway, breathing hard.

“Alpha.”

“What?”

“We found one of the missing guards.”

Rhydan’s expression sharpened.

“Where?”

The guard swallowed.

“Inside the old armory.”

Maevra watched his face.

Something was wrong.

“Alive?” she asked.

The guard looked at her.

“No, Luna.”

He hesitated.

“And he was holding a Thornmere knife.”