---
The rebel leader's eyes widened—just for a second—but it was enough. Laraine stood before her, posture relaxed yet humming with latent violence, like a sheathed dagger. The proposal she'd just uttered wasn't just audacious.
It was a grenade tossed at Cleo's feet.
And the damned princess hadn't even flinched while pulling the pin.
Cleo's fingers twitched toward her own blade before she stopped herself. 'Interesting.' Most nobles smelled like perfume and cowardice. This one? Ash and iron.
"Cleo Hartman,"she said, thrusting out her hand, her calloused palm a challenge.
Laraine eyed it like it might be a trap. Then, with deliberate slowness, she clasped it. Her grip was cool, dry—the hands of someone who'd never hauled water or bled in the dirt. But the strength in it? Unyielding.
"Laraine."No title. No flourish. Just a name thrown between them like a gauntlet.
Cleo's smirk returned, sharper now. "So, princess," she drawled, thumb brushing the scarred knuckles of Laraine's hand—a mockery of courtly manners, "you're switching sides just like that?"
A flicker in Laraine's gaze. Not offense. Amusement. "I'm not switching sides." She leaned in, close enough for Cleo to smell the winter mint on her breath. "I'm choosing my own."
Their hands stayed locked—too long for diplomacy, too tense for camaraderie.
Cleo finally wrenched free and crossed her arms. "You've got guts. I'll give you that." Her voice dropped, rough with warning. "But walk into my camp expecting a red carpet because of your bloodline, and you'll leave with your throat slit."
Laraine didn't blink. "I didn't come for a 'red carpet'." Her gaze flicked to the rebel banners—faded, patched, defiant. "I came for a war."
"Bullshit." Cleo stepped closer, crowding her. "You could've stayed in your gilded cage. Why here?"
For the first time, Laraine hesitated. Her fingers grazed the hilt of her dagger—not a threat, a tell. "Because Adana's cages have teeth," she said softly. "And I'd rather burn than kneel."
Something in Cleo's chest tightened. 'Damn her.' That wasn't the voice of a spoiled royal. That was the raw scrape of someone who'd tasted betrayal and found it bitter.
"You'll get your war," Cleo muttered, turning away before Laraine could see her waver. "But betray us, and I'll hang your bones where the crows feast."
Laraine's laugh was a dark, unexpected thing. "Promises, promises."
Cleo shot her a glare over her shoulder—and froze. The fading sun caught Laraine's profile just so, etching the sharp lines of her face in gold and shadow. For a heartbeat, she looked less like a runaway noble and more like…
Like a queen.
Cleo shoved the thought away. "Follow me," she snapped. "Time to see what you're really signing up for."
As they moved deeper into the stronghold, Laraine's presence at her back was a brand between her shoulder blades. Not fear. Not yet.
But the ghost of something far more dangerous.
---
The Queen's Chambers - Luthian Castle
The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across Adana's face as she waited. She sat perfectly still on her velvet divan, the picture of royal composure - back straight, hands folded, lips slightly parted as if paused mid-prayer. Only the rhythmic tap of one manicured nail against her knee betrayed her impatience.
'Three days late.'
The air before her shimmered like heat off desert sands, then coalesced into the form of a woman who moved like shadow given substance. Vienna's arrival carried no sound, no disturbance of air - just a sudden presence where emptiness had been.
"You're late," Adana said without looking up, her voice sweet as poisoned honey.
Vienna's crimson eyes gleamed in the firelight. "You'll forgive me," she murmured, stepping forward. "I was cleaning up your mess." Her black leathers creaked softly as she moved, the scent of iron and frost clinging to her.
Adana's nail stopped tapping. "The corner of her mouth twitched. "Don't tell me the little bird gave you trouble?"
Vienna's hand twitched toward the dagger at her hip. "She's aligned with the Hartman girl. They're gathering forces in the southern marshes."
The queen's laughter tinkled like breaking glass. "Oh, Vienna. When did my perfect weapon become so... blunt?" She rose in a rustle of silk, circling her assassin like a vulture. "I sent you to keep an eye on one pampered noble, not start a war."
Vienna stood statue-still as Adana's fingers trailed along her sharp jawline. "You told me to be discreet. I was being thorough."
Adana's grip tightened suddenly, nails digging into Vienna's flesh. "I told you to make her 'gone'." She leaned in until their breath mingled. "Do you remember our agreement, pet? Or has age softened your memory along with your skills?"
Vienna didn't flinch. "I remember the cells. The whip. The way you smiled when I finally broke." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I remember every scar you gave me."
The queen released her with a shove. "Then act like it." She turned to the window, where storm clouds gathered over the southern horizon. "That brat has my husband's blood in her veins. Every moment she draws breath is an insult to my throne."
Vienna wiped a trickle of blood from her jaw. "You should have killed her yourself years ago."
Adana's reflection smiled in the glass. "Where would be the fun in that?" She turned, her face alight with cruel amusement.
"She's coming for you my queen"
The queen's breath hitched. For a heartbeat, something raw flickered beneath her polished mask. Then it was gone. "Then make sure she doesn't..."
She flung a velvet pouch at Vienna's feet. Coins spilled across the marble. "That should cover your... expenses."
Vienna didn't move. "Is that all I am to you? A blade to be bought?"
Adana arched a perfect brow. "Darling, you stopped being my favorite toy the moment you started asking questions." She waved a dismissive hand. "Now go. And don't return until you can present me with her heart on a silver platter."
The shadows in the room deepened as Vienna's form began to dissolve. "As my queen commands," she whispered, voice thick with something that might have been grief or rage.
When the last wisp of darkness faded, Adana collapsed onto the divan, her composure cracking. She stared at her trembling hands - at the blood where her nails had bitten into her palms.
Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance. The storm was coming.
---