ELARA
Three days.
It's been three days since I sent the letter, and I'm starting to think no one's coming.
I pace my bedroom like a caged animal. Back and forth, back and forth. The guards outside my door probably think I've lost my mind.
Maybe I have.
What kind of person hires an assassin to kill them? What kind of queen offers a fortune to someone who'll murder her?
A desperate one.
I walk to my window for the hundredth time today. The sun is setting again—another day wasted, another sunset watched, another night approaching with nothing to show for it.
Maybe the Shadow King thought it was a joke. Maybe he threw my letter in the fire and laughed.
Or maybe—worse thought—maybe he's planning something. Using my desperate letter against me somehow.
I should never have sent it.
No. I should have sent it years ago.
A knock on my door makes me jump. I never jump. Three thousand years of life have made me nearly impossible to surprise.
"What?" I call out.
"Your Majesty." It's Captain Voss, head of my palace guard. "There's... someone here to see you."
My heart pounds. "Who?"
"He won't give his name. Just says he has business with you. Private business."
Him. A man. Here for private business.
Could it be?
"Send him away," I say, testing. If this is really an assassin answering my contract, he won't leave just because I tell him to.
"I tried, Your Majesty. He's very... insistent. And he's carrying papers with your seal on them."
My letter. He has my letter.
"Let him in," I say quickly. Then, before Voss can open the door: "Wait. Is he armed?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Very armed. Should I—"
"No. Let him keep his weapons. And leave us alone."
"Your Majesty, I don't think—"
"That's an order, Captain."
Silence. Then: "Yes, Your Majesty."
The door opens.
A man walks in.
He's not what I expected. Most assassins I've met—and I've met several over the centuries—look dangerous. Scarred. Mean. Obvious killers.
This man looks... cold. That's the only word for it. Cold eyes. Cold expression. Like he's carved from ice and darkness.
Dark hair. Tall. Maybe thirty years old. He moves like a predator—smooth, controlled, deadly.
He's beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful. Sharp and dangerous and perfect for one purpose.
Killing.
The door closes behind him. We're alone.
"Queen Elara," he says. His voice is quiet but somehow fills the entire room. "I received your letter."
"Who are you?" I ask.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes. If I'm hiring someone to kill me, I'd like to know their name."
He considers this. Then: "Cain. Cain Ashford."
The name means nothing to me. But the way he says it—like it should mean something—makes me pay attention.
"You're from the Shadow King's guild," I say.
"Yes."
"And you're here about my contract."
"Yes."
He's not very talkative. Most people babble when they meet me. Nervous. Awed. Afraid. He's none of those things.
He's just... watching. Studying me like I'm a problem to solve.
I like it.
"Did the Shadow King send you?" I ask.
"The guild posted your contract. I accepted it."
"Just like that? You didn't think it was strange?"
"Everything about you is strange, Your Majesty." He pulls my letter from his coat and holds it up. "An immortal queen who wants to die. A curse that can't be broken. One million gold to whoever can kill you." He puts the letter away. "Strange doesn't begin to cover it."
"But you came anyway."
"I came because I don't fail." His cold eyes meet mine. "Ever. If you can be killed, I'll find a way."
"And if I can't?"
"Then I'll find that out too."
Confidence. No, more than confidence. Certainty. This man has never failed at anything, and he doesn't plan to start with me.
"I've tried everything," I tell him. "Poison. Blades. Fire. Drowning. Falls. Magic. Nothing works. The curse heals every wound, reverses every poison, undoes every death."
"Everything can die," Cain says simply. "You just haven't found the right method yet."
"In three thousand years?"
"In three thousand years, you've been trying alone." He takes a step closer. "I'm not alone. I have resources. Knowledge. Access to information you can't get."
"The Shadow King's resources."
"Among others."
I study him carefully. Something feels wrong about this. Not dangerous—though he's definitely dangerous. Just... off.
"Why did you take this contract?" I ask. "The truth."
His jaw tightens. For the first time, emotion flickers across his face. Pain. Quickly hidden.
"That's my business."
"If you want my money, it's my business too."
We stare at each other. A battle of wills. I've won a thousand of these over the centuries.
But Cain doesn't look away.
"I'm dying," he finally says. "I have six months. This is my last job."
Oh.
Oh.
The woman who can't die, hiring the man who can't live.
It's almost funny.
"I'm sorry," I say, and I mean it.
"Don't be. I made my choices." He straightens. "So did you. Now we both deal with them."
"What's killing you?"
"A curse. From a target three years ago. He died, but not before making sure I'd follow." Cain's voice is matter-of-fact. Like he's discussing the weather. "Slow. Painful. Irreversible."
"Maybe not irreversible," I say before I can stop myself. "I've lived for three thousand years. I've studied every type of magic, every curse. If anyone can break what's killing you, it's me."
His eyes sharpen. "What are you offering?"
"A trade. You figure out how to kill me, and I'll cure your curse. If I can."
"You'd do that? Save the man trying to kill you?"
"Why not?" I laugh bitterly. "If you succeed, I'll be dead anyway. If you fail, at least I'll have helped someone. That's more than I've done in centuries."
Cain is quiet for a long moment. Thinking. Calculating.
"There are conditions," he finally says.
"Name them."
"First: You tell me everything about your curse. No lies. No secrets. I can't solve a puzzle with missing pieces."
"Agreed."
"Second: I stay here. In the palace. Close enough to study you, test theories, research."
"You want to live here?"
"I want to do my job. That requires proximity."
I should say no. Having an assassin living in my home is insane. But then again, so is hiring one in the first place.
"Fine. You can be my personal guard. It'll give you cover."
"Third condition," Cain says, and something in his voice makes me nervous. "If I find a way to kill you, and you change your mind—too bad. The contract stands. I will complete the job."
A chill runs through me. He means it. Completely.
"I won't change my mind," I say.
"People always change their minds when death becomes real."
"I've wanted death for three thousand years. Believe me, it's very real."
He studies me for another long moment. Then nods. "We have a deal."
He holds out his hand.
I stare at it. If I shake, there's no going back. I'm agreeing to work with a man who will eventually try to kill me.
But isn't that exactly what I want?
I shake his hand.
His grip is firm. Strong. Warm.
Alive.
"When do we start?" I ask.
"Now," Cain says. "Tell me about the sorcerer who cursed you. Everything. Every detail matters."
I gesture to the chairs by my fireplace. "This might take a while."
"I have six months." His smile is cold and sad. "You have eternity. We have time."
We sit, and I begin talking. About Aldric. About Marcus. About the curse that's trapped me for three thousand years.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, a small voice whispers: What if this actually works? What if he can kill me?
For the first time in centuries, I let myself feel something dangerous.
Hope.