Page 1 of Kingdom of Crowns and Daggers

Chapter

One

ALYX

He’s going to die, which is a shame since the robe he is wearing is of good quality and will soon be ruined by bloodstains. I watch as they circle him, their gleaming knives poised and ready to attack. Sucking the remaining meat from the chicken bone, I take shelter from the rain on a wooden barrel hidden under the awning on the back of the blacksmith’s, one arm pressed against my knee and the other holding my precious food.

The sky is a muddy grey as the heavens pour down their frustration, turning the hard clay dirt of the Lowers into a slippery, muddy mess. The robed male slips in it now, not quite falling before barely managing to stay upright. His eyes, a bright cerulean blue that we don’t tend to see in the Lowers, dart between his attackers as they circle him.

The fool. He should have known better than to head down the alleys back here. I’m safe because they know who I am. They don’t bother trying to assault me, but even the people from the Lowers avoid alleys such as this for this exact reason—the bandits who hide and wait for their next meal.

They are lazy mongrels if you ask me.

While some of our work may share a few similarities, they use half the effort my family and I employ. They just lie in wait and attack, without planning or a perfect escape. What they do doesn’t require skill. They just kill and pillage—the heathens. Where is the sense of justice or pride in their work? They have none, and that’s the difference between us.

We may have the same ultimate task, which is stealing from the rich, but they give us thieves and assassins a bad name. Honestly, I don’t know why we haven’t done anything about them.

The Daggers have a clear code, however, and it isn’t my job to intervene.

Even if I jump in and save him now, I would only be painting a target on my own back. The cloaked fool wandered down here, and he will pay for it with his life. From where I’m sitting, his face is concealed behind a silk face mask, his head covered by the cloak’s dark hood that falls luxuriously down to his booted feet, the fabric clean and rich. He’s taller than most of the seven bandits surrounding him. Compared to his simple yet clearly high-quality robe, they are practically in rags. Their once white shirts are now tattered and stained brown, and their pants fair no better. All are male, some of them boasting scars from their previous attacks, and one is even missing an eye. They range in ages, from barely past their fifteenth name day to as old as to their fortieth, yet they all have the hard glint in their eyes that everyone in the Lowers has.

They are determined and angry. It’s what keeps us all alive and surviving in this shithole when most others would die—like the noble who was foolish enough to come here alone.

Dropping the empty bone to the ground for the strays, I sit back and sling one mud-stained leg over the other. The sleek black cotton of my suit keeps me warm as the chilly wind blows in from the mountains in the north. My hood is down, as is my face guard since I was eating. Thanks to my outer cloak, all of the weapons hanging from my hips, arms, and thighs are concealed, but my bright orange hair is hard to hide, even with my hood up, and it ends up hanging down to my waist in wet curls. Despite being in the shadows, I have no doubt that my green eyes are sparkling, taking in every detail.

I’m like a beacon in the night, yet they pay me no mind, too entranced by their prey.

“I want no trouble,” the man in the cloak calls, his voice calm and his accent eloquent. His soft, clean palms are held up in a signal of peace. I want to laugh at the absurdity of it, especially when paired with how well spoken he is. He’s definitely a noble; it’s in the lilt of his voice. The knowledge of his own worth gives him an air of pompous self-righteousness, as though he is better than everyone else.

“Well, that’s a shame because we do,” one of the older men retorts, brandishing a rusty knife. It might look tarnished, but it’s wicked enough to gut the noble. He’s clearly the leader, and although short and skinny, he carries an air of authority that would quickly put you right. It’s not his stature or attitude that would make you think twice about crossing this man, but his cruel, dark eyes—the eyes of a killer.

I know the look well, and it’s an easy one for me to recognise—after all, I carry the same look in mine.

“Here, take this and leave,” the rich stranger commands, his voice ringing out as if he’s truly expecting them to listen, throwing down a ring of coins like candy thrown to children on summer solstice. We all watch them sink into the muddy ground, tarnishing the polished gold, and I can’t fight my smirk.

What a fool. All he’s succeeded in doing is showing his foe where he keeps his money, which makes him an even easier target than he was previously.

“Oh, we will.” The leader grins, menace sparkling in his dark eyes. “That and more.”

With an unspoken signal, they attack as one, leaping forward to catch their prey by surprise.

The nobleman is fast for a stumbler, the name we’ve given to the upper classes on account of the slow way they all seem to move, never in a hurry to get anywhere. Jumping back, he dodges the initial swinging blades, but he’s hopelessly outnumbered against them and has no weapon. My interest is piqued by the stranger, and as I watch, one of the attackers slices through his robe. What a waste. Blood blooms from the cut on his arm, seeming to awaken something in the noble. His bright eyes narrow in anger, and he grits his teeth and smashes his head into the bandits, surprising all of us.

This one has fire, which is unusual for someone from higher families.

Call it boredom or intuition, but I feel compelled to do something. Sighing, I stand and bark, “Enough. Leave him.”

Throwing my outer cloak back, I meet all their surprised gazes as I pull out my sword. “Or go through me. Either way, I don’t care which option you pick.”

“You’re protecting noble scum,” one spits, clearly able to tell that I’m one of them, yet also not recognising who I am.

I arch a brow at him and notice that another hurries over to the leader. “That’s Alyx,” he murmurs, but he’s not quiet enough so that no one else hears.

Rookie mistake. Now everyone knows, and the atmosphere shifts. Fear flashes in some of their eyes, but not the leader’s. Sure, I’m almost positive that I see fear in his expression, but it’s quickly covered up by the pure disgust he shoots my way. His men all look to him now, and he knows he’s going to have to do something to assert his authority.

Everything is on a carefully balanced scale here, including his tentative leadership. One wrong move and it will fall, and he knows that.

Scowling, he pins me with a sour glare. “Then she should know better than to protect a stumbler.”

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