Page 52 of Kingdom of Crowns and Daggers

As I stare at the grand stone house, I let my anger consume me. It’s the darkness I use when I hunt, and I let it wrap around me like a lover. The lights are bright inside, and the flowers shine even in the moonlight, yet in their midst is an assassin and they have no clue. For all their power and advantages, nothing can protect them from the dark or the likes of me.

I will make my move to secure the king. It will help further my plan for my own revenge. That is what I tell myself anyway, and it does not stem from worry about Joha.

Not at all.

I am just about to make my way over the wall when the door opens and the very man I am looking for leaves. Dressed in a deep red robe with his hat pulled low, he hurries from the house. Since it is so late, it wouldn’t do him well to be seen leaving suspiciously during the night.

The little rats were right.

The man who tried to kill the king might be dead, but the ones behind it are not, and like most noble families, they stick together.

Smirking, I stalk my prey through the cobblestone streets. He stops every now and again, searching the area to make sure he isn’t being seen, yet he never once spots me.

Is the hair on the back of his neck rising?

Is his skin filled with goosebumps?

Can he taste death in the air?

I hope so.

We eventually stop at a tavern near the water, and I grin when I realise exactly why he’s been acting so shady. I watch him slip inside, and I follow.

I have been here a few times before. It is a good place for information, and a convenient area near the water to dispose of bodies—not to mention those who work here are all ours as well. Some see them as desperate for money, but nothing could be further from the truth. They earn more in one night than their patrons. They are assassins in their own way—of information. They keep this kingdom running, especially for us Daggers.

Music flows through the tavern, men cheer rowdily in their expensive robes, and money is thrown onto wooden tables as women make their way through, serving their beer and dancing. They steal and listen as they go, but it is the rooms upstairs where my man goes.

The bar is in the back, and I nod at Antlia, who is working alongside Willian. The tables down here serve food and alcohol while good music plays. Dancers move lithely through the crowd in gauzy material, their bodies art themselves. Doors separate more on the back wall where you can have private meetings or meals, but I turn away and head to the wooden stairs on the left. Satisfied men and cunning women come down the stairs, and I nod at those I know, and the women part for me, knowing all too well who I am.

When I get upstairs, however, I cannot see my target.

The walls here are made from sheer cloth until farther down the corridor, where sliding wooden doors lead to private rooms where, for enough coin, you pay for the entertainment of a lifetime.

“Mistress.” One of the entertainers nods as she watches me, no doubt waiting for her next patron. Wearing a sheer pink number that wraps around her body, she looks like the beautiful temptress they want. Her makeup is heavy, and unlike the proper ladies of the noble land, she screams of seduction and happiness.

I grin behind my mask. “I am looking for a man who just came in. Red robe, Beaumont.”

“Room four, I am due in there.” I pull a pouch from my waist and throw it at her. She snatches it from the air, pocketing it, and blinks her long lashes at me with a wicked grin. “Enjoy your evening, mistress.” She turns and heads back downstairs to look for her next target.

Heading to room four, I chuckle at the singing coming from one of the others and the moans from the next. Here, you can buy whatever you want if your pockets are deep enough, and it seems that despite Beaumont’s worries, these ones are.

Sliding the door open softly, I step into room four, eyeing the back of the robed man I have been hunting. He is sitting at the wooden table with his back to the door. His hat is off, and his long black hair hangs in a plait down his back. It’s another symbol of his status. To the left is a small stage with some instruments ready for the entertainers, and sofas and a bed are to the right.

“I do not like to be kept waiting,” he barks sharply, all high and mighty as he throws back a shot of his drink and lifts it into the air. “Pour me another quickly.”

I head over and grab the glass before grabbing the bottle, and then I pour him a drink. As he lifts it to his mouth, I round the table and sit in the other chair.

His eyes widen, and he spits his drink across the room as he pales. “Who are you?” He goes to stand, panicking. I don’t blame him.

“Sit,” I demand, and he sinks into his seat, confused but knowing this isn’t good.

“Your brother was a fool,” I tell him casually as I pour myself a drink. Pulling my mask down, I shoot it back and slam the glass onto the table. “Are you a fool?”

He hesitates. “My brother?”

“Hmm, the news probably hasn’t reached you yet. He failed and is dead.” He freezes.

“I do not know what you mean,” he replies carefully. He’s good at hiding his disappointment and grief—if he actually feels any. It’s not enough though.

---