Page 118 of The Sorrow of Shadows

“I know a member of your court showed up at my establishment offering to pay double the normal fee. He didn’t say why, but it’s not my place to ask those questions.”

“They had three children, Cillian. Did you not think to ask about that?” I fight to keep my tone even as the emotions tighten my throat.

“I was aware of the children, yes. I did not care to?—”

“What happened to not harming children, Cillian? They were all slaughtered in their beds. Every one of them. When did you start taking contracts on the young?” I demand, tears pooling in my eyes. My shadows flare, blanketing the room in darkness in response to my emotions.

Light slowly creeps out of his palms, causing my shadows to recede. Cillian is the only other light wielder I know since Nameah had died. But his power is far greater than hers had been. He could create light, much like I could create shadows. If she had lived, I would have asked him to train her.

A mix of fury and grief wash over me as I stare into his eyes, waiting for him to answer me.

“I didn’t take the hit, Breyla.” He reaches a hand up to my cheek and strokes it softly. “Nothing has changed. I’m still a dark, twisted, ruthless killer. But I would never harm children.”

My shoulders sag in relief. I would have run my sword through his heart if he had said anything else. “Then who did?” I ask, straightening my shoulders.

“There are a handful of mercenaries that don’t agree with all my views and have defected. My guess is it was one of them. They’re somehow operating under the Midnight Brotherhood name. It’s created quite the headache for me.”

“Why is this the first I am hearing of them?” I ask, frustrated that he didn’t tell me this sooner.

“I’m dealing with it, Breyla.” I get the feeling there’s more he’s not saying.

“Just know that when I find them, I will not hesitate. Their lives are forfeit.”

Cillian grins wickedly. “I would expect nothing less, little General.”

“One last question, and this is important. Which member of my court ordered the hit?” I’m not leaving without this answer.

“Lord Seamus Delencourt.”

I can’t say I’m surprised; just relieved to have someone able to confirm his guilt finally.

“Thank you,Your Highness,” I say, mocking his self-appointed title, and he rolls his eyes. “Your information has been most helpful.” I take out the coin purse full of gold and drop it in his waiting hand.

He drops it in his pocket and says, “Pleasure doing business with you, sweetheart. Try not to get yourself killed before I see you next.”

“No promises,” I say with a wink as I pull my hood back over my head.

As I reach for the door handle, Cillian calls out, “Oh, and Breyla?”

“Yes?”

“I meant what I said about you deserving to be happy. I’m sorry it wasn’t me, but if he ever fucks it up, I’m only a raven away.”

I let out a chuckle. “Sure, Cillian. I know I can always count on you as plan B.” I slip out of the brothel and back to the castle.

The palace is still quiet by the time I make it to my chambers. My hand is on the door to my room when I hear the low, deep voice of Ayden.

“Evening, love.” The door clicks shut behind us as I turn to face him.

“Evening, Prince.” I keep my voice low, trying not to wake Aurelius or catch the attention of anyone else that might bewandering the halls. I take in Ayden’s appearance and determine that he was probably not asleep. His well-defined chest is on display, and it’s a damn shame I’m the only one here to see it. The male looks like he was sculpted by the gods. His hair isn’t mussed from sleep, and his eyes are bright. He’s alert and smirking at me. He’s been awake this whole time.

“What troubles you at this late hour?” he asks as his eyes roam over me.

I keep my voice even as I reply, “Nothing troubles me. I was visiting an old friend.”

Ayden takes a step closer, his eyes still assessing me. His lips quirk up on one side, and he runs his fingers down my neck. My hand shoots up on instinct, gripping his wrist tightly. I’m tired of being touched by so many people that aren’t Aurelius tonight. I want to wash the feel of everyone else’s touches off my skin.

“Your friend has a lovely shade of lipstick, love.” The bastard smirks at me again, bringing his fingers in front of my face. The red color of Claudia’s lips stains the tips. “What was her name?”

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