Page 46 of Heirs of the Cursed

Someone was approaching.

Darcia took the dagger hanging from her belt and gripped the hilt tightly. It was a simple blade, but the metal was sharp enough to cut at the slightest carelessness. Beautiful and dangerous, just as Bassel had once described it.

Her breath fogged in the air, yet she remained still, twirling the dagger between her fingers as she waited for danger to strike. Though she had no training in weapons or fighting, that didn’t stop her from spinning on her axis and hurling the dagger toward the source of the sound.

The shadow caught it in mid-air.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you to aim for the heart?”

Impossible.

“You.”

The thief smirked at her from beneath the mask. “I’m glad I’ve made such an impression on you that you remember me.”

Though his face remained veiled, the piercing emerald hues of his eyes locked onto her without the slightest hint of shyness. As a torrent of fury surged within her, Darcia’s cheeks flushed with a fiery blush.

“You tried to kill me.”

“No, gorgeous. I was trying to steal, and you interrupted me,” he corrected her.

“You’re the Midnight Thief,” Darcia said with bated breath.

“It’s not a title I’m fond of. People aren’t very original.”

“Criminals shouldn’t have titles,” she spat, crossing her arms to shield herself from him.

His gaze brightened at the insult. As he raised his arm in her direction, Darcia took a step back. Even disarmed and exposed, she wasn’t so naive to trust him. Weapons hung from the belt across his chest and hips, many of which he could use to kill her.

But the Midnight Thief simply offered her his hand and sighed exaggeratedly when she didn’t take it.

“You can always call me Alasdair, if you like it better.”

“Surely that’s not even your real name,” Darcia scoffed.

“Why would I lie to you?”

In Laivalon, liars abounded as much as murderers and ruffians did. People believed that darkness and evil were part of Ro’i Rajya, but the dryadalis had also shown Darcia that they weren’t to be trusted. And according to the stories she’d heard about him, the masked man had earned not only his title but many others just as dangerous.

“Because you’re a thief.”

“And that makes me a liar?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“An insufferable one, from what I see.”

Alasdair laughed.

“I don’t understand what you’re laughing at,” Darcia said, irritated.

“You’re very funny.”

“What part of throwing a dagger at you and insulting you do you find funny?”

“I think it’s a combination,” he replied.

Rage boiled in her veins as she growled, “Leave my city.”

Alasdair remained silent for a short moment, playing with the dagger she’d thrown at him. Each movement was calculated, each twist of the blade a precise dance, the rings on his fingers clinking as they struck the metal edge.

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