Page 1 of Shadows of the Crown

Chapter One

Ariella

Maybe I should fuck him before I kill him.

Not with my own flesh, of course, but the hilt of my blade would certainly do the trick. He deserves it after what he did to that woman. My lips curve at the thought. I could do it. My only instructions were that his death had to be caused by a blade to his heart, and nothing was mentioned about what pain I could inflict beforehand.

Fuck, I might just do it because of how long he's taking.

A chill sweeps through my bones as the coldness from the brick starts inching its way into my cloak. I spin my blade through my fingers with practiced precision—one of my better habits. Sighing deeply, there's a heaviness in my posture. Anyone who was unfortunate enough to see me would quickly turn the other way. Lucky for them, though, I’m never seen in the shadows.

“If looks could kill.”

If I had a copper for every time I heard that one, I could probably afford a night in the Eldorian castle.

Just one night is all I’d needto kill the king.

A quick stepping pattern pulls my focus, and I tilt my head to listen closer. These steps are hurried and moving with purpose. The thumping gets louder than the muffled conversations humming through Valoria, and I know this is my target. He always walks this alley home, though never with such haste. I roll my eyes, becauseof coursesomeone had to tip him off that the guild was looking for him. It was probably Isolde, that bitch. She loves to push me to my limits, but I’m in no mood for these games today.

I close my eyes to the sight of the alley. There’s barely any light in this part of the city; but no matter, I can feel my target’s essence like the glove on my hand. My essence yearns to be released, and I nearly growl in frustration at its insistence. I’ve neglected it for too long, not releasing the building power, and now it's trying to fuck with my assignment. A masculine scent hits my nose, replacing the heavy, wet mustiness that’s been circling me these last hours. The target reaches me, and using the hand not gripping my blade, I tug on my umbral strand, weaving opaque shadows into existence, casting my target into complete darkness.

The hitch of his breath hits me like the most pleasant song. My shadows caress his sweat-licked skin, allowing me to see that this is indeed the one I've been waiting for. I once sliced the throat of a man who I thought I was to kill, but he turned out to just have the same hair color and build as my actual target. Unfortunate forhim, but annoying for me, as I had to explain why there were two bodies instead of just one.

His pulse quickens, and I smirk at the adrenaline he has swirling through his veins, helping him focus on trying to find a way out of his fate. There is no way out, but I let him plan for a moment. Their expressions are so much more rewarding when you give them a chance to hope first. My leathers rub together, causing a light squeaking to echo through the silence. My boots come down hard enough to let him hear me, and his pulse quickens even more. His breaths strain—I scrunch my nose at the smell of whiskey floating from his direction. Of course he drinks whiskey. Seems to be the poison of choice for those who also enjoy raping others.

The reminder of his crime sends hot rage through me, tasting like burnt honey on my tongue. I want to get this over with; I’m tired and need to release some of my unused essence. But this man deserves a painful, horrible death. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t kill him. That is a kindness after what he’s done. I’d drag him back to the guild and do to him what he did to the girl. And unlike him, I wouldn’t be foolish enough to get caught. He would stay under my care for a long, long time, suffering a repeat of his crime every single day until I was satisfied with his punishment. That would likely be never, but that theory is negligible.

The target whimpers as I step closer, my lip curling at the sound. He feels powerful enough to use an unwilling woman forhis pleasure, but I come into the picture and he immediately pisses himself to death? Pathetic.

“Please,” he sputters in the direction he thinks I’m located. “Please, I have a family. I have money I can pay. Just please let me go!” I chuckle lightly, and he spins around to face me, eyes widening when he sees my form directly behind him. I allow the shadows to dissipate some, giving him enough light to take in the face of his killer as I remove my hood.

He spits out some incoherent words at the sight of me, his body now trembling hard. A foul smell drifts toward me, and my eyes flit downward to see that he did indeed piss himself.

“By the Angel!” His legs give out and he drops to his knees, bones cracking from the impact. He can barely form his next words through his sweet fear, making me smile for the first time in days. “Silver Wraith, please, I beg of you. I beg for your mercy.” He lowers his head to the wet stone, bowing before me like I’m some Aether here to grant him pardon. I’m not known for mercy—no, the people of Eldoria know me for my darkness. My ability to be silent and unseen until my blade is in their throat. The last thing their eyes witness is my silver hair hovering above their nauseating faces.

He moves to kiss my boot. “For fuck’s sake.” I swing my foot into his face hard enough to send him careening into the brick wall. He curls in on himself, tears and snot covering half of his face.

Why did I have to volunteer for this assignment? Clearly a blind, elderly woman could have taken him down without any trouble. I just wished for a job that wasn’t one of the king's requests, though I likely will not be volunteering anymore because this is so much worse than being bored at the guild.

“You’re fucking pitiful.” I tilt my chin to the sky; maybe I should use my psionic strand to have him jump off the building in front of me. There’s no one around to see me weaving, and I really do not want to be associated with his death. It’s embarrassing, honestly. I groan—that won’t work because the guild was hired to kill Samuel, and it would be quite suspicious if he just happened to jump from the same building I'm tasked with waiting next to.

No, I can’t. There would be too many questions.

“Let’s get this over with, then,” I sigh and crouch next to his whimpering body. “You know why you’re being targeted, yes?” He shakes his head and I grab his throat, lifting him from the ground and slamming the back of his head into the wet stone.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Samuel. You know exactly why I’m here. Now tell me.” A spark of hope lights his eyes momentarily, as if he thinks admitting his crime is my requisite for letting him go free. Imbecile.

“I—I hurt someone.”

“You hurt someone.” It’s not a question. He did, but I want him to elaborate. All of my targets confess to their crimes before I take their life. And if they refuse? Well, the guild would have atemporary prisoner, I suppose. But my reputation always proves useful, because these bastards are too frightened ofEldoria’s deadliest assassinto keep their truth hidden for long.

“I hurt someo—” I squeeze his throat, and he looks to my eyes for any hint of safety or hope. He won’t find it. Even if I wasn’t here to kill him, he wouldn’t see either. My face is always the mask I wish others to see…nothing else. And right now? Samuel sees death in my gaze, and a promise that it will be much worse for him if he chooses to lie to me again. “I killed a woman.” Every bit of fight, what little he had, abandons his limbs and he goes slack in my hold.

“Now you get it,” I praise sweetly. “You won’t be leaving here, Samuel. I will not show you mercy, and I doubt the Angel will, either. Not after you raped and murdered Olivia.” I laugh to myself as my anger demands more than his life.

“You’re lucky the method of your death is not my choice,” I whisper sharply, and watch his brows furrow as his body registers the blade in his chest. I only nicked his heart, which will prolong his suffering for a while; it’s not enough to sate the hunger in me that wants to make him pay in full value for his crime, but it will have to do. This was not my revenge to have. I’m only the executor.

I pull the blade out, smirking when he drops to the ground with a heavy groan. I wipe the blood off the sleek steel using his shirt and continue to twirl it through my fingers as I lean back againstthe wall. Suddenly, I’m no longer annoyed with having to stay in this frigid, damp alley. The pained whimpering coming from my target is entertainment enough.

---