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“You always say that.” Elarian swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Do not start pretending you understand me, Lucan.”
A quiet silence followed.
Then, softly, “I think I understand you far better than you want me to.”
Her jaw clenched.
That was precisely the problem. She had spent so long making herself unknowable that she did not know what to do when someone looked closely enough to see her anyway. Before she could answer, a knock sounded against the door.
Lucan’s expression shifted instantly as the mask slid back into place.
“Enter.”
A servant entered only long enough to report that the court had divided into competing theories regarding Lady Drevain's murder before Lucan dismissed him with barely a glance.
“You need something from me,” Elarian said.
“I need you to kill someone.”
“Who?”
“A vampire from Aurelion’s court.” He spoke Aurelion’s name like it reopened every scar etched into his skin.
Her stomach dropped. The name alone carried weight. Aurelion. The one Lucan feared, whom he refused to speak of. The legendary vampire of the north, who dared to blaspheme a god and then build an empire to defy her punishment. Wrapped in shadow and shunned from the light, a terror with the most beautiful face.
Elarian had never seen the Bloodlord Aurelion before.
After spending the past fortnight trying to pry deeper into Lucan’s wounds, she wasn’t certain she ever wanted to.
“The informant?” she asked.
Lucan’s gaze sharpened. “So you have been listening.”
“I am an assassin, Lucan. Not a decorative statue.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“No. You are far more troublesome than a statue.”
Elarian ignored the warmth pooling low in her belly with each word uttered from his blood-stained lips.
“What does he know?” she asked, forcing herself back to thoughts of another mission.
“Enough.”
The answer was too vague. She studied him carefully until the faintest hint of fear flickered across his face. He hid it well, but not well enough.
“What happens if he speaks?”
Lucan looked away.
“Then you will meet the Bloodlord at last.”
The room went quiet. Elarian glanced down at the bandage around her wrist.
“How many more times,” she whispered, “will you ask me to become your monster?”
“Only as many times as you choose to.”
