My thoughts drift to what awaits me at the castle.Mages. I have never liked their kind—arrogant, self-important, and always eager to flaunt their moral superiority. I know they’ll be there, and I am already steeling myself to endure their pompous asses.
Still, I won’t be like this guard, shrinking into silence. I’ll have my way, as I always do. I’ll work alone, answer to no one, and bend them to my demands if they stand in my way. Let them try to hunt me. My fingers drum lazily against the leather seat as the carriage bumps along the road, my smile widening just slightly.
They have no idea what they’ve invited into their gilded halls.
Chapter 4
Cage
A LE STRANGE WITCH IS coming to the castle. Worse, I’m expected to work with her.
My stomach twists at the thought of it being Nora or one of the other insufferable elders slithering into the castle. I don’t trust their kind. I don’t like their kind. Soul-sucking cunts, the lot of them, butNora? If she stepped foot in this castle, Vyraxis would manifest and rip this castle to shreds.
Tyran doesn’t even know which Le Strange they’re sending. He only knows she’s valuable. Nora’s chosen protégé. Only the “finest selection” was promised to him, whatever that means.
Nora part two?
The very idea of it sits like a knife in my gut.
I know how Nora thinks. Iknowwhat her “favoritism” looks like. I was nothing but a toy when I was younger, power dangledbefore me like bait on a hook. She would never limit any of her own kind the way she sought to control me. This prodigy of hers, she’ll live and breathe Nora’s gospel. A devoted disciple to the fiend herself.
And I’m expected to work with her.
A sharp flick against the rim of my wine glass draws me from my thoughts. I don’t need to look up to know who it is.
Kalix.
Mismatched eyes, one sage green, the other flaxen yellow, stare at me. They’re filled with mischievous intent. He’s waiting for a reaction.
“Distracted, Black? I’m hardly getting any attention,” Kalix murmurs, feigning disappointment.
“How will you ever survive?” I smirk, lifting the silver chalice and taking a slow sip, letting the bitter wine coat my tongue as it slides down my throat. Kalix leans back in his chair, his eyes drifting lazily across the room. His posture remains tightened. His voice drops just enough to ensure privacy. “He has not shown yet.”
“He will,” I reassure him. “It’s his damn ball. The bastard will show.”
Leaning back into my seat, I observe the layout of the ballroom. We’ve positioned ourselves well, tucked into a secluded corner near the open balcony doors. We have a clear vantage point over the gathering. To our right, the balcony doors frame the moonlight, its gleam spilling onto the polished floors. To our left, the dance floor stretches wide. Steps leading up on all sides to the elevated rim where the nobility linger, a bowl-shaped design meant for display, power, and hierarchy.
Unlike Tyran’s estate, where gold drips from every surface, the Duke’s tastes run the colors of deep green and red. Every tablecloth, every curtain, and every sash adorning the guests present tonight reflect his chosen colors. Even the whitemarbled flooring, streaked with black veins, matches the elite who tread upon them. However, It’s the walls that I can’t help but admire. Polished dark oak is lined with portraits of the Duke’s family lineage, each face meticulously rendered in oil, purposefully displaying their claim to power. Yet, the Duke himself is absent.
His portrait tells me what I already know. He’s short, round, and insufferably smug. A man of his status should be swarmed by admirers and opportunists alike.
But where is he?
Tyran sent us here for a reason. A spy confirmed that Duke Leving has been in contact with the North. And traitors, particularly those of high status, cannot simply be dragged in for questioning without igniting some political backlash. So here we are, the lovely Captain Kalix and I, masquerading as honored guests, playing Tyran’s game.
Kalix whistles, tilting his head to the right.
There. An exact match to one of the portraits. Duke Leving’s daughter steps into the ballroom. Her presence turns heads. As expected. Long, sleek blonde hair, a striking frame, and wide, bright blue eyes. She’s just like her father. She wears a deep-red gown tailored to perfection, its fabric hugging her curves while proudly displaying her family’s colors.
“I believe her name is Annabeth.” My voice remains low just enough that only Kalix can hear.
A slow grin spreads across his lips. “That is how we find dear old daddy.”
With a smooth practiced motion, Kalix rises to his full height, a living wall of muscle draped in dark green and red. Towering over every man in his vicinity, he moves through the ballroom with confidence and purpose. The crowd parts instinctively out of respect, out of wariness, or simply to avoid being trampled.Women glance up as he passes, their thoughts spiking briefly with lust.
Kalix approaches Annabeth. He dips into a courtly bow. He doesn’t need to, but that’s precisely why he does.
Though I remain seated, their thoughts flood into me, keeping me attuned to the entire interaction. Kalix could block me if he wanted to. I taught him how. He knows better. He knows I want the intel.
