Chapter Text
Guilt gnawed at your neck as you snuck through the hallways, footsteps inaudible except for the slight creaking of the smooth leather servant’s shoes you had strapped your feet into after your bath.
The hallways were thankfully empty so early into the night. Normally there might be a handful of servants weaving their way through the maze that is the castle, fulfilling the wishes of their masters. Tonight, after so many festivities, people were either out celebrating or already out cold. In this perfect moment of silence, you would enact your plan.
You couldn’t afford to feel guilty. It had to be done, exactly like this, there was no other choice. Well, none that were as simple and effective as the one you had come up with.
That afternoon, after being locked into your chamber, Gwen had snuck in. She knew you wouldn’t simply sit and simmer in your anger, in your fear. No, you would scheme, and she would be there to help. Together you had collected all the information you had picked up, and deliberated theories.
The two of you had decided that that evening, your little group of covert rebels was going to slip out and get some answers. Hobie and Miles would raid the physician’s apothecary, see whether he carried poisons and if the thief had left traces. You and Gwen would individually sneak into the councilman's quarters, one by one, and look for clues.
These old farts would have left something around that would point to the culpable. Hubris was always an egomaniac's downfall.
But to do this you would have to take some risks, be fast and think on your feet. If any of them found you dressed like this in their chambers the game was over.
Which is where the guilt came in. You knew that Miguel would seek you out at some point this evening, being so close and having witnessed what had happened that afternoon he’d check whether you were faring well. You couldn’t have him run into the hallways, or arrive at your empty chambers, either way he’d go ballistic.
You’d seen the look in his eyes as he protected you from that octagon lunatic, there was no way in all the hells he’d let you wander around and risk running into your assassin this evening. So you had decided not to tell him.
Besides, if you had told him and he had decided to come along, more risks would pose. Not only was it impossible to be furtive with the personification of a mountain next to you, if you were caught, the ramification for him would be lethal. A commoner breaking into a councilman’s chamber was unheard of, and would end with his head rolling over the great hall’s blood-stained floors.
What would ensure that he wouldn’t leave his chambers tonight? Come to him, give him something to occupy his mind for the rest of the night, and then leave in time to enact your plan.
You felt vaguely dirty. It was not like you had only fooled around with him for the sake of the plan, it was something the both of you had needed desperately since that little challenge after the chapel meeting. But it felt different, lying to him by omission, manipulating and deceiving Miguel.
You cast those thoughts out of your mind, the walls in your head fortifying and becoming impenetrable. His life would not be put in danger, Gabi would never know what it felt like to lose a father, especially after not since he was the only parent she had. You knew what it felt like to be alone, she would never feel like that.
Better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission, right? And if you did not find anything, you wouldn’t have to come clean either.
Morally grey thinking, you hoped.
The doors to the Eastern wing came into view as you rounded another corner, and Gwen was casually leaning against the wall, dressed identically to you. She was holding two sets of dusters.
“Finally” She shouted-whispered as you came into earshot, waving the brushes in the air “Didn’t think it would take so long to ‘distract’ him.”
You snatched one of the brushes out of her hands, shouldering the big doors open with only one nasty look at your friend “Not my fault you’re used to handling those kinds of things in under a minute.”
"Yeah?" Wanna know what I do to make your brother last that long?” She quipped back, looking back and forth between the hallways, ensuring they were as deserted as you needed them to be.
You pulled a disgusted face and pretended to gag, not looking at her, too mortified “Gods Gwen that is sick, please do feel free never to say anything like that again.”
The halls were empty and side by side, you moved into the councilmen's wing, glancing at the row of doors, grand and luxurious and wholly too big. There were six of them on each side, one per councilman.
They weren’t their permanent residences, obviously. To be part of the council meant to be part of nobility, meaning each man had their own lands, estates and often castles. These chambers were a status symbol as it were, a designated room in the castle that could not belong to anyone but a man in their position.
Wasn’t it funny that even though your mother had spent years battling the prejudices against her sex, battling tooth and nail to convince these old decrepit fucks she could run the kingdom better than anyone else, she had never ever considered a woman for the council? Yeah, you didn’t think so either.
The time for chatter was over, you had to focus and be quick before the second wave of celebrating nobles stumbled back into the hallways. You and Gwen knew what to do, she’d take all the chambers on the left, you would take the ones on the right. You would not move to the next one before Gwen did, that way you’d ensure the other hadn’t gotten caught, or that you unnecessarily moved into a new room whilst the other had already found what you’d be looking for.
The two of you moved to the first room, and you consulted your little note. You had stowed away the piece of parchment between your tits, next to your dagger. It had a little list of councilmen, organised by the position of their chambers.
You pointed at Gwen’s door and mouthed ‘Van Renesse’, she nodded in understanding and tilted her head towards yours, in question. You looked at the rudimentary map and pressed your lips together in annoyance before letting her know ‘Dumonceau’.
The old misogynistic cow would be the easiest to fool. He did not believe women had the mental capacity to scheme, so if he’d found a young servant girl in his room he’d either be annoyed by her bad timing, or delighted he could perhaps convince her to open her commoner legs.
Thankfully, as you listened for sounds of snoring or shuffling about, you heard nothing. So you opened the door only a sliver, and slid inside.
The room was dark, the embers of the fire smouldering and casting the room in dark, long shadows. It was good, meant the space was abandoned, no sense in keeping the fire on if no one was here. But you couldn’t see it like this.
You stole a candle from his desk, lit it in the hot stones of the hearth and began looking around.
You checked the wood of the bed, searching for hidden compartments. If you were hiding things in your chambers, then so were these scheming old goats. But you did not find suspicious ridges or camouflaged buttons or handles. Very well. Then you moved to the desk, littered with parchments and books.
Dumonceau was one of the councilmen you most suspected. The man had a deep distrust of Quatos, and would naturally not enjoy an alliance with the country. Besides, with his disdain for the fairer sex, he would have less qualms with harming or killing you if it served his greater purpose.
But there were no incriminating letters, no suspicious vials or documents that betrayed his intentions to betray the crown. So after a thorough search of his drawers, making sure there were no hidden bottoms or stray keys, you made sure everything was as it was and left the room.
Gwen was already outside hers, looking tense and intent on moving on. You shook your head at her, when you locked eyes, and she did the same. No luck on the first search, unfortunate, but better than being caught right away.
So you moved on to the next, nearly identical to the first set, and you consulted your map again. “Loi” you mouthed for Gwen, whose brows knitted together in annoyance. Loi was a known antagonist and a known stickler would be hard to investigate. The man lived his life the way he worked, perfectly organised and detailed. Nothing else could be expected of the councilman responsible for the law.
The door you were about to push open led into Merode’s room, and in your haste, you forgot to check whether you heard any sounds. That proved to be a mistake, as the second you had slipped inside the space, the sound of a loud, rolling snore bounced against the stone walls into your ears.
You stiffened, panic flooding your veins. Shit . You couldn’t believe you had become so careless so fast. If Merode pulled you through the hallways by your ears, Miguel would kill you himself.
The man was obsessed with security, truly, and would be the most difficult man to search. If there was anyone who knew how to hide his secrets, it was this paranoid bastard. Worse even, he was essential to this search. If your mother planned anything military with Quatos forces, he would be the first to find out. If anyone knew anything, it would be him.
So you steeled your breath, forced your heart to beat a little less erratically and tip-toed into the space. The fireplace was roaring, undoubtedly rekindled by servants after the man had come back from the festivities
Bottles were strewn around the mattress, a round one still clutched in his hand as he laid on his back and snored with his mouth wide open. Good. If he drank himself into sleep it would be harder to wake him up.
You started with his desk, knowing that out of all the councilmen, he would be the last one to leave behind evidence there, it was too obvious. Quietly you searched the papers, ran your hand past the wood and searched the drawers. The last one pulled open with a squeak that made you wince, but you had gotten lucky, a particularly deep snore filled the room, hiding your slip-up.
Nothing. Nothing but maps, protection plans and ‘classified’ information you had gained access to weeks ago with the help of your friends and a few sticky fingers. On his table were the plans you had seen with Miguel, large buildings to be built along the coast, too large for commoners, too small and humble for a lord. The barracks.
With a gulp you moved on, remembering that this scheme was bigger than just your safety. If they were building barracks, if your marriage could have anything to do with increased militarization, something bigger was afoot.
You lowered yourself to your knees, staying under Merode’s line of sight, and crawled towards the bed. If there was anywhere to keep secret plans or illegal documents, it would be close to where his head lay at night.
Quietly, slowly, you crept closer to his bed. You prayed to any god you thought could help you to protect you from this man’s wrath, which would be terrifying were he to find you on your hands and knees next to his bed.
A small chest was hidden under the bed, behind a decorative pillow that appeared to be haphazardly thrown on the floor. Perfect.
Quietly, you slid under the bed, not wanting to move the chest, and pulled out a pin from your dress. You had expected there to be a lock or two you couldn’t find the key for, and you had slipped a few things in your dagger sheaths. The little pin was usually used for more elaborate hairstyles, and wouldn’t be strange to be found with a servant girl.
A bit of careful fiddling later, trying to remember exactly how Hobie had taught you to pick locks, and the chest popped open with an obnoxious clack.
Swiftly you pulled out the parchments inside, holding it to the side of the bed to catch some light. Even if Merode did not wake up, the sound must have stirred something in his subconscious, and you were not planning to stick around for long enough to have it warn the snoring noble.
They were designs of buildings and … machinery. They did not look like they were made by someone from your kingdom, the lettering distinctly different, the shade of the parchment unusual. It must have been made from a different material.
But your attention was pulled by the designs, and your heartbeat in your chest like a grand drum. It was so loud you were afraid that the man asleep inches above you would hear. They were designs of the buildings on the inside, and you had been right, they were barracks. Not for workers, as you had briefly hoped, but soldiers. Rows of rows of beds, with modest chests in between them filled the open spaces. Designs for efficient bathing rooms with space for dozens of men to use at the same time were drawn on another parchment.
The other papers were new designs for crossbows, with thicker arrows and easier loading machinery.
Your mouth went dry and a buzzing filled your ears, your hands grew sweaty. Quickly you stuffed the parchments back into the chest and shut it. You had said they were barracks, you had talked about it being plans for increased militarization but with these designs for weapons? So innovative, so elaborate and expensive? It wasn’t just about gaining an army.
This was about war.
Your mother was preparing for war.
You shut your eyes, laid your forehead against the dirty, dusty stones that the floor was built out of and tried to regulate your breathing.
Flashes of wounded soldiers being carried through the castle gates, their legs and arms missing, wailing women at their side. Young soldiers in the arms of their mothers, old ones held by their children. Those empty eyes that reported to your father the king, what exactly had been going on on the front lines.
His warm arms wrapped around your tiny shoulders as he whispered sweet words in your ear, and promises about coming back soon. Only for that to be the last time you would ever see him.
It would happen again, all of this would happen again.
You moved out from under the bed in a daze, the snoring only registering in the back of your mind. It was that part that stopped you from giving yourself away fully. You swiftly made your way out of the room and closed the door behind you with a sharp click.
Gwen was once again, already waiting outside of her door, worry etched into every part of her face, hands wringing each other in nerves. When she saw you, relief replaced the frown. That only lasted a second before she reverted back to worry. Whatever was written on your face, whatever agony filled your eyes, she could see.
But you shook your head and silently moved to the next door, more than ever convinced to find out what was happening.
What you knew now for sure is that you were part of a plan that would start another war, and that there was someone who wanted to prevent that at all costs. Your death might become the death of an alliance.
Right now, you couldn’t disagree with that reasoning too much. Perhaps you should throw yourself off a castle wall and save thousands of innocent lives as a result.
Your nails bit into the skin of your palm, forcing your mind out of that dark path of reasoning. No, your suicide would not change anything but delay the inevitable. If your mother had decided to wage war, she would, with or without a marriage alliance.
With trembling hands you fished out the little map once again, standing in front of the third set of doors.
‘Aitken’ You mouthed to Gwen, who was worrying her lip whilst watching you intently from her side of the hallway. But she knew now was not the time to hesitate, to discuss or ask if you were okay. The seconds were ticking away one by one, making it more and more likely for you to be caught.
Davis was your next target, and this time, you thought about listening at the door before going in. Silence. Good.
Unfortunately, the hearth was roaring. It meant he had recently left and could come back at any moment, or was going to come back soon. Either way, you had to make haste.
Besides, you had known Davis since birth, him having been the royal treasurer for your father from the very first year he had become king. If anyone would recognise your bare face, it would be him. The man had seen your face almost every day for decades, he would not be fooled by a lazy disguise.
So you moved like the wind, hurrying through the space and conducting the same inspection you had twice before now. The papers on his desk displayed rows and rows of complicated numbers and signs of various currencies. Even if hints were hidden in there, you would not be the one to find it. This was Miles’ specialty. Pity.
Everything else seemed to be more or less normal, which did not surprise you in the slightest. Davis had always been a cold, emotionless and strict man. You could not imagine him being involved in anything nefarious. He only cared about the money.
You were about to leave the room, satisfied with your search, when you noticed the craftsmanship of the bed. Thick dark wood, intricate carvings and wide set posts that held deep navy curtains. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, and one you knew all too well.
Yet another sign of how long Davis had been in your life, he had a bed from the same carpenter that had built yours. Courtesy of your father, surely.
That thought echoed in your mind, even as your fingers touched the cold wood of the door.
It was exactly like your bed.
Your bed which had more than a few hidden compartments built into the frame.
Your gut told you that this was important, and even though you knew you had only a few minutes left to get out of there, you turned around and headed to the frame. One by one you found the little hidden alcoves, identical to yours, each empty. You pulled the handles, lifted the covers and pushed the buttons. Nothing.
The last one was hidden at the top of the pillar in the back, accessible through pulling a beautiful branch. There was something in there.
Trembling fingers wrapped around the small vial in there, purple glass and a cloud-like glass cork keeping the liquid in there. It was only half full, and before you smelled it, you knew.
To be sure, you clambered off the bed pulled off the cork and took a deep whiff of the liquid.
Sweet, floral, with a putrid aftertaste of bitterness.
Your stomach dropped, and your eyebrows pulled together as dread and pain filled every fibre of your being.
Belladonna.
It was Belladonna.
Davis, a man who had held your hand during your first court proceedings and taught you for long hours how to handle the state treasury and do basic maths, had orchestrated your latest assassination attempt, and probably many before that as well.
He had never been kind, but he had never been unkind. He was one of the few faces that had remained unchanged over all these years in the castle.
It felt like a betrayal. From all the people who you had expected to be behind this, he had not been on your lists, any of them.
“Well, this is a surprise.”
You startled, almost dropping the little vial on the unforgiving tiles. You couldn’t let it break, it was evidence. But your hands shook and adrenaline coursed through your veins as you turned around and faced him. Davis was standing there, in front of the hearth, his silhouette imposing.
Aaron wasn’t a big man, but standing in his royal uniform, face partly hidden by flickering shadows and that hard look in his eyes, he was chilling.
This was the person who wanted you dead.
You clenched your jaw and felt your heart freeze over into a block of ice. With fingers that trembled less and less with every beat, you pushed the vial into your corset.
“Is it?” You asked him sceptically, he could not truly want to come after you and expect you to lay down and take it?
“Yes, quite.” He conceded, his arms behind his back.
What was the next best move? You had to get out of here in one way or another, and quickly, or you might not make it out of this room at all. The man might not be a warrior, but he was big and had access to strength you couldn’t rival. If he got his hands around you, you might not make it far.
“I was under the impression you weren’t actively involved in matters… anymore.” He said dryly, sounding accusatory. He did not move closer, but he did not have to.
There was no way you could reach the door without having to pass by him, and you knew that he would stop you. Of course, this was the one night that you had left your daggers behind, afraid that finding it on you would give you away. Stupid.
“I was under the impression my involvement in matters was unwelcome.” You said diplomatically, voice as sharp as the weapons that you had left in your own chambers.
If you couldn’t fight, you could talk, manipulate, investigate.
“One could doubt the use of a pretty flower in state flowers.” He said, his voice clipped and clear. The man spoke the way archers fired arrows. One by one, with a clean shot into the heart of the target. He was overly frank and did not dally.
“The Belladonna plant has beautiful lilac petals, that does not make it any less poisonous.” You quipped, hiding your hands behind your back, trying to hide how badly they trembled. Your mind was racing at a hundred miles an hour, shooting through all the options you had to get out of this situation alive. A pragmatist like Aaron Davis would not be above doing the dirty work himself. “But you know that very well, don’t you?”
“There are plans afoot, schemes set into motion that you have not the slightest notion of, princess. Someone has to take action before the damage is irreversible. ”
It wasn’t quite an excuse, but an explanation, a rationalisation. It was as if he thought it would make you see reason as if he was the one making the hard choices, sacrificing someone for the greater good. What a saint.
For so long you had followed the ghost of your father’s words, one of the many wisdoms he had locked into your soul “Make them underestimate you, make them overlook you until you want to be seen”
Well, it was time to be seen. All these years you had been able to exist, to use your position to do some good in the shadows, and it had been enough. But you could feel now, that it was over, you couldn’t do it. You wouldn’t.
No, it wasn’t good enough. Not anymore.
It was time to snap the mask in half and let the shards burn in the fire. It was that mask that had made others believe you were a passive player, easy prey, and they believed you were easy to hunt. That had been your mistake. The dark did not offer protection, it offered oblivion and neglect, and you had confused the two for too long.
You could not sabotage a lingering threat of war from the shadows, you could not protect yourself in there either. More importantly, you could not protect the people you loved like that either. You had to become a princess in more than just name. When you were younger you hadn’t been able to snatch the power that your position held, too naively optimistic that good intentions and a loud voice were all you needed, before your mother had
“So, Davis.” You drawled, pretending you were perfectly calm, whilst you were brimming with a decade's worth of rage, now finally unleashed “Let’s speak freely with each other.”
He nodded tersely, and you continued.
“You believe you can stop a war from breaking out by murdering me?”
The man’s eyes widened in surprise, and the dull glint in his eyes sharpened. With a few stiff movements, he moved to the side, sitting in one of the chairs in front of the hearth, motioning for you to sit in the one facing him.
It was an invitation to talk, to discuss, to find out exactly what the two of you knew and what you didn’t. You took it.
“Seems like we both have been playing dangerous games,” Aaron said gravely, running his fingers through his beard. He sounded thoughtful, considering. He was not admonishing you, or laughing at you, as you expected a councilman to do.
“Can’t say I am too keen on your methods.” You answered him dryly, crossing your arms and staring him down.
His eyes crinkled and his mouth twitched, looking like it was fighting a smile. It wasn’t possible though, not once in your life had you seen him look anything but stoic. “Because it would cost you your life, or because you don’t find it efficient enough?”
It was a funny question, a probing one, as if he already knew the answer and merely wanted you to confirm it. So you answered honestly, “I am not exactly fond of either.”
His silence spurred you on. “If the Queen wants war, she will wage war. My marriage to Atos is merely the most convenient route to achieve that goal, if you murdered me, she would find a way to pin it on her enemy country and demand Atos to take revenge for his murdered wife together with her.”
Aaron nodded gravely, a grimace etched on his face “Yes, I thought so too.”
“Then why?” You asked simply, desperately trying to detach yourself from this conversation in a way that proved difficult. You were discussing with a man you had inadvertently trusted, why he had made multiple attempts on your life.
“To buy time, find another way to put a stop to this.” He answered honestly, sizing you up. With those clear, all-seeing eyes he could probably see the stab of hurt flashing through your eyes. You didn’t respond, you couldn’t.
“Who is it?” You asked, referring to the country that your mother was trying to go to war with. You had an idea, a terrible terrible gut feeling of who it could be. There was no other that made sense, but you needed to hear it.
“Alchemax” He stated evenly, knowing the weight that the fact held.
You let out a sharp breath, your worst fears confirmed. Alchemax .
A neighbouring country to the southwest, widely known for their highly diverse flora, fauna and phenomenal development of medicine. Once you had visited a handful of times as a child, enamoured by the landscapes so similar to the ones in your storybooks.
A neighbouring country that your kingdom had waged war with for many years, over something as stupid as land.
Alchemax had wanted to absorb a part of the land into their realm, claiming it to be essential for their trade and development of healing products. They had argued, ardently, that the territory was useless to us, that our healers did not know what to do with the resources there anyway. But in order to mine those sources all people would have to leave their homes, be displaced and start their lives elsewhere. It was cruel.
Your father had negotiated for what had to be nearly a year, trying to protect his people from an invasion whilst maintaining good ties with the King of Alchemax. It hadn’t worked.
The war had cost him his life, along with countless others, but the land and the people remained yours. History was being repeated. Bloody, terrible history was being repeated.
“No.” You said simply, voice strangled. The flashes that had plagued you under Merode’s bed came back with a vengeance, worse, more vivid. “No that can’t happen.”
Davis nodded gravely, in agreement, but before he could say anything else, the door to his chambers opened up again and Gwen shot inside, blade in hand. Apparently she hadn’t been silly enough to leave them behind, not like you.
The councilman did not stand up at her intrusion, neither did you. Not even when she stalked over to your chair, grabbed the back with an iron grip, pointed her weapon forward and looked at you from the corner of her eye.
“What is going on here?” She asked suspiciously, her eyes flickering between Davis and you. She as well had grown up in the palace and knew this man better than any other councilman.
“Merely discussing my mother’s impending war on Alchemax and the utility of my death in stopping the matter.” You deadpanned, not unhappy with how well you had summarised that just now.
Gwen swore under her breath, sat on the arm of your chair and left the dagger strategically in her lap.
“Guinevere, I wasn’t aware you had returned to the castle, or that the two of you were involved again.” Aaron said smoothly, his cunning eyes taking in yet another morsel of information that had escaped his attention. It was frankly ridiculous that Gwen had been here for weeks already, and that most hadn’t recognized her because of her ageing and servant’s attire. People were blind to things in plain sight.
“Glad to be, considering the circumstances.” She answered, stroking the blade of her weapon with one finger. Then she turned her head to you. “So you were right, about the designs? They’re barracks.”
You nodded, pinching the bridge of your nose and trying to calmly digest all this information whilst sitting across from the man who could have become, and still might become your murderer. “They are for Quatos’ army who will then undoubtedly have easy access to the shores of Alchemax through the sea. Furthermore, those financial ledgers with gaps in them were no accident, they’re designing new weapons as well. All of this costs a fortune, no wonder they have been embezzling.”
Davis must know more about the situation, perhaps fill in the gaps you hadn’t been able to reconstruct yourself from all the clues you and your friends had accumulated over the past half-year.
But when you looked at him you were startled.
He was smiling. A broad, indulgent smile, and it was the first you had ever seen on him. His eyes glittered as he looked at you, in a way that made you feel like he was finally, properly seeing you.
“I always wondered what had happened to that clever little girl who interrupted her father’s council meetings to chime in. He always used to say you had a big mouth, and even a bigger heart.” His tone was fond and warm, and came to you unexpectedly. All these years, when you had imagined people finding out what you truly had been occupying yourself with, joy had not been considered a possibility.
“That little girl was isolated into her chambers and starved for days at a time when she tried to speak up against the Queen.” Gwen snipped, not nearly as charmed by this warm reception as you.
The smile faded, and Davis face fell back into something more grave. “You know she is ruthless, and driven to a point of obsession. If she wants to take revenge for her husband’s death by breaking a peace treaty and starting another war, it will take something drastic to stop it.”
“Murdering me is not the solution, she would make me a martyr.” You countered evenly, considering the weight of your words carefully. Truth was that your life was not worth thousands, but it wasn’t worth a gamble either “Atos and my mother would band together in the wake of my death and point the fingers at Alchemax, using it as a valid excuse to invade. At that point other nations would not even be able to protest”
“Yes, that is something your mother would do” Gwen admitted solemnly, her fingertips trailing past the sharp edge of her blade.
“Atos is … interesting, not quite as bloodthirsty and unreasonable as the rest of his kin, he might be reasoned with.” You said hesitantly, eyes pulled towards the fireplace.
Davis was already shaking his head, mouth set in a thin line “He has as little say in his fate as you do, princess, reasoning with him is not the issue with.”
Gwen leans closer to you and picks up her blade again, pointing it at the man in front of you “So are we pretending like he did not try to kill you multiple times?”
You mulled it over before waving her concern away, meeting Aaron’s eyes steadily “I would have done the same.”
His eyes glittered with a deep, and unreadable emotion, his face thoughtful and grave as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“I have underestimated you, Your Highness.” He admits, the words one of the most beautiful apologies ever dedicated to you “But together we can find a way to stop this and save thousands.”
The fire crackled peacefully, casting the room in deep shadows and paths of warm flickering lights. The bed, so beautifully crafted made you feel the presence of your kind father, The Good King.
The King that had acted so nobly, he had gotten himself killed.
You were not only his, though. You were your mother’s daughter, grown in the womb of a woman whose steel heart pumped blood through her ruthless body. You were not as kind, as good and as noble as your father, her part of you wouldn’t allow it. You were far too cunning, too sharp.
You wouldn’t die, like your father. You would not kill, like your mother.
You wrapped your hand around Gwen’s, indirectly holding the dagger she still had clenched in her fist. Looking at her, and Davis, you knew what to do. It was time to stop hiding in the shadows, and create your biggest scheme yet.
“Together.”