The air in Greystone had grown colder, though winter had yet to set its claws into the land. Something about the wind felt... wrong. Like a held breath.
I stood atop the watchtower of Castle Duskmere, my eyes scanning the horizon, though my thoughts weren't on the fields. They were on the shadows. On the reports Lyra had delivered not two nights past.
"Crowndusk agents are stirring," she'd told me, her voice quiet but taut with certainty. "Your name is on a list, yes—but it's not yours they'll strike first. They want to hurt you. Break your center."
And I knew what that meant.
They wouldn't come for me.
They'd come for my people.
I descended the tower steps two at a time, boots echoing off the stone. My guards bowed stiffly as I passed, eyes sharp and wary. Greystone was under constant watch now—Ashen Veil scouts rotated shifts thrice daily, and the Iron Fangs patrolled the walls like clockwork. Still, I trusted none of it. Ravien didn't send armies. He sent knives.
I found Kaelen in the training yard, sparring against two of our new recruits. Her blade snapped forward like lightning, disarming one, sending the other sprawling with a brutal kick. She wore that half-smirk again—the one she only used when in motion.
"Good," I said, approaching as she wiped her brow. "But you're due for rest. You've been out here since dawn."
She snorted. "Someone has to teach these pups how to hold a sword."
"You're not wrong," I said. Then added quietly, "But I need you sharp. Tonight."
Her gaze narrowed instantly. "Is something coming?"
"Someone. We don't know who yet." I exhaled. "But Lyra intercepted coded orders. Assassins—possibly embedded in Greystone already."
Kaelen gave a grim nod, then glanced past me. "Who's the target?"
I hesitated. Then: "I don't know. But I need you near Armin and Caldus tonight. And I want two Ashen Veil with Lyra at all times."
"And you?"
"I'll be bait."
Kaelen's mouth twitched—not a smile. More like a growl held in check. "Then I'll be in the next room."
---
Later that Night
Castle Duskmere – East Wing
Dinner was a simple affair. Roast quail. Hard bread. Pottage. I invited only the council: Armin, Lyra, Caldus, and Kaelen. Arden was still in Branholdt, overseeing recruitment. A calculated risk.
"I'm surprised you're eating," Lyra said, watching me cut into the bird.
"Why?"
She glanced sideways at the door, then back. "Because I wouldn't trust anything that came from the kitchens today."
"I didn't," I said, and raised a hand.
A man stepped forward from the corner—one of mine, a scout trained in poisons. He set down a vial and a small silver coin. "Quail's clean," he said. "But the wine…"
He poured it into the vial. The liquid turned cloudy.
Lyra's eyes darkened.
"Well," said Armin, setting down his goblet. "That's comforting."
"Someone's getting sloppy," Kaelen muttered.
"No," Lyra said sharply. "Someone wants us to know. This was meant to rattle, not kill."
And it did. Every instinct screamed diversion. I stood.
"Double guards. Lock down the keep. Search every servant, stablehand, and sentry who arrived in the last two weeks. No one enters or leaves without my word."
Caldus raised a brow. "You think there's more?"
"I know it."
---
Midnight
West Wing – Council Chambers
The explosion was small, but sharp. A controlled burst of alchemist fire—the kind Lyra described as "efficient murder." It came from the hallway near the war archive, two floors down.
I was already moving before the second blast shook the walls.
"Kaelen, with me!"
We raced through the keep, steel echoing off stone. Ashen Veil scouts were ahead, blades drawn, shouting about intruders in the archive vault. Smoke curled through the hall, but I saw the broken door—and beyond it, Caldus, staggering out, his robes scorched, blood running down his cheek.
"They tried to torch the damn chamber," he gasped. "Trap was in the ceiling—tripwire."
A figure bolted from the smoke. Fast. Hooded.
I threw my weight forward, sword drawn—and Kaelen was faster. Her blade flashed, slicing the assassin's thigh. They stumbled. I was on them in a heartbeat, sword at their throat.
"Name," I growled.
No answer. Just a gurgle.
Poison on the tongue. Dead in moments.
"Crowndusk-trained," Lyra said, arriving seconds later, breathless. "Same sigils as before. They meant to destroy our war records. Timetables, levy tallies, supply lines."
"And kill Caldus," I added.
Caldus, to his credit, looked shaken but alive. "Not my first brush with divine fate," he muttered.
Kaelen nudged the corpse. "This isn't the last one, is it?"
"No," I said. "This is just Ravien's opening move."
I turned to Lyra.
"Send word to Windmere. I want every Crowndusk agent's name on parchment before sunrise. And tell the Baroness… if she wants to dance in the dark, we'll drag her into the light."
Lyra smiled. "With pleasure."
---
Later, Alone in My Chambers
I stared at the map in silence. Oakshade was nearly ours—but this had cost us time. Trust. Stability.
Ravien was bleeding us from afar, forcing us to watch our own backs while he gathered strength.
But I wasn't the boy he remembered.
I'd studied wolves long enough.
And wolves do not fear the dark.
We hunt in it.
---
I didn't sleep.
The hours after the attack passed in silence, broken only by reports—interrogations of the castle staff, sweeping searches of the lower levels, poison vials found tucked into mattress seams and behind wall panels. Five potential assassins. We caught two. One died. One talked.
Just enough to confirm what I already suspected.
Windmere.
The fortress city in the western reaches of Oakshade. Officially, it was a minor holding administered by the Baroness Vhalenne, one of Ravien's vassals. Unofficially, it was a warren of spies, messengers, smuggled arms, and quietly trained killers. A spider's nest.
And now it was my target.
War Room — Dawn
The council looked worse for wear. No one had slept. Lyra's hair was damp, probably from cold water to keep herself awake. Armin's hands trembled slightly from nerves—or rage. Caldus was bandaged, but standing. Kaelen leaned against the wall, arms crossed, ever alert.
I laid the map flat on the table.
"Windmere," I said, tapping it. "This is where the Crowndusk cells operate from. That's where they trained the assassin who breached Duskmere last night. That's where they coordinate smuggling routes and poison caches."
Armin scowled. "We can't attack outright. That would be war against Ravien."
I met his eyes. "No. It would be justice for an attack on my lands. And we won't need an army."
Lyra slid a bundle of parchment across the table. "I've pulled names," she said. "Sympathizers. Traitors. Discontented merchants and soldiers in Windmere who owe coin, or blood, or both. We can flip some. Kill others. Start fires inside the city."
Kaelen smiled. "You want to burn it down from within."
"No," I said. "I want to cut out its heart."
I turned to Lyra. "How many of our Ashen Veil can you spare?"
"Thirty," she said without hesitation. "Maybe more if I send them in waves. They'll need disguises, coin, false banners."
"You'll have it."
Armin frowned. "And what of the people? Windmere's still a functioning city. Civilians. Traders. We can't poison wells or torch the granaries without—"
"I said we cut out the heart, not slit the throat," I interrupted. "We sow distrust. Sabotage their command. Kill the Baroness's eyes and ears. We force Windmere to collapse inward. The civilians will turn on their own lords if we're careful."
Caldus's voice was hoarse. "You're playing with knives, Vihan. The gods may not smile on you for this."
"They didn't smile when Ravien's men burned my home," I said coldly. "They didn't weep when I buried my kin."
The room went still.
"I'm done playing defense."
Three Days Later — Oakshade's Edge
The scouts had moved. The Ashen Veil wore the colors of a trade caravan now, with broken wagons and rusted armor. They'd drift into Windmere over a week, posing as refugees from Greystone, deserters, thieves. Some would whisper rumors. Some would offer bribes to the guards. One would slit throats.
I stood atop the ridge, overlooking the wooded road that led into Windmere's eastern gate. The banners fluttered weakly, and smoke drifted from the city's chimneys.
I clenched the scroll in my fist—a forged letter intercepted by Lyra's network, now altered to damn one of the Baroness's captains as a Ravien loyalist turned traitor. It would be placed where it needed to be. With the right hand. At the right hour.
"You're going to break that city without raising a sword," Kaelen said beside me.
"Not break it," I said. "I'm going to make it bleed. Slow. Quiet. Until no one trusts anyone."
She looked at me, one brow raised. "That sounds like Lyra talking."
"She's learning from me," I said, smirking. "Or I'm learning from her. Either way… Windmere will fall."
Windmere – Infiltration Begins
The first merchant died quietly in his sleep—his ledger missing, his seal broken. By morning, his apprentices had scattered, and whispers began about coin owed to "black-cloaked debtors."
A week later, a captain was found hung in his barracks, a false confession pinned to his chest in blood. The Baroness's court turned inward, accusing their own guards. Three were arrested. Two were executed.
Supplies began to vanish. A warehouse collapsed in fire. A priest from the local temple spoke of demons in the streets. But he too vanished within the week.
And far to the east, Vihan waited.
Watching.
Smiling.
Back in Greystone – A Letter Arrives
The parchment was stained in red wax—one of Lyra's marks.
I unsealed it. Read the words once.
Then again.
Then I laughed.
Kaelen glanced at me. "What is it?"
"The Baroness has declared martial law," I said. "She's closed the gates, imprisoned three of her own lords, and requested Ravien's 'aid.'"
Kaelen's eyes lit up. "So she's desperate."
"No," I said. "She's finished."
I stood.
"Have the Iron Fangs ready. We ride at dawn."