Soren
Five months have passed since the coronation. Time has been a blur, to say the least. I’ve been all over the place lately, working my fingers to the bone to move over fifty people into hiding, and now, I’m nearly done.
The man standing in the corner of the foyer of a large, well-built stone house in the plains outside of Moorn stares at the file in his hands, his face gray and washed in confusion, then startles in understanding as I watch the column of his throat bob when he swallows, his eyes flicking to mine.
“Are they in danger?”
“Yes,” I reply steadily, but I don’t look in the direction of his mate, a woman of maybe thirty currently sitting in the other room with their three young children.
This man, a commander in King Sydney’s royal forces, was the one I knew I’d have the most trouble with. Moving the Betas was easy. The Alpha, not so much, but he eventually folded.
I don’t know what's in those files the Architect supplied, but it’s enough to change their minds, that’s for sure.
“How long would we be gone?”
“A year, maybe longer.”
“This is…. How? Who’s doing this?”
“You’re familiar with the man named The Spider, I assume?”
The commander’s pales but he nods. He glances at my black ghost issued gloves, my black ghost armor, which is the only reason these people allow me to get close. They have no idea I don’t work for the Allied Kingdoms, and it needs to stay that way. He looks back at the file while I turn to face the windows overlooking a stretch of moonlit plains. Snow covers everything, and it’s been a cold, bitter autumn so far, but Crescent Falls is always so much colder than Eastonia. Back home, the trees are still gold and crimson and the air is spiced with apples and hay. Here, it’s nothing but smoke and the fresh, crisp scent of fresh snow.
I check my watch, grinding my teeth as I wait for this man to just give in like the rest.
“What happens now, if I agree?”
“You and your family will pack immediately and board the next train to Eastonia, and from there, you’ll be escorted by me into a disclosed location, a safe house, within a community of… others like you.”
“And my king?”
“He’ll be under the impression you’re taking a long sabbatical for a family emergency on your mate’s side, seeing as she’s from Eastonia. It was easy enough to arrange.”
“So he’s unaware–”
“He’s aware to an extent,” I lie, “but on paper, you’re taking leave of your post for an extended period of time. Other than that, you disappear. You and your family will be safe and cared for, and the only stipulations are that you don’t leave the community, and you don’t ask questions.”
He eyes me wearily before nodding. Again, I find myself curious about what’s inside the file. Everyone I’ve moved receives one shortly before I arrive, which I find odd, seeing that I’ve never given the Architect an exact schedule or idea of where I’ll be, and when.
“How much time do we have to pack?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“That’s not enough–”
“Take what’s irreplaceable, and the rest will be supplied to you. Twenty minutes.” I set a timer on my watch while he stalks out of the room to speak to his bewildered, nervous mate. In eighteen minutes, I have a family of five in the SUV I rented at the border, driving through the middle of night to the train station.
It’s been months of this. The last time I was back at the safe house outside of Twin Rivers was shortly after the coronation, when I returned to gather what I’d need to travel around for a while. I’ve been all over the place since then, and now, sitting on a train the morning after delivering the last mark and his family to their home for the foreseeable future, I wonder where, exactly, I should go next.
The Viper has given a mark or two over the past five months. Both deaths, of course, which ended up being two of the three Beta’s I safely moved into hiding. It’s been busy, to say that least, and that’s a fucking blessing.
Any time I sit down and have a moment of peace, I think of her.
The train pulls into a small station deep in the Roguelands. Morning sunlight stretches over the golden landscape, a soft breeze plucking dried leaves from the trees. I hike my backpack over one shoulder and pull my ball cap down to cast my face in shadow before moving off the platform, walking into a sleepy, but mid-sized, town split between two Alphas. I check into a motel on the outskirts of town, showering off three days of travel. I change into jeans and a sweatshirt then take a short walk to a run-down dive bar with a brunch service.
It’s not even 10:00 A.M. when the bartender slides a frosted glass full to the brim with a dark, rich ale in my direction. I press a few dollars onto the counter before walking to a booth in the back corner of the bar and sit down, sighing, before drinking half of the beer in one go, barely tasting it.
A TV over the bar is playing the news. I watch in silence as images of the Roguelands bleed into Moonrise, where Maeve appears, waving to spectators as she steps off a private train car surrounded by her guards.
“Queen Maeve has just returned from her tour of Tarsian,” the anchor announces as the footage cuts to video of Maeve meeting with the Alphas and Betas of Tarsian. The voice of the anchor fades, and all I can see is her. Her, moving through a crowd of excited onlookers. Her, dressed finely in suits or gowns. Her, looking… worn. Tired, maybe even a little sick. The dark circles under her eyes are mostly masked by the golden glow of her skin that seems to shine brighter than usual, like she’s actively using her powers in some way during this tour.
Keeping a shield around herself, perhaps. In fact, footage from a ball held in her honor shows her surrounded by high ranking men, all of which can’t come within three feet of her. Shields, for sure.
“Smart girl,” I smile into my beer before finishing it off.
The door to the bar opens, sending a bell chime pinging from wall to wall. A shadow passes over me before a man slides into the booth, his hands covered in black gloves and face shielded by a familiar mask.
A black ball cap covers his hair, but he’s still dressed impeccably. A tailored suit jacket covers a black button down shirt as I scan him before raising my gaze to his masked face.
“You have an uncanny ability to sense my next moves,” I tell him shortly then rise to get another beer. “Do you want one?”
“It’s not even 11:00 A.M.”
“Suit yourself.”
He’s still at the booth when I return, his face tilted toward the TV still covering Maeve’s long, tortuous tour of her new kingdom.
“Queen Maeve will remain in Moonrise for the next six weeks before attending a summit with the Kingdoms of Crescent falls, Celestoria, and Lunaria to discuss the latter kingdoms joining the Allied Kingdoms…”
I eye the Architect as he watches the screen, toying with my fresh beer, which I’ve suddenly lost a taste for. “What do you want now?”
He pulls an envelope out of his jacket and sets it on the table.
“I’m done, man. I’ve been out in the field for five months–”
“This is the last one.”
I shake my head, leaning back against the cushioned booth. “Why are you doing this? Moving so many people… The King of Crescent Falls will catch on, especially with one of his commanders now missing–”
“Leave him to me,” he says, pressing his finger on the envelope and sliding it closer to me. “This is the last job I have for you, at least for now.”
I take the envelope, but he remains in the booth. I grind my teeth as I open it. There’s no cash in this one. A check for an outrageous sum of money linked to a private bank account slides free, followed by a note on graph paper. The money is enough to pay my debt, and Patton’s, ten times over.
But the name on the note tells me all I need to know about this job.
“You can’t be serious,” I murmur, shaking my head.
“She dies.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
I lean forward, glancing around to make sure we’re not within earshot of anyone else. The Architect’s scent hits me–it’s icy and sharp, like fresh snow. Like a bitter cold winter’s day–clean, and fresh, with a hint of a dark, musky cologne. “You realize she’s heavily guarded twenty-four hours a day. There is no way I’ll be able to get close to getting her alone.”
“You have very little time on this one. Three months at the most.”
“I can’t do it.”
“You can, and you will.”
“I can’t,” I argue, chuckling. “You realize she’s my boss, right? She’s the one pulling the strings day to day for the Spider himself. You take her out, and you’ll have him to answer to. I’ll have to answer to him–”
“And that is exactly the point,” he says, leaning forward over the table. “The Viper is going to be sending you new marks very soon. Waiting to pay off your debts has been in your favor, Soren, you were smart not to go to her immediately. She’s starting to panic, and the Spider is breathing down her neck.”
“How do you know all of this?”
He leans back and goes silent for a moment. “It doesn’t matter how I know. Every mark she gives you over the next month needs to die. Do you understand? I won’t be intervening because I need you in her good graces. Do not pay off your debts until after the third mark is complete.”
“No,” I bite out. “No, I planned on paying my debt off now–within the week. I’m done. I’m done with her, and with you.” I slide the envelope back to him. This is the most we’ve spoken to each other in years, since he first approached me with a proposition to aid him in… whatever scheme he had going.
I turn back to the TV as Maeve appears again, this time in a series of paparazzi photos taken in Moonrise. She doesn’t look well. Her eyes are dead and hollow as she walks along the upper balcony beside Jane, the two of them looking down at the tablet while Maeve directs a horde of maids to do… something.
“You asked me where my loyalties lie,” the Architect says. “I hadn’t realized how loyal you were to the very queen you’ve been working against for years.”
“Nothing I’ve done was done in spite of her,” I reply under my breath.
“But everything you do now is for her benefit? I didn’t take you as a man who bows to authority–”
“I’m an enterprising man,” I correct. “I bend the knee when it benefits me. And this no longer benefits me.”
“But it would benefit her,” he says, tilting his head toward the TV where a celebrity gossip show is now talking about Maeve. The hosts discuss an array of options–single Alphas and other high-ranking young men–for Maeve. I feel a pang of… rage. I curl my hand around the beer while the hosts laugh, matching Maeve with some prince in the distant kingdom of Lunaria, saying how they’ll meet formally at the summit…
The pint glass splinters under the pressure of my grip.
The Architect chuckles darkly, shaking his head as he watches the same program play across the TV set. “I always find it interesting that people assume the queen needs, let alone wants, a man. Whoever it is will never rule beside her. He’ll be a background actor.”
“Is there something wrong with that?” I ask hotly, and he turns back to me.
“You’re awfully committed to Her Highness.”
“She’s our queen. Of course she has my support.”
He watches me for several long, drawn out seconds–long enough to make me wonder if I’ve gone too far and given myself away.
“Then you will support her in this. Getting rid of the Viper puts the onus of her operations on the Spider, and we need to draw him away from his web.”
“There is no we in this,” I argue. “We are not partners. I don’t know your name or your face. Find someone else.”
“There’s no one else I trust.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
The Architect exhales deeply, leaning back against the cushions. He tilts his head toward the TV, saying under his breath, “Have you noticed that your escapades have been silenced? There’s no more mention of the assassin on the news and hasn’t been for months, even though you’ve been killing again.”
My jaw tenses as I watch his masked face.
“All anyone wants to know is what Queen Maeve is up to, why she hides herself behind her powers, keeping her shields high, and who she’ll end up with. Everyone seems to believe the summit is where she’ll meet the man destined to stand in the background while she rules. I know many, many Alphas are desperate to get close to her in any way they can to give themselves a shot at being king–”
“They wouldn’t be king.”
“Ah, but that’s what you’re not understanding. Not everyone appreciates the queen like you do, Soren. Not everyone believes she’s capable of this, of doing this on her own. Even Queen Ella had a man by her side–”
“Queen Maeve would kill a man before she let anyone take her throne from her.”
“That’s what she’d like everyone to believe,” he says under his breath like an afterthought, and I hate that I agree. “She’s always been that way.” He rises as a prickle of unease shoots up my spine.
“Do you know her personally?”
“Do you?” he asks.
He pauses a beat before turning, walking back out into the fall sunshine, leaving the envelope on the table.