Some women carry knives. Others carry backup. I had both, even if one of them didn’t know he was about to save my life. Outside, Jasper was supposed to wait. But I knew him well enough to expect disobedience the second I closed the door behind me. What I didn’t know was that he’d already spotted the mercenaries disguised as palace security, flanking the exits like shadows. By the time the tea hit my tongue, he had already gone hunting.
Inside, the air turned colder than the porcelain cup in my hand.
Lady Isolde followed me out.
“You came here alone,” she said, voice like velvet over ice. “I want you to know that wasn’t a mistake. It was an opportunity.” I set the cup down carefully and stood. She watched me with the same look she’d given me on the day of my wedding: measured, amused, superior.
“What is this?” I asked, keeping my voice steady. “Another lesson?”
She walked slowly toward me, her heels quiet on the marble.
“We’ll stage it as a political accident. Your death will be blamed on instability. Public grief, national sympathy, a rise in Marell influence. You’ll be a perfect tragedy.” Her calm was more terrifying than rage.
I backed up a step, pulse racing.
“You’re not going to get away with this.”
She raised a brow. “That’s what your father said too.” Her hand moved toward the side table where an old Vane heirloom—a crystal decanter—sat gleaming like bait. My stomach twisted.
I reached for the teapot and hurled the scalding contents straight at her. She shrieked, stumbling back, clutching her arm. I didn’t wait. I grabbed the heavy vase from the mantle and threw it across the room, missing her by inches but shattering it into a thousand screaming shards. The sound cracked the silence like thunder.
She lunged at me, face contorted, elegant mask completely gone. I screamed for help, my voice sharp and raw against the high ceilings. She grabbed my arm, nails biting in.
Her breath was hot with rage as she hissed, “You think anyone will come for you?”
Her grip tightened, and for one moment, I truly felt I was alone.
Lady Isolde hit the ground hard, rolling into the shards. She screamed again, this time not out of pain—but fury.
“Get off me!” she spat, trying to claw at Jasper as he wrestled her to the floor. He didn’t answer. His arm braced across her collarbone, pinning her with practiced force.
I backed away, heart thundering in my ears. “Jasper,” I choked, breathless, “how did you—”
“Tracker,” he said without looking up. “Your scream lit it. And the guards outside weren’t guards.” He twisted her wrist with sharp efficiency, disarming her of a blade she’d hidden beneath her sleeve. The steel clinked onto the marble floor like punctuation.
She bucked beneath him, wild now.
“You think this ends with you?” she gasped.
Her voice was frantic, untethered. But it didn’t matter anymore.
I stepped forward, just close enough for her to see me steady.
“You planned this moment like it was a game,” I said. “But here’s the truth you forgot. I’m not the girl who poured your tea anymore.”
Her scream tore out of her as she surged toward me again, hand outstretched, wild with hatred. Just as she lunged, Jasper burst through the glass window.