Blades & Lies

The silence of Velthorne Manor was suffocating.

Evelyn lay still in the darkness, her breathing slow and measured as she listened. The crackling of the fire had dimmed to soft embers, but the night was too quiet.

Something felt wrong.

She had learned to trust her instincts—and right now, they were screaming.

Across the room, Damien lay stretched across the massive bed, looking ridiculously comfortable for a man sleeping in a hostile noble's estate.

Evelyn's eyes narrowed in irritation before she dismissed the thought.

She turned her attention back to the room, her fingers curling near the hidden dagger at her waist.

Then she heard it.

A soft creak—just beyond the door.

Evelyn's grip on her weapon tightened.

Someone was lurking outside.

She moved swiftly, silently, sliding from the chair and toward the door. Her bare feet barely made a sound against the polished wood as she pressed her back against the wall, waiting.

Another creak, closer this time.

She caught the faintest flicker of movement beneath the doorframe.

Then—the handle twisted.

Evelyn moved instantly, grabbing the nearest object—a decorative dagger from the bedside table—and pressing herself against the wall as the door inched open.

A shadow stepped inside.

Evelyn lunged, blade aimed straight for the intruder's throat—

Only for Damien to catch her wrist mid-air, stopping her attack with effortless ease.

"Easy, love," he murmured, not even startled. "That's no way to greet a guest."

Evelyn snapped her gaze to the doorway, her heart still racing—

Only to see Lord Velthorne standing there, an amused expression on his face.

"I do appreciate a warm welcome," Velthorne mused, watching them both. "But I assure you, breaking into your chambers was not my intention."

Evelyn wrenched her wrist free from Damien's grip, scowling. "Then why are you here?"

Velthorne stepped forward, his blue eyes sharp, calculating.

"There's something you should see."

Evelyn and Damien followed Lord Velthorne through the dim corridors of the manor, their footsteps silent against the stone floors.

Torches lined the walls, casting flickering shadows that danced in the corners of her vision.

Evelyn remained on edge, fingers still itching toward her weapon.

Velthorne was a dangerous man, and the fact that he had come to them in secret—without his guards, without witnesses—meant that whatever he was about to show them was not sanctioned by the crown.

Which meant they were about to step into something far worse than political games.

Velthorne led them down a hidden staircase, the air growing colder with every step. The scent of aged stone and damp earth filled her nose.

Then, finally, they reached a locked iron door.

Velthorne produced a key from his coat, unlocking it with a quiet click before pushing it open.

Evelyn stepped inside—

And froze.

The room beyond was not a study, nor a treasury, nor a secret passage leading to an escape route.

It was a prison.

Lining the walls were iron-barred cells, each one filled with men and women in tattered clothing, their faces pale, their wrists bound in heavy shackles.

Some of them looked up as the door opened, their expressions dull and lifeless, like they had already given up.

Others—the ones who still had fight in them—stared with quiet, desperate defiance.

Evelyn whipped around to Velthorne, her eyes blazing. "What is this?"

Velthorne's expression remained carefully neutral.

"The price of loyalty," he said simply.

Evelyn felt her blood run cold.

She turned back to the prisoners. "These are political captives."

"They are people who refused to kneel," Velthorne corrected, stepping forward. "Some belong to merchant families who denied King Verrin's growing control. Others are knights and spies accused of treason, real or fabricated."

Damien had remained silent until now, but Evelyn could feel the shift in his demeanor.

His usual amusement was gone.

His silver eyes had darkened, his shoulders tense as he scanned the room with unreadable focus.

"How long have they been here?" Damien finally asked.

Velthorne tilted his head slightly. "Some… years."

Evelyn clenched her fists.

This wasn't just a prison.

This was a message.

A quiet reminder of what happened to those who defied the king's rule.

Her stomach churned, but she kept her voice steady. "Why show us this?"

Velthorne finally turned to face them, his blue eyes sharp.

"Because the only thing more dangerous than serving the wrong king—" he said slowly, "—is serving one you cannot escape from."

The meaning hit her instantly.

Velthorne wasn't just testing them.

He was considering switching sides.

Back in their chambers, Evelyn paced, her mind racing through everything she had just seen.

Velthorne was smart. Too smart.

He wouldn't have revealed the prison unless he was testing their reactions.

Damien, meanwhile, sat on the edge of the bed, watching her with thoughtful silence.

"What's on your mind, love?" he finally asked.

Evelyn stopped pacing. "You saw it too."

Damien raised a brow. "You'll have to be more specific."

She folded her arms. "Velthorne didn't show us that prison to gain our trust. He did it to see if we'd react with horror or indifference."

Damien smirked faintly. "And what did he see?"

Evelyn hesitated.

Because she already knew her own reaction.

She had been disgusted, furious, ready to rip through the iron doors and drag those prisoners out herself.

But Damien…

Damien had looked at those cells like a man who had seen them before.

Like a man who had been in one.

Evelyn sat down across from him, searching his face. "Why did you look at them like that?"

Damien's smirk faded, and for the first time since arriving at Velthorne Manor, he looked truly unreadable.

"I don't know what you mean," he said lightly.

Evelyn frowned. "Liar."

His silver eyes flickered with something—something deep, something old—but before she could push, he leaned forward slightly.

"Tell me, Lady Aldric," he murmured, voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "Do you want the truth because it's useful to you, or because you're starting to care?"

Evelyn's breath hitched.

Damn him.

Damn him for always knowing exactly what to say to throw her off balance.

She clenched her fists, forcing her voice to remain steady. "Maybe both."

Damien studied her, the firelight flickering against his sharp features.

Then, after a long moment, he smiled—but it wasn't his usual smirk.

It was something quieter.

Something haunted.

"Then let's hope you never have to make that choice," he murmured.

Evelyn didn't respond.

Because for the first time since this mission began—

She realized she might not be ready for the truth.