Blades & Lies

The dining hall of Velthorne Manor was a masterpiece of dark elegance. The high-arched ceilings loomed overhead, bathed in the soft glow of chandelier light, casting shadows that flickered along the polished marble floors.

Evelyn and Damien sat at the long, lavish table, surrounded by nobles, merchants, and warriors alike—Velthorne's most trusted allies. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and the underlying tension that never seemed to leave this place.

At the head of the table, Lord Velthorne sat in quiet authority, watching them closely.

Evelyn knew exactly what this was.

Another test.

Another opportunity for their enemies to measure them, dissect them, and find the cracks in their armor.

Damien, of course, looked completely at ease, sipping his wine as if he belonged here—as if he weren't a man playing a dangerous game with people who would kill them the moment they slipped up.

Velthorne raised his glass. "To victory in the hunt."

The nobles echoed the toast, lifting their goblets in agreement.

Evelyn followed suit, though she didn't drink. Not yet.

Damien, however, took a slow sip, his silver eyes gleaming with amusement.

"You seem rather fond of games, Lord Velthorne," he mused.

Velthorne smirked. "And you seem rather good at them, Lord Aldric."

Damien's grin widened. "Only the ones worth playing."

A few nobles chuckled.

Velthorne tilted his head slightly, swirling his wine. "Tell me, how do you find Veridorn's court? Do you believe in King Verrin's vision for the kingdom?"

Another trap question.

Evelyn's grip on her goblet tightened.

They had to be careful.

Damien leaned back in his chair, exhaling as if bored by the entire conversation.

"I believe," he said lazily, "that kings only have as much power as the people beneath them allow."

The room went silent.

A dangerous answer.

But a true one.

Velthorne studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled.

"Well said," he murmured.

The tension eased, but Evelyn knew it wasn't over.

This wasn't just about politics.

It was about trust. Loyalty. And whether or not Velthorne believed they were truly on his side.

Which meant it was time for her to make a move.

She leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table, her expression unreadable.

"I've heard whispers," she said, "that the king's grip on the north is weaker than it appears."

Velthorne's gaze sharpened.

A calculated risk.

One that could make or break this mission.

Damien shot her a look—amused, intrigued, but also warning her not to push too hard.

Velthorne chuckled softly. "You're well-informed, Lady Aldric."

Evelyn kept her tone casual. "A knight should always be."

Velthorne took another sip of his wine. "And what would you do, I wonder, if you found yourself at a crossroads? Between loyalty to the crown… and loyalty to a kingdom that deserves better?"

A deeper trap.

One she wasn't ready to answer.

Damien, however, spoke before she could.

He turned to her, smirking. "Oh, I imagine my wife would do whatever she pleased. She's rather difficult to control."

A few nobles laughed.

Velthorne's gaze flicked between them. "A marriage of equals, then?"

Damien grinned. "More of a battle for dominance."

Another round of laughter.

Evelyn forced herself to relax.

Damien had, once again, steered the conversation away from danger—buying them time.

But she wasn't fooled.

Velthorne wasn't done testing them.

Not yet.

After dinner, Velthorne led them into the grand ballroom, where music drifted through the candlelit air, and nobles moved in slow, practiced steps along the polished floors.

Evelyn had never been fond of noble gatherings, but this… this wasn't about dancing.

It was about power. Observation. Politics woven into every movement.

Velthorne approached with a knowing smile. "I hear the two of you make quite the pair on the battlefield. But how are you on the dance floor?"

Evelyn tensed.

Damien, of course, smirked.

"Oh, she's lovely," he said, taking her hand before she could protest. "Quite terrifying, actually."

Evelyn barely resisted the urge to step on his foot.

Instead, she let him lead her onto the dance floor, falling into the rhythm of the music.

It was a slow waltz, one that forced them dangerously close—Damien's hand firm on her waist, his grip steady as they moved between the other couples.

He leaned in slightly. "You're tense."

She exhaled. "You're insufferable."

He chuckled. "One of my better qualities."

Evelyn ignored him, keeping her expression neutral as they moved in perfect time with the music.

Then—

She noticed something.

Velthorne wasn't watching them anymore.

His attention had shifted—toward Alistair Veyne.

And Alistair?

He was staring directly at Damien.

Not with curiosity.

But with recognition.

Evelyn's breath hitched.

Because the way Alistair was looking at him—cold, calculating, knowing—

It was the look of a man who had seen someone before.

And suddenly, Evelyn was sure of it.

Alistair Veyne knew Damien's past.

Knew something Damien hadn't told her.

Something that tied all of this—the dragon, the prison, the mission gone wrong—together.

Damien must have noticed too, because his grip on her waist tightened ever so slightly.

She felt his breath against her ear.

"Don't react," he murmured.

Evelyn kept her face blank, but her mind was racing.

Alistair knew.

And if he knew—

Then they were running out of time.