Page 37 of Bound to the Dreadlord

But she didn't.

I should punish her for even thinking about it.

Yet, I sit here instead, watching the way the soft glow of the dying embers casts long shadows over her face, carving lightacross the delicate features that have unraveled something deep and vicious inside me.

Something I should crush beneath my heel before it festers.

Something I won’t.

The silence deepens.

The coal in the hearth burn lower, their glow receding against the stone, retreating into the dark.

The shadows shift.

The book in my hands is forgotten.

I remain still and wait for what’s about to come.

There’s a soft movement along the farthest wall. The faintest hint of steel sliding from its sheath.

Someone is here.

No.Several.

The stench of dampened magic, masked footsteps, death barely restrained.

Assassins.

House Velkiron.

They have come as expected.

They think I will allow it.

The first dies before he even breathes.

I am on my feet in an instant, my blade slicing through flesh before his shock registers. A wet gurgle, a body slumping to the floor, blood pooling around the kill as the others spring from the shadows.

Three more.

One lunges.

I sidestep, grab his wrist, and twist. A snap. A scream cut short. His dagger is mine now.

Then there’s a blur of movement—another comes from behind.

I drop low, sweep his legs out from under him, and drive the stolen blade into the space beneath his ribs.

I tear it free, his blood warm on my fingers.

The last man hesitates and that is his final mistake.

I grab him by the throat, slamming him against the stone wall, my grip tightening, tightening—until his struggling stops.

His dagger clatters to the floor.

But he is not the one I should be focused on.

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