Page 32 of Sincerely, Secretary of Doom

Mor’s expression fell a little. He didn’t reply to the question. Instead, he turned back to Violet, and he waited for her to give him an answer; the brief, sad look in his gaze dissolving in an instant like it had never been there.

Across the café, the turquoise-eyed guy pinned Violet with his stare as he sauntered around the counter and walked toward them. There was a certain coldness to his eyes that made Violet shift her footing when he reached the group. Mor passed him the oven mitts, and the turquoise-eyed guy yanked them to himself like Mor had violated them with his touch.

“I’m not going to hide away in that cathedral,” Violet stated, deciding once and for all.

Mor nodded. He walked around her and shoved her toward Shayne—she shrieked, barely catching herself on her heels.

“Keep her, then. For now,” Mor said to the other guys.

Violet turned and cast him a disbelieving, accusatory look. “I have a house!” she objected. “And an aunt who’s probably worried sick about me!”

Mor seemed doubtful. “That human woman is not your aunt,” he stated, and Violet blanched.

“How… How did you know…”

Mor spoke over her to the guys, looking especially at Shayne. “If you want to help me, keep her here even if she protests. Don’t let her leave. I’ll come back tomorrow to pick her up for work.”

“What?! Don’t you dare leave me here!” Violet demanded.

Mor slid his phone out of his pocket and tossed it to her. She almost didn’t catch it. “Take my calls,” he said. He turned and headed for the door, pushing out without another word.

Violet tried to step after him, but the auburn-haired guy’s hand flashed out and took her arm, keeping her in place. He instantly tore his fingers back and gawked.

“What is wrong with your skin, Human?! It hurts!” he said through a growl.

“Ah. No wonder Mor wanted to see me kiss her at first. Sneaky fool.” Shayne grinned.

Mor glanced back through the windows with a satisfied smile that implied he’d not only heard Shayne’s commentthroughthe glass, but also assured Shayne that was exactly what he’d hoped for.

Shayne shook his head with a smirk as he went to the café door and turned, folding his arms and leaning back against it, blocking the whole thing with his body. Violet didn’t have to be a genius to see she’d never get past him.

As though he could read her thoughts, Shayne winked.

“What about my aunt?” Violet tried, scanning the café for alternate exits.

“Mor didn’t tell us to guard her, pretty Human. Just you,” Shayne said. “And I’ve been waiting exactly two faeborn months and eighteen days for Mor to show up here. So, I’m not going to screw this up.”

14

Mor Trisencor and How it All Began in the Shadows, Part 2

His unhidden name was Luc Zelsor. The brutal, ruby-haired fairy not only commanded the respect of the High Prince’s division of the Shadow Army, he also tormented them when they didn’t do what he wanted. The High Prince’s division was tweaked and trained into the most brutal, unforgiving batch of war fairies in the whole Dark Corner. If they disobeyed, their flesh was scorched with cold iron. If they did not kill when instructed, they paid for it with their tongues or fingers. Mor always obeyed without question, as was his duty, but what he did not do was learn to respect Luc Zelsor or High Prince Reval. And even though Mor had come out of his silence, he did not speak unless spoken to. He did not give Luc the satisfaction of punishing him for an errant word spoken.

Instead, Mor left venom petals in the fox’s drinking goblet that sent Luc into unpredictable fits of stomach pain and fairy gas for three days. Luc could never prove it was Mor, but he retaliated by placing a handful of freshly birthed starbugs in Mor’s bed. Mor awoke the following morning with bright red spots all over his flesh and an itch that lasted for two weeks. That had been the beginning of their fairy games. Every trick got worse and more annoying, until the whole Army unit was whispering about the rivalry between Luc Zelsor—the fox, and Mor Trisencor—the lowly orphan from Pane.

“You two shall be a unit,” High Prince Reval said on a dim, cloudy morning in his private hut as he stroked his long, glittering scarlet hair. “I wish to send you across the border as Shadow spies, so you can report back to me what the High Queene of the North is plotting. And if you find a clever way to murder that North Prince while you’re there, see it done.”

Queene Levress—Queene of all the Corners of Ever but one—the Dark Corner’s greatest threat. Rumour claimed Levress had a ward that was tearing through the Shadow Army division the Dark Queene had finally sent to attack the North Corner villages. The Dark Queene wished to claim the golden fields under the sun to fill her own storehouses with gold wheat. Shadows whispered that the ward’s name was Cressica Alabastian; a peasant boy turned assassin. The fairy war had only started a single month ago, and already news of this dreadful assassin had reached the Shadow Palace and struck fear and rage into the hearts of the Shadow Army commanders. High Queene Levress did not need to fight herself when she hadhim.

Like every other fairy in the Shadow Army, Mor knew to avoid Alabastian and his brothers in navy and black shells. He would not dare approach the North Prince in his faeborn lifetime, lest he be torn apart limb by limb. But Mor had to admit, he was relieved to hear the fairy gossip of the ward’s existence. Relieved the North had been able to defend itself against the Shadows.

“A unit?” Luc said in disgust on the day his father stated his decision. “With this mute peasant?” Luc’s silvery glare shot to Mor. “What’s to stop me from killing him the moment we’re out of the Dark Corner and performing this mission on my own, Father?”

High Prince Reval tapped a finger against his folded arms. The canopy of vines around their division’s newest cove shuffled outside, and an icy breeze leaked in through the hut’s windows and scurried up Mor’s spine.

“I am not only sending him for your sake, Luc,” Prince Reval stated. “I am also sending him forhissake. So, try not to kill him.”

Luc did not stop glaring at Mor. Only this morning, Luc had dumped a barrel of seeds into the grass and demanded that Mor pick every single one of them up as punishment for sleeping in. Mor had worked through the whole morning gathering seeds before any got too moist from the dew and began to sprout. So, Mor had placed one in Luc’s pitcher of drinking water. He could hardly wait to see the fool drink down the seed, followed by the plant sprouting and growing up Luc’s throat and out his mouth.

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