Page 43 of Cursed By Gold

I reach the window and smash it with the hilt of my dagger. The stained glass shatters, raining colorful shards around me. "Go, now!" I shout, helping my comrades through the opening. The king’s bodyguard is almost upon us, her eyes blazing with fury, but I can't afford to look back. We need to get out—now.

We scramble through the shattered window, shards crunching underfoot as we hit the ground running. The guard's furious shouts echo behind us, but we can't afford to look back. We dartthrough the narrow alleyways, our breaths coming in ragged gasps, the city's midday bustle a distant hum compared to the pounding of our hearts.

"Left!" I shout, leading them through a maze of side streets. The guards are relentless, their footsteps growing louder with each turn. We sprint around a corner, nearly colliding with a fruit vendor who curses at us as we pass. I throw a glance over my shoulder—three guards are still on our tail, and they're gaining ground.

Lucius skids to a halt beside a stack of crates. "I'll slow them down. Keep going!" He kicks the crates over, sending them crashing into the street, momentarily blocking the guards' path.

"Not bad," I pant, pulling him along as we continue our frantic escape. Gen, ever the strategist, takes the lead, guiding us through a labyrinth of alleys and backstreets. The sound of pursuit fades, but we don't dare slow down.

Finally, we reach an old, weathered door hidden in the shadow of a crumbling building. Gen raps on it in a specific pattern, and it creaks open to reveal a dimly lit passage. "In, quick!" she urges.

We slip inside, closing the door behind us. The passage is narrow and damp, the air thick with the scent of earth and mildew. Our footsteps echo softly as we make our way through the twisting tunnel, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away.

At last, we emerge into a hidden cellar beneath the guild tavern. The familiar sound of muffled laughter and clinking glasses seeps through the ceiling. Gen unlocks the door and the three of us find a table to sit at. Safe, for now.

Lucius collapses in a chair, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, that was fun."

Gen rolls her eyes. "You're insufferable."

I smile at their teasing, but the weight of my mission still hangs heavy on my shoulders.

"We did it. We got the information. Now we just need to get it to the right people." Gen says.

Lucius steps closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "And here I thought you just wanted to spend more time with me, Scarlet."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Always the charmer, Lucius."

Gen groans. "Can you two please save the flirting for after we've saved our skins?"

Lucius flags over Polly, the barmaid, and she gives us a knowing look as she passes by. "Polly, three drinks, please. We’ve earned them."

As Polly nods and heads to the bar, I take a deep breath. "Listen, there's something you both need to know. The mission—it was a trap set by the king. Fairy Godmother almost found out too late and sent me to save you."

Their smiles fade, replaced by a sobering realization of how close we came to disaster. Gen looks down, her face pale. "That explains the extra guards."

Lucius tries to lighten the mood, offering a lopsided grin. "Well, we’re not dead yet, right?"

We may not be dead, but this whole thing has sobered my wishful thinking. There is absolutely no way anything could ever happen between me and the king. If he ever discovered who I was it wouldn’t be just my life on the line. It would be the entire guild. They are more of a family to me than my own.

Polly returns with our drinks, and Lucius raises his in a mock toast. "To not dying today."

I take a deep swig of the beer. We sit in silence for a moment. The chatter of the room the only noise.

Lucius breaks the silence and winks at me. "You know, Scarlet, one of these days, you might just fall for my charms."

I laugh, the tension easing slightly. "Keep dreaming, Lucius."

Gen nudges him playfully. "Seriously, give up. You never had a chance."

Missed Opportunities

Remme

The doors banging against the walls with an echoing thud as I storm into my private study. Sofia trails close behind, her usual composed expression replaced by one of barely contained frustration. I begin pacing, too agitated to sit still, my boots striking the polished floor in a staccato rhythm.

"How?" I demand, whirling to face Sofia. "How did they slip through your grasp again?"

Sofia's jaw clenches, the only outward sign of her irritation. "They had someone on the inside tip them off. Knew we were coming."

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