The blade was at her throat before she could scream.
Not again. The thought hit her hard. Not like this.
A knife pressed against her neck. The alley stank of fish guts and piss. Three men surrounded her, and the fourth held the blade steady.
"That's a lot of coin for a merchant," the scarred leader said. His breath stank of cheap wine. "Makes a man wonder who you really are."
Her heart was racing. She could burn them all to ash in seconds, but using magic here would raise questions she couldn't answer. Her cover would be blown, her plans ruined.
This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go.
Four hours earlier, Seraphina had walked back into the Vessant estate feeling amazing. Cordelia's face when she fell apart? Priceless. The journalist writing everything down? Even better.
But tea party wins didn't pay the bills. For that, she needed real money.
She'd been planning this since yesterday, building on an identity she'd created years ago. The Phinia Ashara thing had worked before. Funding scholarships for half-blood mages, sanctuary donations for displaced Seers, supporting causes the high nobles wanted dead. Now it would fund her rebellion.
And maybe, if she was honest, prove something to herself. That she could survive without noble protection. Without anyone's protection.
Even without his. Duke Caelan Vorenthal had his own agenda, just like everyone else. She'd seen the way he watched, calculated, moved pieces on his personal chess board. He might be useful, but that didn't mean she could trust him.
The question was whether their goals aligned long enough to matter. He was using her to get to Alaric. She was using him for the same reason.
For now, that was enough.
Those stolen documents from the archives had shown her everything. Her father's silver mines. Trade routes worth more than some kingdoms. All legally handed over to Alaric because daughters couldn't inherit directly.
They'd used the law to rob her. Made her say thank you for nothing.
But stolen stuff could be taken back. If she had the cash.
The servants scattered when she walked in. Some looked impressed. Others looked nervous. Word from the tea party had already spread through the house.
She caught fragments of whispered conversations as she passed. "Did you hear what she said to Lady Cordelia?" "The journalist was writing everything down." "Even Lady Vivienne was clapping."
Good. Let them wonder what else their duchess knew.
She climbed the stairs alone. No maid to dismiss, no servant to trust. In this house, everyone was a potential spy. Every smile could hide a knife. Every helpful gesture might be gathering information for Alaric or Evelyne.
The paranoia wasn't unfounded. She'd learned that lesson the hard way.
In her room, she changed fast. Off came the sapphire silk, armor that had protected her at tea but meant nothing here. Away went the jeweled pins that marked her as Alaric's property.
Brown wool. Worn cloak. Walking boots.
She checked her reflection. The Duchess of Vessant was gone. Looking back was Phinia Ashara, the woman who could disappear into crowds and emerge with secrets.
Three years of building this identity. Tonight would either prove its worth or destroy it completely.
The jewelry selection was simple math. Valuable enough for serious money. Not so fancy they'd recognize it as hers.
Her father's sapphire pendant. Not the birthday one, she'd never risk that memory. This was from her dowry, technically Alaric's property now. The irony was perfect.
She also grabbed a pearl bracelet from her grandmother, a ruby ring that had been a wedding gift from some distant cousin, and a small diamond brooch she'd never liked anyway. Enough variety to make the sale look legitimate. Enough value to fund the next phase of her plans.
Perfect. His own theft would fund her fight back.
She practiced Phinia's walk one more time. Different posture. Careful speech. The little things that made nobility invisible.
Time to get started.
Getting out required perfect timing.
She knew Evelyne's schedule better than Evelyne did. Every evening at this hour, her cousin would sneak to Alaric's room. Their "meetings" lasted exactly four hours. Long enough for planning and fucking.
Seraphina had timed it dozens of times from her window. Evelyne would slip through the servant corridors at exactly nine-thirty. She'd emerge around one-thirty in the morning, hair mussed and looking satisfied. Like clockwork.
The irony was beautiful. While Evelyne sold herself for scraps of power, Seraphina would build an empire.
She pressed against the wall as footsteps echoed toward the east wing. Right on schedule. Evelyne moved like she owned the place, which in many ways, she did. The staff knew to make themselves scarce during these hours. The guards had learned not to patrol the east wing too closely.
Perfect cover for Seraphina's own escape.
The servant's entrance was always unguarded. Alaric's security focused on keeping threats out, not keeping his wife in.
Another mistake she'd use.
The merchant quarter was busy and loud. No fake perfumes covering up the stench. No forced quiet hiding the screams. Just real business and people working for themselves.
She'd walked these streets before as Phinia. The identity was solid, three years of careful construction. Tonight's sale would test it in new ways.
The goldsmith shops were everywhere. She picked Gareth Millwright's almost randomly. Decent location, looked successful but not greedy, the kind of place that dealt in quality without asking hard questions.
She hoped.
The shop sat at the corner of two busy streets. Close enough to the main merchant thoroughfare to be legitimate, far enough from the noble quarter to avoid unwanted attention. Through the window, she could see Gareth at his workbench, bent over some delicate piece. The lighting was good. The security looked reasonable but not paranoid.
It would have to do.
The bell rang as she walked in. The sound was clear and musical, probably worth more than most people made in a month.
"Evening, Master Millwright." She used Phinia's voice without thinking. "Hope you don't mind the late hour. I have some pieces I'd like to sell."
Gareth looked up from his workbench, sizing up this stranger. "Depends what you're selling, mistress...?"
"Ashara. Phinia Ashara." The name came easy now. "I've got something special."
She pulled out the sapphire pendant first, letting it catch the lamplight. His reaction was instant but controlled. Professional appreciation mixed with sharp calculation.
"Exceptional work," he said, examining it through his loupe. "The craftsmanship is... quality."
She watched him work. He tested the metal with a small file, held the stone up to the light, even weighed it on a precise scale. Professional. Thorough. The kind of person who knew exactly what he was looking at.
"Where did you acquire this?" he asked casually, still examining the piece.
"Family inheritance. Hard times, you know how it is." She kept her voice steady, matter-of-fact. "Sometimes you need cash more than sentiment."
He nodded, understanding. The story was common enough in these uncertain times.
The negotiation went smooth. Gareth knew good stuff when he saw it. Phinia knew her worth. When she produced the other pieces, the pearl bracelet, the ruby ring, the diamond brooch, his eyes lit up with genuine interest.
"Quite a collection," he murmured. "These are all excellent pieces."
The final price was fair. More than fair, actually. Either Gareth was honest, or he was setting her up for something bigger.
Heavy gold coins filled her purse. Real wealth. Money that could fund anything.
"Pleasure doing business, Mistress Ashara," Gareth said as she got ready to leave.
"Hope we can do it again." She tucked the purse away tight.
But as she turned to go, she caught something. Gareth's hand moving toward something under his counter.
Of course. The realization hit like a punch to the gut. No one to trust. Not even the honest ones.
Every instinct screamed danger.
She was already moving when the first thug stepped out of the shadows.
"Heavy purse for a simple merchant," the scarred leader said, blocking her path.
Three others came out of hiding. Professional. Coordinated. They'd been waiting.
"Don't know what you mean." Her mind raced through options. Fighting would show her training. Magic would give away everything.
"Don't play stupid. Gareth told us about your deal. Expensive stuff, lots of money." The leader's smile was all teeth. "Makes for an easy target."
Simple greed. The goldsmith had ratted her out for a cut of whatever they found.
The betrayal stung worse than the knife. She'd read him wrong. Trusted a stranger when she should have known better.
Alone. Always alone.
"Search her good," the leader ordered. "That bag looked like it had enough money to keep us happy for months."
Basic robbery. Gareth had sold her out for easy money.
The first man reached for her, confident in his numbers. Big mistake.
Seraphina moved without thinking. Elbow to gut. Knee to balls. Boot to shin. The man doubled over, gasping and clutching himself.
These amateurs moved nothing like Caelan. He would have ended this in seconds, all precision and deadly efficiency. No wasted motion.
Training kicked in. Not the fancy swordplay of nobility, but the nasty close-quarters fighting her father had made her learn.
"For when titles won't save you," he'd said. "When you're alone and desperate and someone thinks you're easy prey."
Smart man. He'd seen this coming, somehow. Known that one day she'd need to fight dirty to survive.
The first guy dropped hard. The second grabbed her arm, trying to pin her. She twisted free, using his grip against him, and drove her elbow back into his face. Blood spurted from his nose.
But hands were coming from everywhere now. Too many attackers. Too little space to maneuver.
The third man caught her around the waist, lifting her off her feet. She kicked backward, her heel connecting with his knee. He cursed and loosened his grip just enough for her to slip free.
Too many. Too close. Too coordinated.
The leader pulled his knife. "Should've stayed in the noble quarter, lady. Streets aren't safe for rich girls playing dress-up."
They thought she was just some noble slumming it. Easy prey with expensive jewelry and bad judgment.
Four men. One exit. And she was running out of moves fast.
This was the price of trusting strangers. The goldsmith saw easy money and called his friends.
Exactly the kind of reckless situation Caelan would have warned her about. It would be convenient if he were here to help her avoid using magic, but that was wishful thinking.
The knife pressed against her throat.
"Now then, lady," the leader whispered. "Let's see what other treasures you're hiding."
This is how it ends. Not in glorious battle or political triumph, but betrayed and bleeding in a dirty alley. Just like before. Just like,
The sound of footsteps made them all freeze.
"Evening, gentlemen." The voice cut through darkness like a blade. Calm. Controlled. Absolutely deadly. "Think the lady wants to be left alone."
Seraphina's breath caught. That voice. Something about it made her chest tighten in ways that had nothing to do with fear.
A figure stepped out of the shadows. Hooded. Cloaked. Moving with the fluid grace of someone born to violence.
Moving like she'd seen him move before. In training yards. In ballrooms. Always watching. Always calculating.
Always dangerous.