The horrible cries and screams of women, children and men echoed through the air. People scrambled, desperately searching for places to hide from the vicious attack. Tents, houses, animals and crops were swallowed by blazing flames. Heaps of butchered bodies lay across the ground, some with arrows buried in them, others with deep cuts scattered across their flesh.
Even though she had been only a child and many years had passed, she could still hear the screams of agony and pain from her people. It churned her stomach and fueled her blood, she was determined to avenge her family by killing the man who had massacred them.
Her sweet mother.
She could still recall the look on her face when she was killed. Valerie couldn't tell if it was a seen memory or an image her uncle and aunt had etched into her brain after years and years of repeating the story. Either way, it didn't change the fact that her family and the people of Davonville had died mercilessly at the hands of the Viscount.
She.....
"My lady, we have arrived at the Salvadore household," the coachman announced from outside.
Valerie blinked away the tears that threatened to spill. This was no time to cry and mourn, it was
time to avenge the souls of the thousands who were lost that night. She drew a deep breath and
pushed the door open before stepping out.
Inside the three-storey mansion, Valerie's eyes swept the crowd, searching for one person in
particular. A sigh escaped her lips before she finally caught sight of a tall man draped in an elegant black-and-gold robe.
Finally.
Valerie's eyes remained trained on his back for a few seconds as he engaged in conversation,
before he finally noticed her and turned around. Her breath briefly hitched. She had heard so much about him, his beauty, elegance, and arrogance, but seeing him in person was nothing compared to the words passed around about him.
She hated how perfect he is for someone who had blood of hundreds on his hands. She hated that he was able to smile, drink, live freely after all the horrible things he had done.
The man looked down at her from the railings and when she smiled at him, he acknowledged it
with a nod even though he didn't return her smile. Instead, he excused himself from the crowd
around him and walked down the stairs with his eyes still on her.
Valerie's heart raced as he grew closer, his presence thickening the air around her. Dare her say, the Viscount was as the words had spoken about him. He was tall, with broad shoulders and eyes that stirred up nervousness within a person.
She quickly composed herself, her smile widened as he stopped a few feet from her, "Viscount
Salvadore, it's a pleasure to meet you in person. I've heard so much about you." Valerie spoke in the softest voice she could muster.
His lips tipped up a little, "Good things I suppose?"
"Indeed, my lord." She paused to glance around. "It is truly a pleasant evening and a wonderful ball
you've hosted tonight."
"I suppose, I don't know your name, miss?"
"Lady Daphne Heraldon. My dearest father is the Duke of Edinvon." She stretched out her hand. The Viscount took it, brought it to his lips and kissed the back of her hand.
"My sincere pleasure, Lady Daphne. You are truly a lovely sight to behold, a radiance one cannot ignore." He slowly let go of her hand.
"Thank you, my lord. You are most kind. Please, call me Daphne."
"You may call me Vincent."
She smiled, touched a loose strand of hair, and glanced at the clock—a few minutes past eight.
Valerie had thirty minutes to complete her mission and leave before anyone noticed that she was
not the real Daphne. She returned her attention to the man before her. It was time.
"I do hope you're enjoying the party?" she asked.
"As much as I can. How about you, Daphne? Are you enjoying yourself?" His voice carried over the
noise.
Valerie pretended not to hear and moved closer. "I can't hear you properly. Perhaps we should find a quieter place."
Vincent smiled, his eyes lingering on her. "Very well. We shall go to the guest chamber."
"Alright, my lord." Valerie followed him as he led her away from the crowd, up the stairs and down a hallway to a closed door. She checked for guards—only a few at the top of the stairs. Good.
"Ladies first," he said, opening the door.
She stepped in and the door clicked shut. The room was ordinary. "A lovely room you have, my
lord. Satin cushions?"
"I believe we aren't here to discuss the cushions."
Before she could answer, he pulled her to him, hands at her hips. Caught off guard, she masked
her shock.
Huh! very bold.
"You're right, we aren't." She slid one hand over his shoulder and pushed him back onto the bed. "No need to rush. We have all night." She crossed to the table, poured wine into a cup, sipped, then handed it to him. He drained it in one go.
"Unfortunately, Lady Daphne, I don't have all night," he said, dragging her toward the bed, looming
over her.
"I..." She faltered.
"Are you scared, then?" A smirk. He grabbed her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip. Valerie swallowed. This was not part of the plan, he was more direct than she'd expected. Her uncle had warned her of his escapades, but it still surprised her.
Then suddenly, his brows knit. Pain crossed his face, he touched his temples and groaned.Thank the gods, her dosed wine was beginning to take effect.
"You…you drugged me. How dare you!" He hissed through clenched teeth, struggling to stay
upright.
Five… four… three… two…
His lids fluttered before he collapsed on top of her.
One. She let out a breath. Finally.
Valerie nearly suffocated under his weight. Gathering her strength, she shoved him off and
scrambled upright, gasping for air. He lay half-slid from the bed, unconscious.
She stared at him for a few seconds, then drew a dagger from beneath her dress. She had killed before, yet something in her hesitated now, despite the anger, the memory of her village. A thick lump lodged in her throat, but she had come too far to falter. Years of training, years of preparation, all of it demanded this moment.
Her hand shook as she lifted the blade. She braced herself, then plunged it into his chest, aiming for the heart. She pulled it free, struck again in the abdomen, drove it into his side, and finished
with a long slit across his throat.
Blood gushed, soaking his coat and staining the sheets. She wiped the blade clean on his body,
slid it back beneath her dress, and took one last look at the still form.
"I hope you burn in the deepest part of hell," she murmured, then turned and closed the door
behind her.