Alex didn't go straight back to his chambers.
Instead he took the long way—through the lower galleries where the air smelled of damp stone and old iron. The corridors here were narrower, lit only by sporadic wall sconces that burned low and sullen. Servants and guards alike pressed themselves against the walls as he passed, eyes down, breaths held. He could feel their fear like humidity on his skin.
Good.
Fear was currency in this place. He just had to decide whether to spend it or hoard it.
He stopped at a narrow arched window that overlooked the eastern training yard. Below, soldiers drilled in perfect black ranks—sword forms flowing like dark water. Their captain barked orders in clipped syllables. Steel rang against steel. Somewhere a whip cracked, not in anger but in rhythm.
Alex watched for a long minute.
Then he felt it.
A prickle at the nape of his neck. The kind you get when someone's staring hard enough to leave fingerprints.
He didn't turn immediately.
Instead he spoke to the empty air behind him.
"You're getting sloppy, Liora."
A soft exhale—half surprise, half irritation.
She stepped out from the shadowed alcove to his left. Still in the crimson-and-black maid's uniform, but now with a thin black dagger already in her right hand, point down, casual as a pen.
"Your Grace," she said. Voice cool. "I was merely ensuring your safety on your evening constitutional."
Alex finally turned to face her.
She stood maybe eight feet away—close enough to lunge, far enough to give herself options. Smart.
He leaned one shoulder against the stone sill, arms loosely crossed.
"Safety," he repeated. "That's sweet. Last I checked, the last person who 'ensured my safety' ended up with his own garrote around his neck. Courtesy of you, if memory serves."
Liora's expression didn't change, but her grip on the dagger tightened a fraction.
"Different circumstances," she said. "Different master."
Alex studied her.
Up close, in better light, she was even more striking. The violet eyes weren't just pretty—they were unnerving, like staring into fractured amethysts. A thin scar ran along her left collarbone, disappearing under the high neck of her uniform. Her posture was perfect assassin school: weight balanced, ready to move in any direction, no wasted tension.
He remembered fragments from Vesper's mind: Liora had been purchased at fourteen from a pleasure house in the undercity. Trained. Broken. Rebuilt. Then gifted to Vesper on his eighteenth nameday like an exotic bird in a cage.
She'd tried to kill him seven times in the first year.
He'd punished her for six of them.
The seventh time, he'd laughed instead.
And kept her.
Alex pushed off the wall, closing half the distance between them. Slowly. Giving her every chance to decide.
She didn't move.
"Tell me something honest," he said quietly. "If I turned my back right now, would that dagger end up between my shoulder blades?"
Liora tilted her head, considering.
"Probably," she admitted. "But not tonight."
"Why not tonight?"
"Because you're… interesting again." She said it like she hated admitting it. "You used to be predictable. Cruel in the same tired ways. Now you're watching. Waiting. Like a different animal wearing the same skin."
Alex let out a low breath that might've been a laugh.
"Flattery will get you everywhere, little viper."
"Not flattery. Observation." She finally sheathed the dagger—slowly, deliberately, making sure he saw every movement. "And curiosity. The council meeting. You didn't order the burnings. You didn't unleash the wraiths. You told them to wait."
"And that surprises you?"
"It terrifies me," she said flatly. "Because either you've gone soft… or you've become something far worse than the monster we all knew."
Alex stepped closer. Close enough that he could see the faint pulse at the base of her throat.
She didn't retreat.
He reached out—slowly—and brushed the pad of his thumb along that scar on her collarbone. Not possessive. Not threatening. Just… acknowledging.
Liora's breath hitched. Barely.
"Your scar," he murmured. "From the night you tried to poison my wine with shadowroot. I remember. You missed the vein by a hair. I let the blood run down your chest instead of cutting your throat."
Her eyes flicked to his. Dark. Searching.
"You kept me alive," she said. "Why?"
"Because killing you would've been boring." He let his hand drop. "And because I wanted to see how long it would take for hate to turn into something else."
Silence stretched between them—thin as a blade's edge.
Then Liora spoke, voice softer than he'd ever heard it.
"It never did."
Alex smiled—small, almost sad.
"Liar."
The system chose that exact moment to chime in, bright and obnoxious.
«Affection +12 (Current: -63). Progress! Also, your heart rate just spiked 18%. Careful, host. You're starting to like the knife girl.»
Alex ignored it.
He stepped back, giving her space again.
"Go prepare my private dining chamber," he said. "One place setting. No tasters. No guards. Just you."
Liora's brows lifted slightly.
"You trust me to bring your food?"
"No," he said honestly. "But I trust you to be interesting about it."
For the first time since he'd woken up in this body, he saw something flicker across her face that wasn't hate or calculation.
Amusement.
Very small. Very fleeting.
She curtsied—mockingly perfect—and melted back into the shadows without another word.
Alex watched the empty alcove for a long moment.
Then he turned back to the window.
Below, the training yard had emptied. Torches guttered in the rising wind. Somewhere distant, a wolf howled—long and lonely.
He felt the weight of the citadel around him: stone, secrets, schemes, and one very dangerous woman who might or might not kill him before dessert.
The system pinged again, quieter this time.
«+80 Evil Points for psychological warfare via vulnerability. You're playing 4D chess with a girl who's spent a decade wanting you dead. Statistically, this should end in stabbing. Emotionally… who knows?»
Alex exhaled slowly.
"Yeah," he muttered to the dark. "Who knows."
He started walking back toward the upper levels.
Dinner would be soon.
And if Liora decided tonight was the night to finish what she'd started ten years ago…
Well.
At least it wouldn't be boring.**
Alex didn't go straight back to his chambers.
Instead he took the long way—through the lower galleries where the air smelled of damp stone and old iron. The corridors here were narrower, lit only by sporadic wall sconces that burned low and sullen. Servants and guards alike pressed themselves against the walls as he passed, eyes down, breaths held. He could feel their fear like humidity on his skin.
Good.
Fear was currency in this place. He just had to decide whether to spend it or hoard it.
He stopped at a narrow arched window that overlooked the eastern training yard. Below, soldiers drilled in perfect black ranks—sword forms flowing like dark water. Their captain barked orders in clipped syllables. Steel rang against steel. Somewhere a whip cracked, not in anger but in rhythm.
Alex watched for a long minute.
Then he felt it.
A prickle at the nape of his neck. The kind you get when someone's staring hard enough to leave fingerprints.
He didn't turn immediately.
Instead he spoke to the empty air behind him.
"You're getting sloppy, Liora."
A soft exhale—half surprise, half irritation.
She stepped out from the shadowed alcove to his left. Still in the crimson-and-black maid's uniform, but now with a thin black dagger already in her right hand, point down, casual as a pen.
"Your Grace," she said. Voice cool. "I was merely ensuring your safety on your evening constitutional."
Alex finally turned to face her.
She stood maybe eight feet away—close enough to lunge, far enough to give herself options. Smart.
He leaned one shoulder against the stone sill, arms loosely crossed.
"Safety," he repeated. "That's sweet. Last I checked, the last person who 'ensured my safety' ended up with his own garrote around his neck. Courtesy of you, if memory serves."
Liora's expression didn't change, but her grip on the dagger tightened a fraction.
"Different circumstances," she said. "Different master."
Alex studied her.
Up close, in better light, she was even more striking. The violet eyes weren't just pretty—they were unnerving, like staring into fractured amethysts. A thin scar ran along her left collarbone, disappearing under the high neck of her uniform. Her posture was perfect assassin school: weight balanced, ready to move in any direction, no wasted tension.
He remembered fragments from Vesper's mind: Liora had been purchased at fourteen from a pleasure house in the undercity. Trained. Broken. Rebuilt. Then gifted to Vesper on his eighteenth nameday like an exotic bird in a cage.
She'd tried to kill him seven times in the first year.
He'd punished her for six of them.
The seventh time, he'd laughed instead.
And kept her.
Alex pushed off the wall, closing half the distance between them. Slowly. Giving her every chance to decide.
She didn't move.
"Tell me something honest," he said quietly. "If I turned my back right now, would that dagger end up between my shoulder blades?"
Liora tilted her head, considering.
"Probably," she admitted. "But not tonight."
"Why not tonight?"
"Because you're… interesting again." She said it like she hated admitting it. "You used to be predictable. Cruel in the same tired ways. Now you're watching. Waiting. Like a different animal wearing the same skin."
Alex let out a low breath that might've been a laugh.
"Flattery will get you everywhere, little viper."
"Not flattery. Observation." She finally sheathed the dagger—slowly, deliberately, making sure he saw every movement. "And curiosity. The council meeting. You didn't order the burnings. You didn't unleash the wraiths. You told them to wait."
"And that surprises you?"
"It terrifies me," she said flatly. "Because either you've gone soft… or you've become something far worse than the monster we all knew."
Alex stepped closer. Close enough that he could see the faint pulse at the base of her throat.
She didn't retreat.
He reached out—slowly—and brushed the pad of his thumb along that scar on her collarbone. Not possessive. Not threatening. Just… acknowledging.
Liora's breath hitched. Barely.
"Your scar," he murmured. "From the night you tried to poison my wine with shadowroot. I remember. You missed the vein by a hair. I let the blood run down your chest instead of cutting your throat."
Her eyes flicked to his. Dark. Searching.
"You kept me alive," she said. "Why?"
"Because killing you would've been boring." He let his hand drop. "And because I wanted to see how long it would take for hate to turn into something else."
Silence stretched between them—thin as a blade's edge.
Then Liora spoke, voice softer than he'd ever heard it.
"It never did."
Alex smiled—small, almost sad.
"Liar."
The system chose that exact moment to chime in, bright and obnoxious.
«Affection +12 (Current: -63). Progress! Also, your heart rate just spiked 18%. Careful, host. You're starting to like the knife girl.»
Alex ignored it.
He stepped back, giving her space again.
"Go prepare my private dining chamber," he said. "One place setting. No tasters. No guards. Just you."
Liora's brows lifted slightly.
"You trust me to bring your food?"
"No," he said honestly. "But I trust you to be interesting about it."
For the first time since he'd woken up in this body, he saw something flicker across her face that wasn't hate or calculation.
Amusement.
Very small. Very fleeting.
She curtsied—mockingly perfect—and melted back into the shadows without another word.
Alex watched the empty alcove for a long moment.
Then he turned back to the window.
Below, the training yard had emptied. Torches guttered in the rising wind. Somewhere distant, a wolf howled—long and lonely.
He felt the weight of the citadel around him: stone, secrets, schemes, and one very dangerous woman who might or might not kill him before dessert.
The system pinged again, quieter this time.
«+80 Evil Points for psychological warfare via vulnerability. You're playing 4D chess with a girl who's spent a decade wanting you dead. Statistically, this should end in stabbing. Emotionally… who knows?»
Alex exhaled slowly.
"Yeah," he muttered to the dark. "Who knows."
He started walking back toward the upper levels.
Dinner would be soon.
And if Liora decided tonight was the night to finish what she'd started ten years ago…
Well.
At least it wouldn't be boring.