His body tensed, coiling like a spring as he pivoted to face her. Recognition flashed in his eyes—not of her face, but of what she was.

A Daggermouth.

“You’re either very brave or very stupid,” he said, voice low and steady. His hand didn’t move toward his weapons. “The entire Veyra guard will be here in minutes.”

Shadera’s lips curled into a feral smile. She only needed seconds. “Plenty of time to carve your heart out, Serel.”

She lunged forward, blade slicing through air where his throat had been a heartbeat before. Greyson twisted away faster than she expected, his elbow connecting with her ribs as he spun past her. Pain blossomed across her side, but she’d been born in pain, raised in it.

Shadera circled him, blood singing in her veins as he simply clasped his hands behind his back, and let her.

“Too good for a fight, Serel?” she taunted. “Or are you just a coward hiding behind that mask?”

She feinted left as the words left her lips, then drove her knife toward his abdomen.

In one fast motion, Greyson unclasped his hands and caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting until the bones ground together. Her blade clattered to the marble floor.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said, voice ice cold through the mask.

Shadera’s laugh was all teeth as she slammed her forehead into his face. The mask absorbed most of the impact, but he staggered back, releasing her as blood began to pour from her nose. She followed with a vicious kick to his sternum that sent him crashing into the ceremonial altar as she snatched the knife from the ground.

“Not a fucking chance,” she snarled.

The veils toppled as Greyson rolled across the altar, coming up with his own dagger fisted in his palm. Blood trickled from beneath his mask where the impact had split his lip and he spat red onto the pristine floor.

They collided like storm fronts, blade against blade, each strike proof of lethal training. Greyson moved with unexpected accuracy, each parry flowing into counterattack. His reach exceeded hers, but Shadera was faster, darting inside his guard to score a shallow cut across his forearm.

Greyson’s response was a low sweep that nearly took her legs from under her. She leapt, twisting in midair, but his fist caught her in the kidney as she landed. Pain exploded through her back, bright and clarifying.

Shadera’s vision blurred, the oxygen fleeing her lungs. She recovered with vicious speed, driving her fist upward. It connected with Greyson’s jaw, snapping his head back with a satisfying crack.

Greyson lunged forward, slamming her against the wall and sending the knife flying from her hand. The impact sent shock waves up her spine as his right forearm pressed against her throat and his dagger found a soft spot between her ribs and sunk into her.

Jaeger’s words pulsed between her ears as she gasped at the pain lancing up her side.

‘Do not underestimate him, Kael.’

Shadera had absolutely, without a doubt, severely under-fucking-estimated him.

She drove her knee up between his legs. Greyson doubled over, his grip loosening just enough for her to twist free and slam her elbow into his temple.

Shadera grunted between clenched teeth as she pulled his blade from her side and flipped it in the air, catching it in her fist.

“You fight well for being the Heart’s little bitch,” she admitted, spitting blood onto the floor.

Greyson circled her now, his movements predatory as he pulled a new blade from somewhere behind his back. “And you’re skilled for Boundary trash.”

They clashed again, blades singing against each other. Steel kissed steel as they traded blows too fast to track, their bodies a violent dance. Shadera felt the familiar rhythm taking over—the perfect clarity of combat, where nothing existed but the next strike, the next breath.

A lucky slice caught her bicep, opening a deep wound that immediately soaked her sleeve crimson. She hissed, switching Greyson’s blade to her other hand without breaking stride.

“Tired so soon, Daggermouth?” Greyson taunted, but his own breathing had grown labored.

“You wish,” Shadera snarled.

She charged, feinting high before dropping into a slide that took her beneath his guard. Her blade found the back of his knee, slicing through fabric and flesh. Greyson roared in pain but didn’t fall. Instead, he pivoted on his good leg and drove his elbow down into her collarbone with crushing force.

Something cracked. White-hot agony exploded through Shadera’s chest. She rolled away, gasping as Greyson created a bloody trail behind every step he took.

She launched herself at him again, but Greyson was ready. He caught her in midair, using her momentum to slam her down onto the altar. The marble cracked beneath the impact, and Shadera felt something tear inside her. Her vision swam, darkness threatening at the edges.

Greyson leaned over her, blade pressed to her throat.

“Who sent you?” he demanded.

Shadera smiled through bloodied teeth. “Fuck you.”

With a desperate surge, Shadera’s hand slid to her thigh to retrieve her last weapon—the Veyra-issued gun. In one breath, she pressed it to his stomach and fired.

The silenced shot was barely louder than a cough.

Greyson jerked back, releasing her as crimson saturated the fabric on his abdomen. He staggered back with one hand pressed to the wound. Shadera rolled off the altar as he slipped on the blood spilling from his leg and stumbled to his knees.

The gun came up smoothly, trained between the eyeholes of his mask. Greyson froze, blood dripping from his wounds, chest heaving.

In the distance, boots thundered down the corridor—Veyra, coming to save their precious heir. Shadera knew she had seconds left.

“Beg,” she whispered. “Beg like they begged you.”

To her shock, Greyson straightened, shoulders squaring despite the pain it must have caused.

“Do it,” Greyson said, voice eerily calm.

She stared at him, brow furrowing at such an easy surrender.

Was he begging for death?

“What?” she panted, tightening her grip on the trigger.

“Fucking do it,” he said again.

Before Shadera could respond, Greyson did something she never expected. He reached up, blood dripping from his fingers, and removed his mask.

The obsidian face lifted away, revealing features carved from shadow and light—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, eyes the color of winter sky. Blood trickled from full split lips, but his gaze was clear, almost peaceful.

Shadera froze, gun still pointed between those impossibly blue eyes. The most sacred law of the Heart—broken before her. To see his face was a death sentence.

The doors burst open.

Veyra poured into the room, weapons drawn. Shadera heard the click of a hundred safeties disengaging, as a hundred red targeting dots scattered across her body like a deadly constellation.

The Serel and Daunt families followed closely behind the Veyra. They froze in collective horror at the tableau before them—Greyson Serel unmasked, facing a Boundary assassin with a gun to his head.

She was going to die here. But so was he.

Their eyes locked, assassin and heir, caught in a moment of perfect, terrible understanding.

Chapter eightThe Fallout

Greyson stared back at Shadera as he let his mask slip from his fingers and clatter to the floor. The sound of metal striking marble echoed through the room like a final heartbeat.

For a moment, everything froze—the Veyra with fingers on triggers, Moraine Daunt with a hand clasped over her masked mouth, even the air itself seemed to crystallize around them.

Greyson didn’t turn to his father.

His eyes remained locked with Shadera’s, a strange calm settling over him like snowfall. This was it.

The end.

No more executions. No more pretending.