Vivienne's POV
The arrow punched through the carriage window three inches from my face.
I threw myself sideways as glass exploded inward, sharp fragments cutting my cheek. My heart slammed against my ribs. Outside, horses screamed. Metal clashed against metal. Men shouted orders I couldn't make out over the thunder of my pulse.
Not yet. I haven't even reached the capital yet.
My lady! Robert, my guard, yelled from the driver's seat. Stay down!
Another arrow pierced the velvet cushion where my head had been seconds ago. I pressed against the floor, glass digging into my palms. Through the shattered window, I saw them, five masked men on horseback, circling like wolves. Professionals. Assassins.
Someone knew I was coming. Someone wanted me dead before I could reach the palace.
The carriage lurched violently. Wood splintered. We were tipping
I grabbed the door handle and kicked hard. The door flew open just as the carriage crashed onto its side. I rolled out, hitting the dirt road with bone-jarring force. Pain exploded through my shoulder, but I couldn't stop. Couldn't freeze.
Move or die. Those are your only choices now.
Boots thudded toward me. I looked up. A masked man stood over me, sword raised, eyes cold behind the black cloth covering his face.
Nothing personal, lady, he said, bringing the blade down.
I rolled. The sword bit into dirt where I'd been. My hand found the hidden slit in my skirt—the one Eleanor insisted I sew into every dress. My fingers closed around cold steel.
The dagger sang as I pulled it free.
The assassin's eyes widened. Too late. I drove the blade up under his ribs, angling toward his heart like Eleanor taught me. His shocked gasp was hot against my face. Blood, warm and wet, spilled over my hands.
He crumpled. I yanked the dagger free, already moving.
Two years in the Borderlands taught me this: mercy gets you killed.
Behind you! Robert's warning came too late.
Arms locked around me from behind, lifting me off my feet. I slammed my head backward, felt it connect with bone. The man cursed, grip loosening. I twisted, drove my elbow into his throat, then stabbed the dagger into his thigh when he doubled over.
He went down screaming.
Robert fought two men at once, his sword a silver blur. Blood streaked his face, but his movements were still sharp, still deadly. My guard had been a soldier once. He hadn't forgotten how to kill.
But three more were coming. Too many.
My breath came in ragged gasps. Blood—the assassins' blood, my blood, I couldn't tell anymore—made the dagger handle slippery. My beautiful blue traveling dress was ruined, soaked red.
A blade sliced toward my throat. I ducked, felt it whistle past my ear. Spun away. My foot caught on torn fabric and I fell hard, dagger flying from my grip.
The assassin loomed over me, sword raised for a killing blow.
Then an arrow sprouted from his chest.
He staggered, confused, then collapsed. Behind him, Robert lowered his bow, already reaching for another arrow. Run, my lady!
But I couldn't run. Not from this. Not ever again.
I grabbed my fallen dagger and lunged at the nearest attacker. Surprise gave me the advantage—he wasn't expecting a noblewoman to fight like a trained killer. My blade found his shoulder, then his side. He fell.
Robert cut down another.
Suddenly, there was only one left. The leader, judging by his better armor, his confident stance. He assessed us with cold calculation: a bleeding guard and a woman covered in blood and glass cuts.
You fight well for a widow, he said, voice muffled behind his mask. Beaumont said you were just a soft noble playing dress-up.
Beaumont.
Ice flooded my veins. The Lord Chancellor. The man who orchestrated my destruction two years ago. The man who thought I died in the Borderlands.
He knew I survived. He knew I was coming.
Tell Beaumont, I said, voice steady despite my shaking hands, that I'm harder to kill than he thinks.
The assassin laughed. I won't be telling him anything. He raised his sword. Dead women send no messages.
He charged.
Robert's arrow took him in the throat before he made three steps. The assassin dropped to his knees, clawing at the shaft. Blood bubbled from his mouth as he fell face-first into the dirt.
I walked over, knelt beside him. His eyes were already glazing over, but I had to know. Had to be sure.
Who told him? I grabbed his collar, shook him. How did Beaumont know I was alive?
The dying man's lips moved. I leaned closer.
Beaumont... sends... his regards, he wheezed. Then his eyes went blank.
I sat back on my heels, numb. Around me lay five bodies. The overturned carriage. The terrified horses. The smell of blood and death hanging thick in the twilight air.
Someone had betrayed me before I even reached the capital. Someone close enough to know my travel plans, my route, my timing.
Someone in Eleanor's network was a spy.
Eleanor's townhouse appeared through the darkness like salvation. I half-fell from Robert's horse, legs barely holding me. My shoulder screamed with every movement. Blood had soaked through my makeshift bandages.
The door flew open. Eleanor stood there, gray hair wild, eyes sharp as ever. She took one look at me and pulled me inside.
Dear God, Isabelle
Don't. I shook my head. Not that name. Not anymore. That girl died two years ago.
Eleanor's hands were gentle as she cleaned my wounds, but her voice was iron. What happened?
Ambush. Five men. Professional. I hissed as she pressed a cloth to the deep cut on my shoulder. The last one said Beaumont sends his regards.
Eleanor's hands stilled. That's impossible. No one knew you were
Someone did. I met her eyes in the mirror. Someone told him I'm alive. Someone in your network.
No. But uncertainty flickered across her face. I trust these people with my life.
One of them just tried to take mine.
We stared at each other. Two years of planning. Two years of training, transforming, preparing for this moment. And already, someone was ten steps ahead.
Eleanor's jaw tightened. We burn everything. Start over. Disappear before
No. I stood, ignoring the pain, ignoring the blood still seeping through bandages. I walked to the fireplace and threw my ruined dress into the flames. Blue silk blackened and curled. They know I'm alive now. Good.
Isabelle
Let them be afraid. I watched the dress burn, feeling something cold and hard settle in my chest where my heart used to be. Tomorrow, I walk into that palace. Tomorrow, I smile at the people who destroyed me. And tomorrow, I start destroying them back.
Eleanor was quiet for a long moment. Then she handed me a glass of wine. To revenge, then.
To justice, I corrected, raising the glass.
But as I drank, one question burned hotter than the flames:
Who was the traitor? And how much did Beaumont really know?