They say the first breath after near death tastes sweeter.
They lied.
My lungs burned with smoke. My throat ached from screaming. Every step felt like knives slicing into the soles of my feet. I stumbled through narrow alleys, lit only by the flickering flames of the riot behind me.
The shouts of guards echoed off the stone walls, growing fainter with each frantic turn I took. Still, fear clawed at my spine. I did not know this city. I did not know these streets. For all I knew, I was running in circles, straight into another noose.
I had to keep moving.
Around me, the world was a blur of crumbling brick, rotting wood, and shadows that seemed alive. Rats skittered over puddles, their eyes glinting in the darkness. Somewhere far off, a woman wailed, the sound carrying like a mournful ghost.
My hands were torn and bloody. My dress was in tatters. My skin stung where fire had kissed it.
And still I ran.
Memories that were not mine flickered at the edges of my mind.
Ballrooms draped in velvet. Smiling faces hiding sharpened daggers. A throne room drenched in moonlight. A blade at my back. Betrayal.
Seraphina's memories.
I staggered into a dead end.
A sheer wall of stone loomed in front of me. Too high to climb. Too smooth to scale.
Footsteps pounded closer, growing louder with every heartbeat.
Panic wrapped icy fingers around my chest. I spun, searching for another way out, but the alley was a tomb. Only towering walls and the suffocating press of night.
Trapped.
I pressed my back against the cold stone, nails digging into my palms.
Think. Think.
I was dead once. I refused to die again.
The footsteps stopped just at the mouth of the alley.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then a voice.
"Interesting."
It was low. Smooth. Amused.
I squinted through the gloom.
A figure detached itself from the shadows. Cloaked. Hooded. Familiar.
The man from the execution.
"You are full of surprises, Lady Valeborne," he said, stepping closer.
I pressed harder against the wall. "I am not her."
He tilted his head, as if considering.
"No," he said slowly. "You are not."
My heart hammered. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to fight, to do something. But my body was a wreck. I could barely stay standing.
He came closer, boots silent on the uneven ground.
In the dim light, I caught a glimpse of his face. Sharp jawline. Pale skin. Eyes like molten gold.
Beautiful.
And dangerous.
He smiled slightly, as if reading my thoughts.
"You should be dead," he said. "Yet here you are."
I swallowed hard. "Are you here to kill me?"
His smile widened. "Not yet."
Comforting.
"Why did you help me?" I asked, voice hoarse.
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small vial filled with shimmering liquid. Without a word, he tossed it to me.
I caught it clumsily.
"Drink," he said.
I hesitated.
"Or bleed out in this gutter. Your choice."
My fingers tightened around the vial. It could be poison. It could be salvation. It could be both.
But my knees were already buckling.
Gritting my teeth, I uncorked it and drank.
The taste was sharp and metallic. Fire raced down my throat and exploded through my veins.
I gasped, sagging against the wall.
Slowly, the pain dulled. My skin prickled as wounds knitted closed. Strength seeped back into my trembling limbs.
"What... what was that?" I whispered.
He chuckled softly. "A gift."
The world tilted, then steadied.
I pushed off the wall, standing straighter now.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
He gave a shallow bow, mocking in its elegance.
"Alistair Veyne. At your service."
The name meant nothing to me. Maybe it would have to Seraphina.
"What do you want from me?" I asked, wary.
He studied me for a long moment.
"Survival," he said finally. "Yours. And mine."
My stomach twisted. Nothing came for free. Especially not from men like him.
Before I could ask more, he turned, motioning for me to follow.
"Come," he said. "Before the hounds find us."
Against every ounce of common sense, I followed.
We wound through a labyrinth of back alleys and crumbling buildings, deeper into the underbelly of the city. The fires of the execution square faded into a distant, hellish glow.
Eventually, Alistair led me to a heavy wooden door, hidden behind a stack of broken crates.
He knocked once. Twice. A pause. Three times.
A small slot in the door slid open. Eyes peered out.
"Password?"
"Blood and ashes," Alistair said smoothly.
The door creaked open.
We slipped inside.
The air was thick with smoke and the scent of unwashed bodies. Rough-looking men and women lounged at tables, playing cards, drinking, sharpening weapons.
Every head turned as we entered.
Alistair did not flinch. He moved through the room like a blade through silk, and the others hastily looked away.
I stayed close, feeling dozens of eyes track me.
He led me up a narrow staircase to a small, dimly lit room.
"Rest," he said, gesturing to a worn cot. "We move again at dawn."
I sank onto the cot, exhaustion crashing over me.
Alistair leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
"You have questions," he said.
"Too many," I muttered.
"One for now."
I stared at him.
"Why me?" I asked finally. "Why save me?"
His golden eyes gleamed.
"Because you are the key."
"Key to what?"
He smiled, a slow, dangerous thing.
"To burning this rotten kingdom to the ground."
My blood ran cold.
Before I could respond, heavy boots pounded on the floor below.
Alistair stiffened.
Shouts.
Weapons drawn.
The door downstairs slammed open.
"Search every room!" a gruff voice barked.
Alistair cursed under his breath.
He pulled a dagger from his belt and tossed it to me.
"You wanted to live," he said grimly. "Fight for it."
The door to our room shook under a heavy blow.
I gripped the dagger with trembling fingers.
The second blow splintered the wood.
The third sent it crashing inward.
Soldiers poured in, faces twisted with fury.
Alistair moved like a shadow, blade flashing.
I backed against the wall, heart pounding, trying to steady my hand.
A soldier lunged for me.
I struck out, the dagger biting into flesh. Warm blood splashed my hand.
He fell.
I stood there, gasping, staring at the body.
"Move!" Alistair shouted.
I moved.
We fought our way through the narrow halls, dodging blades and fists.
Somewhere behind us, someone screamed.
Alistair grabbed my hand, dragging me toward a side door.
We burst into the cold night air.
More soldiers waited.
Too many.
Alistair glanced at me, eyes fierce.
"Do you trust me?" he asked.
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
He pulled something from his cloak.
A crystal, pulsing with dark light.
He crushed it in his hand.
The world shattered into blinding white.
And we fell into the void.