In the mystical realm of Rivenholm, where dark enchantments and treacherous intrigue rule, a young half-blood thief known as Mirk lives a life of cunning and survival on the shadowy streets. His nimble fingers have never failed him, and he's stolen...
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Mirk was supposed to assess the interior and details that could prove useful for him as Razaël led him into the gardens. However, this became nearly impossible with Kian in tow, acting more like a cat. Not the small, friendly house feline, but a narrow-eyed, low-moving predator accustomed to playing with his prey.
Mirk had never considered himself prey and had no intention of starting now. Kian often stepped too close, a sly smirk stretching across his face. Each time Mirk shot a glare his way, Kian would brush his shoulder against the thief, purposefully trying to provoke him.
He gritted his teeth, holding back a growl. He was purposely trying to irk him, as if every annoyed huff was a win in his book.
"I would like to ask you a few questions, and I ask you to tell the truth. If you do not wish to answer, feel free to say so. But do not lie, Max," Razaël said from next to him. They stepped onto a gravel path that seemed to meander through a well-kept garden towards the orchard.
At least Mirk now knew where to go when the streets did not feed him anymore.
"I never lie," Kian chuckled, earning another one of Mirk's vicious glares.
"That is a good goal to have." It was clear that the Grand Lord did not believe Mirk. Damn, he's becoming rusty.
"I only have good goals," he retorted, curiously looking around at the few gardeners who didn't even bother to greet their Lord.
"Will you tell me who gave you the job of stealing the Mask?" He finally got to the point, clasping his hands behind his back as he slowed his strides when they neared a small pond.
"No," the fae looked disappointed, so Mirk continued, "Because I don't know who it was."
His step faltered slightly as he realized Kian had successfully been walking alongside him, his shoulder constantly in touch with his. He pulled away and made a show of trying to brush off his touch.
"Your associates?" Kian drawled out.
Mirk shrugged, earning a scoff.
"It's like playing two truths and a lie with you, but it's the opposite. Two lies and a truth." Kian tried to brush his shoulder against his again, unsuccessfully this time.
"Max."
The warning undertone of Razaël's voice made him gulp. Although he seemed unthreatening, he was still very much a threat. He was just excellent at concealing his magic.
"I know them," he admitted bitterly after a pause, "but you'll never catch them."
"That's why we have you," the redheaded male admitted, sharing a knowing look with his Grand Lord.
Mirk halted, tearing his gaze away from the water lilies and the magic dust that floated above each flower.
"You want me to find those two little bastards?" Kian tsk-ed at his use of language, but he couldn't care less.
