I plan to find Anastasia but fate twists my path. Lavyrle intercepts me, his gait unmistakable. I allow him to lead me, curiosity gnawing. He's hiding something, and I'm on the hunt. I crouch behind a massive pillar as he slips into a room, vanishing like smoke.
Minutes stretch into eternity. No one follows him, and he doesn't emerge. Frustration tugs at me, urging retreat. But by the window, I glimpse him—outside, beneath moon-dappled trees.
How did he appear there?
His silhouette, meters away, is unmistakable. Lavyrle converses with someone, a clandestine exchange. A bag, a white paper—the pieces of a puzzle I'm determined to solve.
The clandestine papers—furtive secrets inked onto parchment—beckon like forbidden fruit. Why would Lavyrle, a man of shadows, pay for such contraband? My curiosity gnaws at me.
Two of Stefani's maid walk past me. An idea comes to mind.
"Did you hear about Alexander?" I say.
Their hushed voices carry rumors. "The council deems him a heretic," I add. But my web of deception weaves wider.
One of them looks at me wide eyes. "I always suspected it was Hart," one of them say.
"And there is another masked by a different name. The council suspects it is one of the Superiors."
Startled, they glance back. "My Lady."
"Don't fret," I assure them. "Your secret thoughts are safe—as long as you keep mine."
Like a serpent, that cunning whisperer that coils around our minds, I inject doubt like venom. I poison every thought, sowing seeds of suspicion until even their own words echo back as strangers. Its twisted dance, truth and deception blur—a treacherous waltz where certainty falters, and trust withers like parched leaves.
They nod, and I slip away, seeking Anastasia. The music room cradles her, the harp an extension of her soul. Her eyes, closed in rapture, miss my entrance. I listen, captivated by the melody, her fingers dancing across strings. The sheet music lies forgotten; she plays from memory.
"I didn't hear you," she murmurs, setting the harp aside.
Her gaze pins me—a bright, unyielding light. "Beautiful," I admit, but unease tugs at my core.
Anastasia flips her hair, revealing the bite mark on her neck. My gasp is involuntary. Only rogues feed like that. "Did Lavyrle—?"
Her glare scorches me as she quickly hides it. "Choose your words carefully."
"Anastasia," I implore, "if he did this, it's wrong."
"Stay away," she warns. "Thought we were friends?"
"We are," I insist. "I care." I didn't come for this, yet here I am.
Her retort is a blade: "If you care, silence is your loyalty. Stay away."
"Anastasia!" My voice ricochets off the walls as I chase her fleeing figure. But Lavyrle stands sentinel, an unexpected barrier.
"What business do you have with Anastasia?" His tone is sharp, defensive.
"You did that to her, didn't you?" My accusation hangs in the air, a blade poised to strike.
"Did what?" His feigned innocence grates on my nerves.
"You feed on her," I insist, my anger unyielding.
His laughter is a twisted melody. "Perhaps it's one of her lovers. Learn from your own fidelity to Aldaire."
YOU ARE READING
Barracks (War of Hearts)
Paranormal--Updated weekly-- "Why are you following me?" "I am free to roam anywhere within Barracks, am I not?" "Aldaire will be displeased if he sees us together." He grins, leaning in close to whisper in my ear. "Will he? Last time I checked, you two are...
