Heir of Fury

Chapter 1

If I get out of this alive, I am going to kill that little monster.

I am completely out of breath when I press against the crumbling stone wall. I pull the hood of my worn cape lower, hoping the hustle of first light will keep me concealed, at least until I can recover. My heart hammers against my chest so violently that I fear it can be heard within the narrow walls of the alley. I need to think and find a way to get out of this alley before they spot me. Breathe, Serena, breathe and think. I look around, the evidence of the crime a heavy weight on my belt.

I know these streets better than the scars on my skin, and yet, somehow, I ended up in a fucking dead-end. I force my eyes to focus as they dart around the grimy alley. The air stinks of decay, wet stone, and smoke – a sickening combination, not really collaborating with the focusing part of my plan.

Fucking, Lily. That nine-year-old is going to get me killed.

The sharp clank of hurried armoured footsteps breaks through the haze of my thoughts. My body tenses, every muscle going rigid. Their footsteps are easy to distinguish from the shuffling of the starving citizens around me—there's weight behind them, strength in the way they walk. Strong, well-fed. Everything we aren't.

I turn my head to the entry of the alley to find the guards marching, pushing every frail body that happens to be in their way. I watch as they grab an old, puny man from the collar of his tattered shirt and say something to him. I don't have to hear them to know they are asking him if he has seen me, probably giving him a vague physical description. The old man, who I know for a fact has seen me because I bumped into him just a few minutes ago while running, shakes his head, denying it. Frustrated, the guards push him to the ground, and I flinch, a pang of guilt tightening in my gut.

In this place, no matter what, we protect those who flee, not those who chase. We don't help the imperial guard, or the royal guard, or any uniform-wearing asshole, for that matter. These uniforms, in particular, are currently getting closer, and I am literally backed into a corner. I begin to move, inching away, trying not to draw attention. But it's too late. One of them sees me.

His eyes lock on mine. Fuck.

I sigh. I so wanted to avoid a fight today. Well, when life gives you lemons...

I turn to face the guards, a smirk curling at my lips.

Taunt them. Make them angry. Make them sloppy.

I throw my arms in the air, take a step towards them, and focus on making my voice sound innocent.

"Oh, thank Draxis. You found me!" I say, invoking the god of war. It just seems appropriate. "I have been looking everywhere for you!"

They exchange a quick, puzzled glance, their hands tightening on their weapons as they step closer.

"I was so scared!" I take another deliberate step, immediately blades unsheathe with a sharp metallic hiss, gleaming in the dim light. There are six of them today. Only five of their swords are pointed at me, though—because I've got the sixth one hanging from my belt.

"What are you playing at, girl?" barks one of the guards, moving closer.

"I found this," I say, not even flinching as their weapons inch toward me. Slowly, I pull the dagger from my belt, the one I know they'll recognize instantly. "I thought you might want it back; we wouldn't want it to fall into the wrong hands, would we?"

They don't believe me. Of course they don't. But I'm not looking for belief. I'm looking for rage—that flash of anger that makes people stupid. I want them to be too furious to think straight because the more emotions they have, the sloppier they'll be when they inevitably strike.