ULF
Night. Day 170. One week since Rook's Rest.
The nursery corridor was quiet. Too quiet.
I stood at my post, back against the wall, listening to the Keep breathe. Stone settling. Wind through distant windows. The soft shuffle of guards on patrol.
And something else.
There.
A sound that didn't belong. Careful footsteps in the walls.
The secret passages.
My informant network was supposed to watch those routes. I'd mapped every entrance, every junction, every hiding spot. Someone should have warned me.
Either the network failed, or someone in it turned.
No time to figure out which.
I slipped away from the nursery door—the guards I'd posted would hold for a few minutes—and found the nearest passage entrance. A servant's alcove. Hidden lever behind a loose stone.
The wall swung open. Darkness beyond.
I stepped inside.
The passages smelled like dust and old stone. No torches—I navigated by memory and sound.
Footsteps. Twenty meters ahead. Moving toward the nursery's hidden door.
I triggered Soru.
The world blurred. Ten meters.
My shoulder clipped the wall. Pain flared. I adjusted, kept moving.
Another Soru burst. Five meters.
There.
A shape in the darkness. Hooded. Moving fast.
Not like Blood or Cheese—those had been desperate men, sloppy and scared. This one moved like a professional. Trained steps. Controlled breathing.
Daemon's work.
The assassin heard me. Turned. A knife flew from their hand.
I hardened my forearm with Tekkai. The blade struck iron-dense flesh and bounced away.
The assassin hesitated. Just a heartbeat.
Mistake.
Soru. Point-blank distance.
My knife found their shoulder. Drove deep. Twisted.
They screamed—high and sharp—and spun away. Fast. Faster than I expected.
A return strike. Poisoned blade. I felt it slice my ribs.
Burning. Poison already working.
My resistance kicked in. Three seconds. Five. The burning faded.
Not enough to stop me.
The assassin realized their best weapon had failed. Panic now, replacing professional calm.
"What are you?"
I didn't answer. Just closed distance.
Shigan. Finger thrust through their already-wounded shoulder. Hit bone. Kept pushing.
They screamed again.
I shifted weight. 10,000kg concentrated in my right foot.
Stomped.
Their knee shattered. They collapsed.
Guards coming. Heard the screams. Maybe thirty seconds before this becomes a scene.
I grabbed them. Dragged them deeper into the passage.
THE ASSASSIN
This wasn't supposed to happen.
The plan was simple. Wait for the bastard to sleep. Enter through passage seven-three. Kill the children. Escape through the godswood exit.
The prince's people had provided maps. Schedules. Everything.
What they hadn't provided was warning about the demon.
She tried to crawl away. Her leg wouldn't work—something broken, grinding, wrong.
The bastard grabbed her collar. Slammed her against the wall.
"Who sent you?"
Blood in her mouth. She spat it out. Laughed.
"Daemon? Rhaenyra?"
"You think it matters? More will come. We always come."
His face was invisible in the darkness. Just a voice. A presence. Pain.
"How did you get the maps?"
She laughed again. Coughed.
"The Blacks have friends everywhere. Even in the Red Keep. Even in the queen's own—"
He hit her. Not hard enough to kill. Hard enough to scramble thoughts.
"Names."
"I don't have names. Just a contact. Dead drop near the kitchens. You'll never find—"
Another hit. Harder.
"The children. Why them?"
"Because it hurts the Greens. Because queens weep for dead children. Because—" She coughed blood. "Because bastards always die first."
Silence.
Then his hand wrapped around her throat.
"You're right about one thing. Bastards always die."
ULF
I felt her windpipe crush.
Quick. Cleaner than she deserved, maybe. But clean.
One threat eliminated. How many more waiting?
I searched the body. Found what I expected: a map of the passages (newer than mine—someone had updated them), a vial of poison (Tears of Lys, based on the smell), and a coin with Daemon's sigil pressed into the metal.
Proof. Not that I need it.
Footsteps in the passages. Guards, finally arriving.
I arranged the scene. The body at the base of a steep junction—she could have fallen. Broken her neck on the impact. Tragic accident for an intruder.
Then I stepped out of the passage. "Discovered" the body. Raised the alarm.
Easy.
The hard part was the rage boiling in my chest.
Someone inside the Keep. Someone close enough to provide updated maps.
I had a traitor to find.
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