His door opened.

  Within seconds, Kassan noticed a few things very wrong with this predicament – his door never opened without his express permission, it was barely three in the morning, his room smelt wet, and speaking of smells – there was a foreign one somewhere in the castle. One he hadn’t smelt before.

  And blood. Kassan could smell blood.

  He lifted his eyes to the heaving figure in his doorway. Megie, standing ankle-deep in water that looked like it came from the pipes. Clean, so from the water supply.

  He managed a half-sound that could pass as a “what?”

  Megie lifted her head up, pants breaking up her message. “K-Kassan.”

  “Yeah?” the werewolf sat up.

  “Sir. Nirven. Sir. Nirven is -” Her voice cracked. Kassan started to climb out of bed, flinching at the ice-cold water that hit his feet.

  “What is it? What about Sir. Nirven?”

  Another cry. Then,

  “He’s dead.”

  Marcus Nirven was alone in a private study, poring over letters from angry subjects. He had three piles that she was beginning to understand: one for answering immediately, one for delegation, and one for those that could be ignored. A good system, she mused, since angry subjects could certainly waste precious, royal time. Alas, it was time Marcus Nirven did not have, and with that she stepped out of the closet.

  “Do you believe yourself to be good at your job, Marcus Nirven?”

  The man whirled around, his ink pot falling to the side. Drops of black fell onto his crisp, white shirt.

  “Who are you? Identify yourself.” Marcus Nirven’s hands shook violently, a wild look in his eyes. Like an animal. She laughed, softly, slowly. Good.

  “Why do you want my name? It will be useless once I leave.” She hummed.

  “I am warning you.” Marcus Nirven lifted his hands up. Ah. She’d nearly forgotten that Nirven was technically a grandmaster in Gnomeic magic. She didn’t know if he was rusty, but the addition of magic would certainly make this more interesting.

  Nevertheless. “My apologies, Mr. Nirven. I have evidently forgotten my manners in the rush.” She took a step closer, revelling in how he tried to push himself against the desk. The table legs squeaked atrociously against the floor, and she nearly winced. Too much noise.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Many know you as Lord Damien’s fifth-in-command, but dare I say I know you better? Marcus Nirven, a core part of Starroam’s issues. Tell me, does your Lord know that you sponsor the mass kidnapping of Fae women? That you are fully aware of where the kidnapping ends?” Her eyes narrowed. Marcus Nirven began to hyperventilate, clutching at his tie.

  “I don’t - you don’t know what you are talking about.” He heaved.

  “No? I should make myself clearer, then. It is not elegant to be overly vague.

  “Is Lord Damien aware of how you pay traffickers to kidnap Fae women and have them sent to rape camps, where sick, perverted men like you take advantage of them all day long?”

  Marcus Nirven was sobbing. She hardly stopped herself from rolling her eyes. It was a disgusting sight, this man, sobbing at her feet.

  “I don’t - I won’t -”

  “I do apologise, Marcus Nirven. It must be unsettling for a stranger to know so much about you.” She let her voice dip even lower, feel its vibrations in her own throat. “But your work interested me so much. I had to spend days investigating your crimes. The way you cover up your tracks is appallingly splendid, like the perfect newspaper crossword.”

  “You are insane,” Marcus Nirven spat, drool hitting the floor just before her shoes. “I will have security remove you from these premises.” The pointless threat drew yet another laugh from her. It made Marcus Nirven shrink even more.

  “Then I should stop playing with my food before I eat it. So, Marcus Nirven. I understand this might be intrusive but...will you give me the pleasure of your last dance?”

  A green mist began to form around Marcus Nirven’s hands, the magic taking shape. Her hands flexed in her gloves. Marcus Nirven’s voice trembled. “Stay away, you fiend.”

  “Your last dance, Marcus Nirven. Do share it with me.”

  He shook his head, the mist condensing. Marcus Nirven was skilled in this type of magic. He would likely produce a weapon, which she could counter – but that didn’t mean she wanted to.

  It was always an annoyance when they never said “yes”. If you were going to die today, why not do so willingly, with your killer?

  She reached behind her, to ruffle her hair, as Marcus Nirven’s expression began to collapse into one of triumph. He’d found the perfect idea, the perfect weapon to keep himself safe and continue his disgusting acts -

  The masked woman leapt forward, skimming Marcus Nirven’s hands. Before he could turn, the scissors she had retrieved from her hair went plunging into his chest. There was a second, where his eyes widened. A half-second where she wondered if she’d stabbed in the right place.

  In the next, the mist vanished completely. Nirven thudded to the floor, sharp scissors having almost certainly shredded through his aorta. Marcus Nirven was dead, and his last dance – even with magic involved – was a bore.

  It was a shame, she accepted. She’d expertly dodged the blood spatter, so leaving the study and blending in with the crowd would be easy. She’d leave her scissors here – every single one of her weapons were pure iron, which was why she was covered head to toe. The iron would continue damaging Marcus Nirven’s heart until there was hardly anything left, a beautiful representation of the man who’d committed his atrocities.

  She’d only taken out one of her targets, however, and she was running out of time. Once Marcus Nirven was discovered, she’d have an entire court on her heels. She needed this quick, in exchange for tidiness.

  Before leaving the study, therefore, she pressed her hand against a wall. She felt the rush of water within the pipes, thumping.

  She hadn’t used this magic in quite a while, weak as it was.

  There was no coloured mist. No theatrics. Nothing but her breathing present where Marcus Nirven’s was not.

  But finally, there was a crack from within as the water spurted out from the pipes, and with an almighty force, burst through the wall. She could hear the cries from outside too.

  With that sense of home, she stepped into the chaos.