Chapter 7: The Visitor & The Assassin
967 Words
Chapter 7- The Visitor And The Assassin
POV: MISS X ( RHIANNON BLACKMOOR)
The cell smells of rust, damp and fear that has soaked into the stones. I sit with my back against the cold wall, my knees drawn up, feeling the pain in my wrist and ankles where the chains bind me.
Draven’s face keeps flashing in my mind. I can still remember the way his looks broke for that single, fragile moment when I declared I was not guilty. It looked like he believed me.
He couldn’t have recognized me. No one knows who I am anymore. I had been barely fourteen when Rhiannon Blackmoor had died that night as the palace burned and I had buried her with my past, my family, my name, and every trace of mercy I had left.
A sound breaks the silence. It's the boots of the guards scraping the stone floor. I notice that they are different from the previous ones that had led me to my cell.
“Enjoying your last few hours, Miss X?” one of them sneers as the cell door creaks open.
I glance up , looking bored. “You came all this way to talk?”
He laughs. “You’ll talk plenty when you face the Varhallow tonight.”
The other one snickers. “ The Varnhallow is the moon’s curse. They say it smells like blood. It’ll tear your soul apart before it kills you.”
I keep my face blank. I’ve heard whispers about the Varnhallow, the Moon Goddess’s cursed guardian. No one survives its judgment.
The first guard leans closer, breath hot and foul. “You’ll scream louder than the last one. The beast loves that.”
I meet his eyes, then speak coldly “I’ll make sure you hear it, then. When I leave that arena, I will test your heart out with joy. Don't worry. I will make yours a quick death”
That shuts him up and I see fear shine in his eyes. The silence in the room stretches until a new sound cuts through. It's the sharp, deliberate rhythm of heels striking stones.
The guards stiffen when they see who had entered the cell.
“Leave us,” a smooth, commanding voice orders.
It’s Lady Isolde, the consort of the new Alpha King.
They vanish instantly, leaving the air cold as Isolde’s stare. Isolde steps into the light and I see her more clearly — elegant, flawless, and, of course, dangerous. Her short silver dress gleams like moonlight.
She looks just like her father. I tell myself. I had had the pleasure to work for him a few times and I knew how mean he was. It looks like his daughter was cut from the same cloth.
“So,” she says softly, looking down at me, “you’re the assassin who made Lord Draven lose his composure today.”
Her tone is casual but her stare is as cold as ice.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I reply, keeping my gaze on the floor.
“Oh, come now.” She walks closely to me slowly, heels clicking. “He’s been unshakable for years. Then you stand before him, and suddenly he looks at you as if you’ve ripped open a wound he thought was long healed.”
Her eyes narrow, gleaming with jealousy, curiosity or maybe both. I am not certain.
“I must be unforgettable then,” I say, chuckling dryly.
Isolde’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes and when she speaks, her voice is full of spite “You’re forgettable the moment you die. And you will die tonight. The Varhallow doesn’t leave survivors.”
I tilt my head and stare straight at her. “And if it does?”
Her lips curl. “Then I’ll be waiting. I’ll finish what it started.” She leans closer, her voice low, venom dripping from every word. “I am going to make you pay for everything you did to me… that I promise you.”
My body goes still. Her words slice through me like a blade. What did she mean by everything you did to me?
I mask my shock with a smirk. “You speak as if you know me.”
“I know enough.” Her voice is steady, but her eyes tremble with something darker like rage, pain, or memory.
“I don’t know who you think I am,” I say quietly.
She laughs and it's a sharp and brittle sound, “Trust me… I do. I never forget a face. I’ve been looking for you for years, Miss X. And then, just like that, you walk into my lair.” Her smile widens, cruel and beautiful. “I will make sure you never leave.”
I smile, forcing more confidence into my tone than I feel. “Bring it on, Isolde. I’m also great at keeping my promises. You might even love the feel of my dagger against your neck.”
She freezes for a beat, then smiles coldly. “We’ll see.” Her heels click once as she turns away. “I’ll make sure your cell is cleaned after tonight. I don’t like messes.”
Then she turns and leaves, leaving the floral scent of her perfume.
I sit there, my pulse hammering, her words echoing like a curse.
Who does she think I am? I think
I sigh heavily. If the Varhallow doesn’t kill me, then perhaps she will. I envision her trying to stab me with silver claws….
The thought almost makes me laugh until I catch something glinting faintly on the floor where she’d stood.
A silver hairpin.
And engraved on it, just barely visible in the dim light, is a crest I haven’t seen since the night Rhiannon Blackmoor died.
- Writer
