OBSIDIAN GUARD BOOK 2

CHAPTER 6 EVEN FLOWERS HAVE THORNS HERE

POV Gideon

Ollivander returned to me looking distracted, jumpy even. He slipped into my chambers before the sun had even fully set, his pale skin smudged with the grime of the road and his eyes shadowed by things he hadn't slept through.

He didn't drop to his knees this time; he collapsed, his strength failing the moment he crossed my threshold. He looked desperate, clinging to the cold obsidian of my floor as if the rock itself could anchor him. I could see the tremor in his hands, odd.

"The Thanes are gone from Ironspire," he rasped, his voice a dry wheeze. "Alistair's family... they are not human, My Queen. They are gods. Our men in the prisons, very few remained... I ensured they could tell no more tales. I silenced them all before I came back."

My heart didn't break for my men, but my jaw locked with a burning rage. Alistair hadn't just defended his city; he had cauterized my reach.

"They are overwhelmingly powerful," Ollivander continued, his eyes wide and frantic, searching mine for the familiar comfort of a command. "But their city... It's bloated, My Queen. It's prospering so fast it's bursting at the seams. There are too many people and not enough purpose. I saw an opportunity. You don't have to steal from them anymore. If you offered them a job here, with the army, offered them a future, they would voluntarily join. We could trade. No more recruiting in the shadows."

I looked at him, truly looked at him. He was terrified of them, yet his spy's mind was still sharp enough to find the exploit. A trade. A legitimate bridge into Ironspire.

"Rest, my pet," I commanded, placing a heavy, possessive hand on his head. He leaned into the touch, visibly relieved to be back in my cage, away from the intoxicating freedom of the Syndicate. "The rest of this requires a more personal touch."

"And more news," he whispered into the carpet. "Word is that the Syndicate heads are coming. They arrive tomorrow."

He was right. Over the next three days, the reports were identical. They arrived in pairs and threes, booking the most expensive suites in the Guard. They weren't hiding. They were spending gold like it was volcanic ash, eating at my finest tables, and telling everyone who would listen that they were simply on "vacation." They claimed my city's wealth "inspired" them.

It was a taunt. A slow, agonizing middle finger aimed directly at my tower. Alistair had sent his "Family" to my doorstep to show me that my walls meant nothing to them.

I walked to my dressing room, but I didn't reach for the heavy Blood Rubies or the ceremonial Obsidian bands. If I went as the Queen, they would see me coming from miles away. No. To catch a predator, you have to look like prey, or at least, like a different kind of monster.

I stripped, scrubbing the scent of sweat from my skin and trading my regal silks for a structured, sleeveless doublet of dark leather and trousers that allowed for a hidden blade at each thigh. I left my rings in the safe, save for a necklace with a single, tiny Ruby stud hidden beneath the collar of my shirt, and earrings with Obsidian stones to guard my mind.

Without the jewels, I looked like what I had been thirty years ago: a brawler from the mines who knew how to turn a bar-fight into a game.

I had organized the event at The Gilded Vein the moment I heard Jasmine and Gideon were roaming the market. It was disguised as a celebration for the merchant elite, but I had steered the theme toward the "Decadence of the Dark."

An orgy of kink and sensory excess. It was the perfect honeypot, Ollivander had assured me. Jasmine, the Pheromone Weaver, wouldn't be able to resist a room full of heightened desires. And Gideon? A man who lived for the pulse of the heart would find a den of submissives and dominant play irresistible.

The hotel was a fever dream of velvet and obsidian, saturated with the scent of musk and expensive wine. Masks were mandatory, a layer of protection for me and an invitation for them.

I wore a simple black silk wrap that covered the upper half of my face, leaving my scarred, arrogant mouth exposed.

The room hummed with a low, rhythmic throb of music. I moved through the crowd, my eyes scanning. Then, I felt it.

The air became sickly sweet, like rotting lilies and heavy honey. It made the back of my throat itch. Jasmine.

I spotted them near the center of the lounge. Jasmine was a vision of effortless beauty, unmasked and uncaring. Beside her sat Gideon. He looked bored, watching a man being flogged on a nearby stage with the clinical, detached interest of a man watching a clock tick. They looked like gods visiting a kennel.

I signaled the shadows.

Ollivander stepped out, looking like a wounded angel. He had shed his travel-grime for a sheer silk wrap that showcased the fresh, angry welts I had gifted him before this event. He looked fragile, haunted, and utterly exquisite. I caught his eye for a fraction of a second, a silent command.

Seduce them. Make them tell you their secrets.

He drifted toward their table like a moth toward a flame. Jasmine ignored him, swirling her wine, but Gideon's head snapped toward him.

The Heart Weaver's eyes narrowed, scanning Ollivander from his pale throat down to his trembling knees. Gideon didn't just see a servant; he saw the sincerity of the boy's scars. He saw a masterpiece of submission.

"Well, hello there, little flower," Gideon rumbled, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his face. "Forget the Lady. Come kneel at my feet and ask me what I want... if you dare."

Without a heartbeat of hesitation, Ollivander sank to the floor. The sound of his knees hitting the obsidian was sharp. He didn't look up, his posture perfect, his neck bared in a way that was a pure, visceral invitation.

"What would you like, Master?" Ollivander whispered.

I watched from the shadows, my heart cold and calculating. Alistair thought he could send his siblings to play in my garden. He forgot that in Obsidian Guard, even the flowers have teeth.

fuck