Chapter 42
Raymond’s POV
Night had a way of telling truths daylight refused to show.
It stripped away ceremony, pretence, and left only the heartbeat of what was real.
And tonight, that heartbeat led me through the outskirts of the city where the old train lines met rust and ruin, where whispers lived longer than men.
The rain hadn’t stopped. It fell in thin sheets, slicking the world in steel and shadow. My coat was soaked, my boots heavy with mud, but I didn’t stop. I had names to confirm, debts to collect, and ghosts to chase.
Adriana had asked for answers. I intended to bring her more than that.
The first man I found was Joren…an old informant who owed me three lives and a broken jaw. He ran a gambling pit under a warehouse near the eastern docks. When he saw me walk in, the color drained from his face.
“Raymond,” he croaked, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Didn’t expect—”
I slammed him against the wall before the sentence finished.
“Save it,” I said coldly. “You’ve been feeding intel through the southern route. I want to know what you heard about Damian.”
He tried to chuckle, a pathetic sound swallowed by fear. “You think I’d know anything about—”
I pressed harder, forearm against his throat. “Joren. I’ve let you live twice. Don’t make me regret my mercy.”
His breath came ragged. “There’s… talk, alright? A merger. Something big. Something permanent.”
“Permanent how?”
He swallowed hard. “He’s consolidating power through someone new. A woman.”
“Someone?” I hissed. “Who?”
He hesitated, and that was mistake number one.
I twisted his wrist until he screamed.
“Who, Joren?”
“Selene!” he blurted out. “He’s binding his faction with hers. They say it’s official ..a marriage. Signed and sealed.”
The word hit like a blade sliding under my ribs.
Marriage.
I let him go. He dropped to the floor, gasping, clutching his arm.
“When?”
“In a week, maybe less. The northern sector’s preparing the grounds. There’s a convoy of her men moving east. You didn’t hear it from me.”
I crouched, lowering my voice until it was almost calm. “You’re right. Because if I had, you’d be choking on your last breath right now.”
His eyes widened. “Raymond—please. You know I—”
“I know you talk too much when you’re scared,” I interrupted. “And I know fear is the only language you still understand.”
I leaned in close enough for him to feel my breath. “Forget you saw me. Forget my name. If I hear it whispered again, I’ll take your tongue before I take your life.”
He nodded frantically, trembling like a child.
“Good,” I said, standing. “You’re learning.”
I left him in the dark, still gasping, while the rain outside washed away the noise.
By the time I reached the old train yard, the city was asleep …or pretending to be.
The air smelled of iron and decay. Abandoned carriages lined the rails like hollowed-out beasts, and in their shadows, men moved, quiet, efficient, too organized to be thieves.
I crouched behind a rusted engine, watching them. Through the fog and drizzle, I saw the faint insignia of Selene’s crest stitched into their coats. Three men unloading crates, whispering.
One said, “Shipment’s clean. Next one’s due by dawn.”
The second grunted. “The Lady wants everything perfect before the ceremony. He’s paying extra to make sure nothing goes wrong.”
Ceremony.
The word tasted like rust in my mouth.
I moved closer, silent as breath, boots sinking into wet gravel. One of the men turned, younger than the rest, speaking into a small comm unit.
“Yes, sir,” he said nervously. “We’ll have everything ready before Damian arrives. The bride’s security—”
He didn’t finish.
My knife silenced him before the wind could.
The other two froze.
“What the hell—” one started, reaching for his gun.
Too slow. I struck him hard across the throat, feeling cartilage crunch beneath my palm. The third tried to run, but I dragged him down by his collar and slammed his face into the gravel until he stopped moving.
It was over in seconds.
Rain washed the blood away before it could steam.
I picked up the comm unit, static hissing. A distorted voice filtered through, calm and mechanical:
“Confirm status. The joining will proceed on the twelfth. No interference expected. The Master and Lady Selene will arrive together.”
The twelfth.
Three days.
I dropped the device, crushed it under my boot, and stood still for a long moment.
Beneath the fury, something else twisted…a memory I didn’t want.
I remembered how Adriana used to say his name, Damian like it meant something sacred.
The way she looked when she spoke of him, as though the world had once been gentler.
He’d taken that softness and turned it into a weapon.
Now he was using it against her.
When I returned to the estate, dawn was just breaking. The guards didn’t question me; they knew better. I went straight to the council chamber. The door creaked open, and I found Adriana standing by the window again, bathed in the pale light of morning.
She didn’t turn. “Did you find him?”
“No.” My voice came out rougher than I expected. “But I found what he’s building.”
Her fingers tightened on the edge of the table. “Speak.”
I stepped closer, leaving a trail of rainwater across the marble. My hands, still stained with blood curled at my sides.
“He’s not aligning with her,” I said. “He’s marrying her.”
The words landed like gunfire in a church.
She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Only the faintest tremor touched her jaw.
“Say it again,” she whispered.
“You heard me.”
Her hand lifted, fingers trembling before curling into a fist. “You’re certain?”
“Three confirmations,” I said. “One from the southern docks, one from Selene’s convoy, and one from the corpses I left at the train yard.”
Finally, she turned. Her eyes were cold glass, and for the first time in years, I saw something crack beneath them.. not weakness, but something more dangerous. Something human.
“So that’s how he means to win,” she murmured. “By wedding my enemy.”
“He’s not just winning,” I said, stepping closer. “He’s humiliating you. Turning your history into his crown.”
Her eyes snapped to mine. “You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you’re pretending not to feel it,” I shot back.
A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Feeling has no place here.”
“Then why do your hands shake?”
Silence.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The storm outside pressed against the glass.
Then she turned away, voice tight but steady. “How long?”
“Three days.”
Her laughter was bitter…short, sharp, joyless. “Three days to turn a wedding into a funeral.”
“You’re serious?” I asked.
She faced me again. “Did you expect less?”
“No,” I said. “I expected you.”
Her expression didn’t soften, but the silence between us changed, heavier, deeper.
“Raymond,” she said quietly, “you’ve always followed orders.”
“I’ll follow this one too,” I said. “But I’m not doing it for your pride.”
“Then for what?”
“For you,” I said simply. “Because he broke something in you once, and I’ll be damned if I let him do it again.”
Her breath hitched barely audible. “You think I’m broken?”
“I think you’re angry,” I said. “And anger keeps you alive. But it’s going to eat you if you let it.”
She stared at me for a long moment, then whispered, “Then let it.”
The room went quiet again. Rain pattered against the glass like distant applause.
I turned toward the door, pausing only when I heard her say,
“Raymond.”
I looked back.
Her eyes were shadowed, cold, unreadable. “You did well. But from this moment on… no one outside this room hears a word of it. Not Camille. Not Joseph. No one.”
“Understood.”
“And Raymond?”
“Yes?”
She met my gaze fully this time. “Prepare for war.”
I nodded once. “Already did.”
As I left, I could still hear her voice calm, distant, almost to herself:
“Then the war just became personal.”
And I realized something she didn’t have to say aloud that for both of them, it always had been.