Chapter 122

Dorian’s pov;

The streets always had a pulse, but today it throbbed with something darker.

From my vantage at the corner of the Alley, I watched the pale blue of Annalise’s cloak disappear into the morning crowd. She moved quickly, head down, but not like a fugitive. No, she was confident, too confident for someone who claimed to be on our side.

It didn’t look like she was slipping away from me. She was leading me.

I kept my steps loose, unhurried, letting a merchant’s cart rumble between us. My boots splashed in last night’s rain puddles, the tang of damp stone and roasting chestnuts mixing in the air. The market district at this hour was a mix of bartering shouts and clinking coin, but under it all, I could hear her rhythm, swift, purposeful and unhesitating.

She ducked beneath a tree into a tea house whose windows were fogged from the warmth inside. I counted to ten before following, my hand resting on the dagger beneath my coat.

The interior smelled of steeped herbs and old wood. Patrons hunched at small tables, their conversations low and careful. She wasn’t alone. She sat opposite a man whose back was to me, shoulders broad beneath a cloak of dark wool. I couldn’t see his face, but the air around him felt… wrong. Heavy. Like the stillness before a storm.

I ordered a cup of bitter lemon tea and took a seat in the far corner, angling myself to watch them through the reflection in the warped mirror behind the counter.

She leaned forward, her voice low but sharp with urgency.

“…they’re moving faster than expected. The names are already being finalized.”

The man’s reply was softer, almost a murmur, but I caught a phrase that made the hairs on my arms rise:

“The list will be complete by the solstice.”

The list. What list?

I thought about what that could mean, but nothing came to mind.

I forced my gaze to my tea, masking my attention.

Her tone shifted, more cautious now. “You’re certain you can… neutralize the obstacles?”

The man chuckled, the sound a slow scrape of stone. “When have I failed you?”

Neutralize. Obstacles. Words that belonged to an assassin’s ledger, not a political council. And he has never failed her? Interesting. Seems like our little Annalise isn’t so little afterall.

She reached into her sleeve and slid something across the table. A small leather-bound folio, no larger than my palm. The man didn’t open it, he merely tucked it into his cloak. His hand, gods, his hand were pale, long-fingered, the veins roped like a fighter’s. A faint silver ring glinted at his thumb, etched with a sigil I didn’t recognize.

It was then I understood: I wasn’t just tracking the lost princess’s trail, I was now staring at the edge of something organized, disciplined, and very, very old.

The man rose first, and she followed. They didn’t part ways immediately, he guided her out with a hand at her elbow, like a protector, or perhaps a handler. I let them gain distance before slipping outside, my breath misting in the chill air.

They moved east, away from the markets, deeper into the older quarters where the streets narrowed and the stonework carried centuries of soot in its cracks. The crowd thinned. Here, windows were shuttered, and doors closed fast behind entering patrons.

Annalise and her companion finally stopped at an unmarked building with a door painted the color of dried blood. The man knocked three times in a rhythm too precise to be random. The door opened just enough to admit them, and then they were gone.

I waited. Five minutes. Ten. The itch between my shoulders told me I was being watched. I turned casually, scanning the rooftops. Nothing. Still, the feeling didn’t fade.

When I approached the building, I noted faint carvings on the lintel, half-worn symbols, one of them matching the sigil on the man’s ring. My instincts screamed at me not to cross that threshold.

So I didn’t.

Instead, I circled to the alley behind, finding a narrow window high enough to offer a clear view into the dim interior. Candles burned in a wide chamber. Around a long table sat eight figures, faces obscured by hoods. Annalise was there too, but she didn’t speak; she listened.

The man who’d met her placed the folio on the table. One of the hooded figures opened it, revealing neat columns of writing. Even at this distance, I recognized the format, it was a list of names. The list.

The first few I could make out were high council members, followed by lesser nobles, and… gods help us… military officers loyal to the crown.

The air inside that chamber must have been thick with intent, because even from the alley I felt it: this wasn’t plotting for political gain. It was preparation for removal, systematic and permanent.

I drew back before I was seen and forced myself to walk away, slow and steady, though every instinct told me to run. By the time I reached the main street again, the sounds of commerce felt too loud, too bright against the weight of what I’d just witnessed.

Raven needed to know. Liam needed to know. But even as I thought it, I realized how dangerous it would be to share this without proof. These people operated in the kind of darkness that swallowed informants whole.

I decided on my next move before I was even conscious of making it.

First, I’d find out what the sigil meant. The silver ring, the carved lintel, those were breadcrumbs. And if I could follow them far enough, maybe I’d learn not only who was behind Ellie, but how deep this network ran.

I kept to the busier routes on my way back, checking every few steps for a tail. Twice I caught movement in my peripheral vision, a figure ducking out of sight when I turned. By the third time, I knew for certain: someone from that meeting was making sure I left the quarter… or making sure I didn’t double back.

I didn’t lead them to the palace. Instead, I veered to the river docks, weaving between sailors unloading barrels, until I reached the warehouse of a friend who owed me more than one favor. Once inside, I found the ladder to the upper loft and crouched there, waiting.

It took less than ten minutes for the shadow to enter. A tall figure, wrapped in a plain traveler’s cloak, scanned the room in quick sweeps. When they reached the ladder, I dropped silently behind them, pressing my blade to the base of their neck.

“Why are you following me?” I asked, my voice low.

The figure froze, then chuckled softly. The sound was female. “You’ve been sniffing around places you shouldn’t, Dorian.”

It was a woman and she knew my name. That alone was a problem.

“Answer the question,” I pressed.

“I’m making sure you live long enough to understand the game you’ve stumbled into,” she said. “Others in that room wouldn’t be so… patient.”

I tightened my grip. “Who are they?”

“You’re not ready to know that,” she said, then added, almost kindly, “but I will give you this, when you hear the word ‘Sanctum,’ you’ll know you’re too late.”