Paris was a city of fools and kings, of beggars and devils. And tonight, I was about to walk straight into the lion's den.
Stealing from nobles was one thing. Stealing from the Crown? That was suicide.
But I had never feared death.
The storm had passed, leaving the city slick with rain, the streets glowing under the lantern light. I moved fast through the maze of alleyways, my breath steady, my mind sharp. Margot's information had been precise—a shipment, heavily guarded, meant for the royal treasury.
Gold? Documents? Weapons? She didn't know. But whatever it was, it was valuable enough for the monarchy to move in silence.
And that made it worth stealing.
I reached the docks just before midnight, crouching in the shadows behind a row of stacked crates. The scent of salt and damp wood filled my lungs, mingling with the distant voices of guards patrolling the pier.
There were more of them than I expected.
I counted at least ten, their muskets slung over their backs, swords glinting at their sides. These weren't common city guards—they were the King's men.
No mistakes.
I moved like a ghost, slipping between the crates, every step measured. The ship loomed ahead, its sails furled, its hull creaking with the gentle push of the river's current.
I had done my fair share of smuggling. This should have been easy.
But something was wrong.
Too many guards. Too much silence. It felt like a trap.
My instincts screamed at me to leave.
I ignored them.
I reached the side of the ship, pressed against the wooden hull, listening.
Voices. Low, deliberate.
"…delivered directly to Versailles."
A pause. Then another voice, smoother, controlled.
"The King trusts few with this task. We cannot fail."
I dared a glance. Two men stood at the base of the gangplank, their coats embroidered with gold. One was older, his posture stiff with years of military training. The other…
I exhaled sharply through my nose.
Cassian.
Of course.
He stood with his arms crossed, his sword strapped to his side, his expression unreadable. But I could feel the tension in his stance, the way his fingers flexed subtly against the hilt of his blade.
He was waiting for something.
Or someone.
I didn't have time to figure out what. The cargo was being loaded, one crate after another, carried carefully onto the ship.
This wasn't gold.
It was something far more dangerous.
I moved before I could second-guess myself, scaling the side of the ship with practiced ease. My fingers found purchase in the gaps between the planks, my body weightless as I climbed.
A breath. A shift. Then—
A hand clamped around my wrist.
Fast. Unrelenting.
I twisted sharply, my dagger already sliding from its sheath, but before I could strike—
A voice, smooth as silk, deadly as a blade.
"You're predictable, *petite voleuse.*"
Cassian.
I looked up, my dagger hovering inches from his throat. He held my wrist firm, his grip unshaken, his pale eyes gleaming in the dim light.
The world narrowed.
"You set this up," I whispered.
His lips curled at the edges, a hunter amused by the struggle of his prey.
"I did."
Damn him.
I didn't hesitate. My knee shot up, aiming for his ribs. He shifted, deflecting the strike, but it was the opening I needed. I wrenched free, twisting my body, using the ship's mast to propel myself onto the deck.
Cassian followed, fluid as water, his rapier singing from its sheath.
The guards shouted below, their boots pounding against the dock. I had seconds before they reached us.
I smirked. "You should know by now, Cassian—I never let myself get caught."
His grip tightened on his sword. "And you should know by now, Lya—I never let my prey escape."
We lunged at the same time.
Steel clashed, a whisper of death between us.
And the game began.