The moment I saw the name on the parchment, I knew I couldn't do this alone.
Versailles. Three days. Whatever was being transported wasn't just valuable—it was dangerous. And if the wrong hands got ahold of it, people would die.
I needed information. And I knew exactly where to get it.
---
The Bleeding Rose wasn't a tavern. Not really. It was a hole in the city's ribs, a place where secrets dripped like spilled wine and men sold their souls for the right price.
I slipped through the heavy doors, the scent of pipe smoke and cheap liquor wrapping around me. It was late, but the place was still alive—gamblers hunched over dice, thieves whispering in dark corners, and a few mercenaries nursing drinks like they had nowhere better to be.
I ignored them all. My target sat at the far end of the room, hunched over a pile of silver coins.
Adrien Leclair.
A one-time informant. A man who would sell his own mother if the price was right.
Perfect.
I slid into the seat across from him. He didn't look up, just ran a thumb over the edge of a coin before flicking it onto the pile. "You're interrupting my earnings, little shadow."
I smirked. "You're about to make more."
That got his attention. He lifted his gaze, dark eyes gleaming with interest. "Oh?"
I placed the parchment between us. His eyes flicked over it, slow at first, then faster. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
"Where did you get this?"
"Not your concern." I leaned forward. "What's being transported?"
Adrien exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. "You always bring trouble, Lya."
"Pays well, though."
He huffed a laugh, but it was forced. Then, lowering his voice, he said, "This isn't just any shipment. It's a royal transfer."
"I got that much."
"No, you don't." He flicked the parchment back toward me. "That carriage? It's not carrying gold, weapons, or jewels."
I frowned. "Then what?"
He hesitated.
I grabbed one of his coins and spun it between my fingers. "Adrien," I said lightly, "don't make me ask twice."
He cursed under his breath. Then he leaned in and whispered:
"A prisoner."
My heart stilled.
"A prisoner," I repeated.
"A very important one. Someone the crown wants hidden." His voice was barely a breath. "Someone they want gone."
Something cold slithered down my spine. This wasn't what I had expected. Smuggling goods was one thing. Smuggling people? That was different.
Dangerous.
Adrien must have seen the shift in my expression because he sighed. "You didn't hear it from me."
"I never do."
I pushed a few coins his way and stood. But before I could turn, he grabbed my wrist.
His grip was tight. Fearful.
"Lya," he said. "Whatever you're thinking—don't."
I held his gaze. "I never think. I just do."
Then I slipped out the door, the weight of his warning curling around me like smoke.
I had three days.
Three days to figure out who was in that carriage.
Three days to decide whether I would let them vanish—
Or set them free.
The cold night air hit me like a slap as I stepped out of the Bleeding Rose. The door groaned shut behind me, muffling the din of drunken laughter and whispered deals. Adrien's warning still echoed in my head.
Whatever you're thinking—don't.
I never did listen to warnings.
Pulling my hood up, I melted into the shadows of the alley. The city never truly slept—there was always a thief lurking, a spy listening, a blade waiting in the dark. I should have gone straight back to the safehouse. Should have mapped out a plan.
Instead, my feet took me toward the docks.
---
The river lapped against the wooden piers, the water black as ink. Ships swayed, their sails ghostly in the moonlight. It was quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that meant someone was watching.
I didn't slow my pace.
The Bleeding Rose wasn't my only source of information. If the crown was moving a prisoner, someone at the docks would know. Smugglers always knew.
And I knew exactly which one to ask.
Mathis Renard was an old sailor with bad teeth and worse morals. He sold information the way others sold fish—cheaply and without shame. I found him where I always did, perched on a crate, gnawing on a strip of dried meat.
His eyes flicked up when I approached. "Lya," he drawled. "Come to steal my coin or my secrets?"
"Neither. Just borrowing."
He snorted. "Borrowing implies you give it back."
I smirked, tossing a small pouch of coins onto his lap. "Tell me about the royal transport leaving in three days."
Mathis stopped chewing. "Royal transport?"
"Don't play dumb."
He studied me for a long moment, then grunted. "Word is, the carriage is moving under heavy guard. More than usual. King's orders."
"Who's inside?"
"No one knows." He spat to the side. "Only that the crown wants them buried—figuratively or literally, I can't say."
My fingers tightened around the edge of my cloak.
A prisoner. Important enough to warrant secrecy. Important enough for extra protection.
And I was supposed to just walk away?
Mathis shook his head. "Whatever you're thinking, girl—"
"I know, I know." I sighed dramatically. "Don't."
He chuckled. "Smart girl."
I was already walking away.
Smart? Maybe. Reckless? Absolutely. But I hadn't survived this long by being careful.
Three days.
Three days to uncover the truth.
And if the crown thought they could hide their secrets from me?
They were about to be very, very wrong.