CHAPTER 97: INFILTRATION

In Valeria, ambition was deeply woven into the fabric of noble families, and alliances were precious currency.

A mere handshake or whispered agreement was never enough; bonds required ironclad certainty, something that could not be dissolved by shifting loyalties or changing tides of power.

Among the most certain of alliances was marriage. Such unions tethered entire houses to the fortunes of a prince, sealing the fates of families under the weight of names, oaths, and legacies.

Marriage bound the first prince to Valeria’s mightiest military house, a coalition that stood as unshakable and free of weakness as the mountains beyond the empire’s borders.

For House Brienne, one of Valeria’s oldest and most prestigious families, the union of their only daughter, Lisellie, to a royal was a calculated play.

In her hands, she held both their family’s honor and a key to the empire’s future.

And while many in the empire whispered of love’s role in these unions, reality was often far from romantic. More often than not, such matches were forged from necessity, obligation, and ruthless practicality.

Yet, whether or not love was involved had become nothing more than an afterthought to Aric. What he sought tonight was an outcome inevitable regardless of what bound Sylas and Lisellie together.

His purpose was simple, singular—an act that would bring either disgrace to Sylas or leave him shattered with heartbreak. Either outcome, he knew, would set his plans in motion with a brutal push.

He turned his gaze to his accomplice. Serina, her eyes narrowing with focus, drew her collar up until it concealed her mouth and nose, stopping just below her eyes.

The dark fabric masked her features, making her appear as a shadow with purpose.

Beside her, Mandel and Borag mirrored her movements, their own masks raised to hide the lower halves of their faces, erasing any hint of humanity from their expressions.

Their eyes were sharp, cold, unreadable.

Aric observed them for a moment before he, too, conjured a mask, letting it form in his hand before lifting it over his face. With it, he became equally blank, and swiftly they were but figures cloaked in mystery, his true intentions now like his identity—obscured beneath a wooden layer of secrecy.

A slight flick of his wrist was all he needed to signal the group of three forward. In an instant, they dissolved into motion, their forms blurring as they sped toward the heart of the Brienne estate, their bodies melding with the darkness as though born from it.

Swift and soundless, they crossed the manor’s outer walls, slipping through gaps in the patrols with practiced ease.

Shadows stretched long across the grounds, hiding them as they advanced, their figures barely visible even in the moonlight.

The first guard they met was young, his face still touched by optimism, unaware that death lingered just a breath away.

Borag moved forward, his steps ghostly on the cobblestones. Without hesitation, he struck, his blade flashing in the night as it cut across the guard’s throat.

A faint gurgle, the soft spray of blood, and then the guard collapsed, lifeless. Borag withdrew, silent as he had come, the only evidence of his presence the crimson pooling at the man’s feet.

Aric’s team moved like seasoned wolves in the shadows, their eyes sharp and unyielding as they measured each step, each corner, and each guard with ruthless precision.

Serina seemed as though she were a dancer veiled in night, her movements terrifyingly graceful as she closed in on her targets.

Another guard turned a corner, his eyes sweeping the dark, but before he could cry out, Serina was upon him, her knife cutting a swift line across his throat.

His eyes widened, surprise fixed on his face, and then he collapsed into her arms.

With practiced ease, she lowered him soundlessly, his body settling to the ground. In another heartbeat, she vanished back into the shadows, as though she had never been.

Aric advanced, his movements echoing a figure from memory, a phantom that flickered with each step. His footfalls gave no sound, his breath barely stirred the air.

He merged with the silence, his presence nearly unreal. Every step carried him deeper into the heart of House Brienne, a place drenched in wealth and opulence, though none of it would shield them from the chaos he brought.

They pressed onward, their progress marked by silent deaths and fallen bodies left in darkness. The guards they faced were stronger and better trained than those Darius had placed under Aric.

Though still estate sentries and far from the level of the empire’s best, they were nonetheless skilled warriors, each a reflection of Brienne’s power.

Yet, each guard fell swiftly, their throats cut before alarm could rise. The path behind them was strewn with corpses, every one a testament to their purpose.

As they ventured deeper, the manor’s walls loomed, carved and painted with proof of the House’s long history. Portraits of past lords and ladies stared with cold eyes, unseeing of the bloodshed seeping into their family’s halls.

The grandeur of the corridors was broken by the scent of blood, a metallic tang thick in the air, clinging like unspoken omen.

Borag moved ahead, his senses honed as he studied the hall. Two guards stood at its far end, their stances tense, eyes prowling over every shadow.

Aric signaled, and Borag slipped forward, his steps noiseless as he closed in. One guard turned, but Borag was faster. His knife struck the throat, and with a brutal twist ended the man’s life instantly.

Before the second guard could react, Serina descended on him, her blade gleaming in the dim light as it struck true. The man’s mouth opened in a silent cry as he sank to the floor, life extinguished before sound could escape.

They pressed forward, pace relentless. Each death carried them closer to their goal—a single room at the end of a corridor, the quarters of Lady Lisellie Brienne.

Aric felt his heartbeat steady, his grip tightening on the hilt of his knife. He knew the stakes, understood the consequences. Yet in that moment, he felt no hesitation, only the cold weight of resolve urging him onward.

They reached the final hallway, and Aric lifted a hand, halting his companions. Ahead stood two guards, vigilant and sharp, their gazes scouring the shadows with seasoned awareness.

Aric slipped forward, his body dissolving into the dark, his presence barely a ripple. He became like the shadows themselves as he closed the distance. With a single strike, his blade cut deep.

The guard’s eyes flared in shock, his hand clutching his throat as blood streamed between his fingers. Aric caught him before he fell, lowering him soundlessly to the ground.

The second guard turned, sensing the disruption, but Serina was already there, her knife striking with precise finality. The man dropped, lifeless before he knew what had come.

Aric gestured, and together they advanced, their steps one with the silence. They reached the door, polished and adorned, gleaming faintly. Aric set his hand on the handle, grip firm as he steadied himself. He drew in a breath, his mind clear, his purpose sharpened.

With a slow motion, he pushed the door inward, scanning the chamber beyond. A single candle lit the room, its glow faint and soft.

At the far end, Lady Lisellie Brienne slept, her body wrapped in dark, her breathing calm, her face serene, unaware of danger close at hand.

Aric stepped forward, his movements silent, his gaze fixed on her. His grip tightened on the knife, the blade gleaming faintly in his hand.

Adrenaline coursed through him, sharp and intoxicating. This was the culmination of his plan, the moment long awaited. Yet as he stood there, poised to strike, a flicker of hesitation stirred.

But it lasted only a breath, a ghost of doubt easily crushed. His resolve hardened, the hesitation silenced as he raised the blade.

This was no time for mercy.