CHAPTER 192: WORTH KILLING OVER TONIGHT

The Moon Pavilion sat on the far edge of the eastern gardens, its pale arches glowing under the lanterns strung along the covered walkway. Night had fallen fully, and the cicadas sang from the shadows. Liora kept her steps quiet, the hem of her robe brushing over the smooth stone path.

She had waited until her assigned maid had retired to the back quarters, then slipped out, hugging the darker edges of the walls. Every step toward the Pavilion seemed to echo in her chest. The gardens were beautiful even at night, with lilies swaying gently in the breeze and the air carrying the faint perfume of night-blooming jasmine but the beauty only heightened her unease.

Rowan’s note was still tucked inside her sleeve. She hadn’t seen him in weeks, and yet... if this was a trap, she was walking straight into it.

A figure emerged from the shadows ahead, tall and broad-shouldered, hood drawn low. Rowan. His eyes, when they caught the light, were the same steel-grey she remembered sharp and unyielding.

"You came," he said, his voice low.

"You sent for me," she replied, matching his quiet tone. "Why?"

Before he could answer, movement flickered at the edge of her vision. A shadow slipping between the columns. Rowan’s gaze shifted too, his hand moving instinctively toward the hilt of the dagger at his belt.

Lucien.

He had approached from the western side, keeping low, watching both of them from a distance. His heart had clenched the moment he saw her here, alone, with another man in the dead of night. But the satchel over his shoulder was a heavier burden; inside it were the documents proving there was an active plot targeting her. He had to get her away before the Pavilion became a trap she couldn’t walk out of.

The air was taut now, the kind of silence before a storm. Rowan’s eyes darted to Lucien’s shadowy form, and Liora caught the brief flicker of recognition.

"Whatever this is," Rowan murmured, stepping closer to her, "we don’t have much time."

From somewhere beyond the Pavilion, a faint metallic clang rang out as a signal.

Lucien’s grip tightened on the satchel strap. That sound meant the others were moving in. He would have to decide now whether to reveal himself or watch the meeting crumble under the weight of suspicion.

The choice burned in his chest. Every instinct told him to protect her, but every lesson he had ever learned whispered that stepping in too soon could cost them both.

And the shadows around the Pavilion were already beginning to move.

The soft sway of the lanterns sent shadows sliding along the marble floor, shapes that didn’t belong to the columns or the trees. Liora’s pulse quickened. Rowan’s stance had shifted subtly one foot back, one hand still at his dagger and his gaze was scanning the dark edges.

"Something’s wrong," she whispered.

Rowan didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched, and his breathing had gone shallow.

From the far side, Lucien stepped into the light, not by accident, but with the deliberate weight of someone making himself seen. His eyes went straight to hers, locking her in place. She froze, her breath catching between fear, shock, and something far more dangerous: relief.

Rowan’s dagger flashed free. "You’ve been followed," he said, though his eyes never left Lucien.

"Followed?" Lucien’s voice was low, cold, and edged in something lethal. "I’ve been watching. There’s a difference."

A whisper of steel on stone came from somewhere behind them. Another shadow peeled away from the darkness, then another. Four, maybe five figures, their movements quiet but unmistakable.

"Get behind me," Lucien ordered.

Liora didn’t move. Her instinct screamed to go to him, but Rowan had already stepped forward, squaring himself between her and the approaching shapes.

The first man lunged. Rowan met him with a hard strike to the ribs, spinning the dagger in his grip before slashing at the attacker’s forearm. The man stumbled back, cursing.

Lucien moved at the same time, not for Rowan, but for the two closing in from the left. The satchel swung behind him as he drew his own blade, intercepting the first blow with a sharp, ringing block. The second attacker tried to flank him; Lucien’s boot caught him in the knee, sending him to the ground.

Liora’s back hit one of the Pavilion’s cold columns as she retreated just enough to see both men fighting. She couldn’t tell if they were protecting her from the same enemy or each other.

"Why are you here?" she shouted over the clash of steel.

"Later," Lucien snapped.

Rowan parried another strike, the edge of his blade grazing an opponent’s throat. Blood beaded, and the man staggered away, gasping.

The last two attackers hesitated, as if weighing whether this fight was worth finishing.

Then a single, sharp whistle cut the night air. They broke off, retreating into the garden shadows without another word.

Silence crashed down, broken only by Liora’s ragged breathing.

Lucien’s gaze was still locked on her, chest rising and falling, jaw tight. Rowan’s dagger was still in hand, but his focus had shifted too, watching Lucien as though trying to read the space between his words.

No one moved. The night around them felt heavier than before, as if the Pavilion itself was holding its breath.

The Moon Pavilion was suddenly too small for the three of them.

Lucien’s blade was still drawn, gleaming faintly in the swaying lantern light. Rowan’s dagger hadn’t lowered an inch. And between them, Liora stood motionless, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.

The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of steel and blood.

"Why are you here?" Rowan’s voice was first flat but carried the strain of someone who already knew part of the answer and hated it.

Lucien didn’t look at him. His eyes were locked on Liora’s, a quiet storm in their depths. "Because she was in danger."

Rowan gave a short, humorless laugh. "From them," he jerked his chin toward the darkness where the attackers had fled, "or from you?"

The air tightened between them. Liora could feel it, like the moment before a drawn bowstring snaps.

"Enough," she said, the word sharper than she intended. "You’re both standing here like executioners deciding who gets the first swing, but neither of you is telling me what’s going on."

Lucien’s gaze flickered, just for a heartbeat, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t yet. "Liora..."

She stepped forward, forcing herself into the space between them. "No. I’ve been dragged into this palace, stalked in its halls, summoned to the Pavilion by a note I don’t understand, and now I’ve watched you fight off assassins like it’s nothing. You’re both going to explain."

Rowan’s eyes narrowed, assessing her, but he sheathed his dagger first. The sound of steel sliding back into its scabbard seemed to ease the pressure in the air only slightly.

Lucien followed, lowering his blade but not stepping back. "You shouldn’t have come here," he said, the words quieter now, but no less intense.

"She came because I asked her," Rowan said. "I didn’t expect a small army to come chasing after us." His glance toward Lucien was deliberate and accusing. "Unless they were following you."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "They were following her. And if you think I’d lead them straight to her, you’ve forgotten who I am."

"On the contrary," Rowan murmured, "I remember exactly."

Liora’s hands clenched at her sides. "Then remember that I’m still here. And I’m not leaving until one of you tells me why I was worth killing over tonight."

For the first time, both men looked at her, not past her, not through her, but at her. And in their silence, she realized they weren’t deciding whether to tell her the truth. They were deciding how much of it she could survive hearing.

The silence cracked first under Rowan’s voice.

"They want you, Liora, because you’re the only one left who can unmake what was done."

Her brow furrowed. "Unmake what?"

Lucien stepped closer, his presence a wall against the chill night air. "The treaty," he said. His tone was low but edged with urgency. "The one binding the Crown to the Council of Blades."

Liora shook her head slowly, the words making no sense. "I’m not part of any treaty."

"You are," Rowan said grimly. "By blood. You’re the last living heir of the man who signed it in defiance of the Council’s true will. That signature your family’s mark, is the only thing keeping the Council from declaring open war."

Lucien’s jaw flexed. "And the moment they kill you, the treaty collapses. They win their war, and the Crown loses its last shield against them."

The ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet. She gripped the edge of the pavilion’s railing, trying to steady herself. "You’re saying... I’m only alive because I’m convenient to them?"

Rowan’s mouth twisted. "Not convenient. Protected. But now that the balance has shifted..." He let the sentence hang.

Lucien’s gaze was unwavering. "That’s why I took the contract to guard you, Liora. Not because of who sold you, not because of what they called me in the past, but because if they succeed, it’s not just you who dies. The kingdom burns with you."