Chapter 6: A Dangerous Ultimatum
Chapter 6: A Dangerous Ultimatum
The silence after bloodshed was suffocating. The sun barely touched the sky, its weak light unable to erase the night's horrors.
Isadora stood on the manor steps, gripping the dagger that had been left in her pillow. The bodies of the estate guards sprawled across the courtyard, their blood soaking into the cobblestone. The air was still, but the weight of the night pressed heavy against her chest.
A familiar sound broke the quiet—hoofbeats, steady and controlled. She turned as Killian dismounted his horse. His movements were measured, his dark cloak trailing behind him as his gaze swept across the carnage before landing on her.
His expression remained cold as he took in the bodies. Then his dark eyes met hers. "Inside. Now."
She didn't move. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He stepped closer, voice firm. "We don't have time for another argument. Get inside."
She stood her ground, the dagger firm in her grip. "You think you can just show up and give orders?" she snapped. "After everything—"
"This isn't about the past," he cut in. "It's about survival."
The memory of the masked intruder's whispered threat clawed its way back. Marry the Duke, or you won't see another sunrise.
Her grip on the dagger tightened. "I didn't ask for your help."
"No, but you need it," Killian said, scanning the bodies again. "Do you think this was random? That it ends here?"
Her stomach twisted. Of course not. Whoever had sent that assassin wasn't finished.
Killian took another step forward, his voice quieter. "You have two choices. Stay and wait for them to come back. Or come with me."
She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "And hand my life over to you?"
His jaw clenched. "I'm not your enemy."
"Aren't you?"
His silence was answer enough.
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of smoke and blood. The weight of reality pressed down on her. Anger had kept her alive, but it wouldn't keep her that way.
She exhaled slowly. "Fine."
Something flickered in his gaze, but he didn't waste time pressing further. "Pack what you need. We leave now."
She turned away from him, heading for the manor. She didn't trust him. She never would. But she wouldn't die for the sake of pride.
Killian's POV
The scent of blood hung in the air. Sharp. Unsettling.
Killian watched Isadora disappear into the manor, her back rigid, every movement taut with restraint. She hated him—he knew that. But she'd chosen survival over vengeance, and that was enough.
His gaze shifted to the bodies sprawled across the courtyard. The attack had been efficient. No wasted effort. Whoever had done this hadn't given the guards a chance to fight back. That meant one thing—this wasn't a message.
It was a hunt.
His grip on his sword tightened. He had expected retaliation, but not like this. They had struck fast, knowing she was vulnerable. He should have been here sooner.
A flicker of movement in the distance made him still. Near the tree line, just beyond the reach of the morning light, a hooded figure stood watching.
Killian took a step forward, but in the next instant, the figure turned and melted into the fog. Not hurried. Not afraid.
Deliberate.
A slow dread curled in his gut. He stepped forward, his boot knocking against something in the grass. He crouched down, fingers brushing against a small, polished object partially buried in the dirt.
A pendant.
His blood turned cold.
The insignia etched into the metal was unmistakable.
It wasn't just any crest.
It was the crest of House Ravencourt.
A house that had been erased from existence over a decade ago.
The night his mother was murdered.
His fingers curled tightly around the pendant, the sharp edges digging into his palm.
The ghosts of the past were stirring.
And if House Ravencourt had returned, then the war had only just begun.