The evening air was thick with tension, a biting chill threading through the streets as Meus tightened the leather straps of his armor. It was not the butler's attire that had long become second nature to him, nor was it the composed façade he wore to serve the household of Torin. This was something far older, a part of himself buried for years—a soldier’s garb, donned by a man prepared to draw blood in the service of those he held dear.
The polished steel gleamed faintly in the torchlight as he adjusted the sword at his hip, its weight still familiar even after so long. Each piece of armor, though meticulously maintained, carried echoes of a past he had tried to set aside. Yet tonight, it felt like second skin. He was no mere servant now—he was a guardian, a shadow of vengeance stepping once more into the light.
Behind him, Aeress and Maerti moved with soundless precision, their figures almost indistinguishable in the dim light of the evening. The twin maids he had trained were a reflection of his regret. Their sleek, form-fitting tunics of dark fabric clung to their lithe forms, overlaid with fitted leather armor that whispered of their deadly expertise. Aeress carried twin daggers at her sides, their blades glinting faintly, while Maerti’s cloak concealed a small arsenal of throwing knives and a collapsible crossbow. They were assassins by training, spies by nature, and tonight, they were shadows to his flame.
Meus’s thoughts were a storm of memories and purpose as they traversed the cobblestone streets toward their destination. The news Aeress and Maerti had uncovered earlier that evening still echoed in his mind.
The mercenaries who had ambushed Lady Zuria and abducted Young Miss Nova had been traced to a rundown hideout on the outskirts of the town. They were not common thugs; no, they bore the markings of hired professionals. Their presence, their brazenness—it all pointed to one conclusion: they had been sent not for Zuria, whom the royal family believed dead, but for Earl Mathias Torin, the man who had been stripped of his dukedom, his lands, and nearly everything else by that damned royal family.
The memories clawed at Meus's composure as he walked. The flames that devoured his homeland, the royal decree that decimated the Torin household, the lifeless bodies of Lady Zuria and Young Miss Shia. The grief and fury he had buried deep within him for so long now simmered dangerously close to the surface. That same royal family, who had ripped everything from him, now dared to strike again.
His eyes grew cold, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a chilling determination. “They will pay,” he murmured, his voice low but resolute.
Ahead, Aeress halted and raised a hand, signaling they were nearing their target. The hideout—a decrepit stone building half-hidden by overgrown ivy—loomed in the darkness. Its windows were faintly illuminated by the flicker of firelight within, and the faint murmur of voices carried through the cracks in the stone.
Aeress turned to Meus, her pale eyes gleaming beneath the shadow of her hood. “Seven men inside,” she reported in a hushed tone. “Three at the front room near the entrance, two patrolling the rear, and two more in the central chamber. We believe the child is in the central chamber.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Maerti added, her voice soft but steely, “The rear patrol appears lax. They’ll likely leave a blind spot every few minutes.”
Meus nodded, his lips curving into a grim smile. “Good work. Stay silent and efficient. We’ll make this quick.”
He unsheathed his sword, the blade glinting in the faint moonlight. Its weight felt familiar now, like an extension of his own will. “Tonight,” he said, his voice a cold promise, “we send a message.”
The approach to the hideout was executed with ruthless precision. Meus moved like a shadow, his footsteps soundless against the cobblestones. Aeress and Maerti flanked him, their movements fluid and deliberate as they circled to cover the rear patrol.
The first man never saw it coming. As he turned the corner, Aeress struck with brutal efficiency, her dagger slicing cleanly across his throat. She caught his body before it could hit the ground, lowering it silently into the shadows. Maerti, not to be outdone, took the second man from behind, a single throwing knife plunging into his neck before he could even draw breath to scream.
Meus entered the hideout through the rear entrance, his sword raised. The scent of unwashed bodies and spilled ale filled the air as he stepped into the dimly lit corridor. The three mercenaries in the front room were too preoccupied with their game of dice to notice him until it was too late.
His blade flashed in the firelight, cutting down the first man in a single, fluid motion. The second turned, mouth agape, but before he could cry out, Aeress’s dagger found his heart. The third man scrambled to draw his weapon, only to collapse as Maerti’s throwing knife embedded itself in his skull.
“Clear,” Meus whispered, his voice cold and clinical.
The trio moved deeper into the hideout, navigating the winding corridors with lethal precision. Each step brought them closer to the central chamber, where Nova was being held. Meus’s grip on his sword tightened as he heard the muffled cries of a child.
They reached the central chamber, where two more mercenaries stood guard outside the door. Meus raised a hand, signaling Aeress and Maerti to handle them. The twins moved in perfect synchrony, dispatching the guards with silent, deadly efficiency.
Meus pushed open the door, his eyes narrowing at the sight before him. Nova sat on the floor, her small frame unharmed without a care in the world. Her eyes lit up with recognition as she saw him. “Meus!” she cried, her voice one of surprise.
He crossed the room in three swift strides, kneeling before her and placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’m here, Young Miss Nova,” he said gently. “You’re safe now.”
Her small hands clung to his arm, her grip surprisingly strong for a child. Meus’s expression softened for a fleeting moment, but the sound of approaching footsteps snapped him back into focus.
The final two mercenaries burst into the room, weapons drawn. Meus rose to his full height, his sword gleaming ominously. “Stay behind me, Young Miss,” he ordered, his voice calm but commanding.
The first mercenary charged, but Meus sidestepped with practiced ease, his blade arcing upward to slash across the man’s chest. The second hesitated, eyes flickering to his fallen comrade, but Maerti’s throwing knife ended him before he could act.
Silence fell over the room, broken only by Nova’s giggle. Meus turned to Nova, his sword now sheathed as he allowed himself a small sigh of relief. His voice was steady, even gentle. “It’s over, Young Miss. You’re safe now.”
But Nova, still clutching his arm, tilted her head and gave him a puzzled look. Her voice was light, almost amused. “No, it’s not.”
Meus frowned, his instincts sharpening at her words. “What do you mean, Young Miss?”
She pointed toward the shadowy corner of the room, where the dim light from a single lantern barely reached. “What about the four people hiding in there?” she asked innocently, her tone carrying the clarity of a child stating the obvious.
Meus’s blood ran cold. He had scouted the room thoroughly—or so he had thought. How could he have missed four additional presences? His eyes darted toward Aeress and Maerti, both of whom stiffened at Nova’s words. They exchanged silent glances, their hands reflexively moving toward their weapons.
“Four?” Aeress whispered, her voice low and incredulous. “I didn’t sense anyone else.”
Maerti’s gaze darted toward the corner Nova had indicated, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the shadows. “Neither did I. Are you certain, Young Miss?”
Nova’s expression didn’t waver. “Mhm. They’ve been there the whole time, waiting to kill you guys. They’re very strong. Three of them are stronger than you two big sisters and the last is stronger than Meus.”