There were no windows in Sol Somanti’s small office above the fighting pits. Dante never understood how the Lord of the Lawless could spend all his time here, never being able to glimpse the sun or moon to denote the time. The flickering candlelight remained constant no matter the hour, which was likely why Sol never seemed to be in a hurry to get to the damn point of these meetings; time had no meaning to him.

Dante’s eyes raked over the small office as he lounged in the worn leather chair. Nothing but rubbish scattered the desk. The assassin crossed an ankle over his knee, his boot sticking for a moment on the grime-covered floor. The room revealed nothing of the wealth Sol had accumulated over the years. It was fitting, given the man himself was slight and haggard. No one would ever know the power he wielded by looking at him. Not magic and brawn, like what Dante himself used, but cunning and cruelty.

Dante kept his focus on Sol as the lord shifted through some papers on his desk with one hand, the other hand wrapped around the woman sitting on his lap. A better use of her time would be to take a mop to this room. She would have probably preferred the menial labor to Sol’s touch, anyway. She kept her pose still and face neutral, but he knew. No one kept Sol’s company for pleasure. It was only because they felt they had to, that it was better than the alternative.

The lord extracted a piece of parchment and slid it across the desk. Dante glanced at it without picking it up. He saw the number, and that’s all he needed to see to know he wasn’t interested. “I’m looking for more.”

The job listed on the paper paid three hundred golds. That sum would only last Dante a few months. Which would mean he would have to be back in this windowless room, in front of this soulless man, hunting for another job before then. Every extra gold was an extra day he could stay away, and he wanted to stay away from Sol as long as possible.

The lord tugged the corner of his mouth up in a serpentine smile, revealing teeth that were crooked but clean and bright. “Getting greedy in your old age?”

By the way he said it, Dante knew his master had expected him to decline the offer. By the twinkle in his eye, Dante knew his master knew something he didn’t.

The assassin didn’t acknowledge the barb. He supposed Sol may very well think of him as old, given most of his minions were street children--he was one of very few who survived Sol’s employ to reach adulthood. Any one of them would love a chance at three hundred golds.

But Dante was young enough that his long dark hair held no grey, his face not yet wrinkled. Still, perhaps it was his age that had him wanting more. Age and the wisdom that came with it, namely the realization that Sol wasn’t the savior so many of the kids thought he was, that Dante himself once believed he was.

The lord pushed the woman off his lap, and she obediently planted herself against the back wall, out of the way. She would likely stand there without a word until Sol offered her his lap again—if he remembered she existed.

Sol bent down, his greasy grey-blond locks falling over his face, and pulled a chain out from under his shirt. He didn’t remove the necklace as he slid the key it held into the lock of the bottom drawer of his desk. Once the drawer opened, he straightened as he dug a hand in to pull out a fresh piece of parchment. This one, he didn’t slide across the desk. Instead, he placed it gingerly in front of the assassin.

Dante’s eyes shot to the figure at the bottom, the first deciding factor. There were circumstances beyond money that would have him refusing a job. Before he considered those, however, he first had to make sure the price was right.

And this price was right.

Dante picked up the paper, reading it through. One hundred thousand golds for the target’s head. Three hundred thousand golds for the delivery of the target alive. That wasn’t even taking into account the cut Sol took, which was surely substantial, though he knew better than to ask. He’d never heard of such a sum. He would be set for life. He would never have to see Sol again. He would never have to step foot into Hogard again. “Who is the client?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Sol slowly ran his finger along the edge of the desk. “You’ve never cared before.”

“I’ve never had reason to doubt someone’s ability to pay before.” Dante couldn’t fathom who could possibly afford such a fee.

The lord no longer wore his cold smile as he answered. “You should be asking who the target is. All these years, and I still have much to teach you.”

Dante kept his face indifferent. He knew better than to let Sol see he’d gotten under his skin. Dante glanced back at the paper, but it didn’t say. It only listed the fee, the location of the target--here, in the royal city--and had some kind of stamp at the bottom. He didn’t recognize the encircled five-pointed star with some of the points colored in.

“No doubt someone with more power than they know what to do with who pissed off the wrong rich prick.” They had to be powerful for the price to be so high.

The lord reached across the table to collect the piece of parchment.

“It’s a girl,” Sol said, eyeing Dante. “A perfect.” A girl with no gifts--no magic.

Only his years of training kept the assassin’s expression from changing. He knew the Lord of the Lawless held no moral code to prevent him from accepting and assigning such requests, but Dante had made it clear years ago he would not take any jobs harming children. He kept his voice flat as he asked, “How old?” He would not allow Sol to sense his disgust or hesitancy.

Sol stared at him a moment as if he knew every thought passing through Dante’s mind despite the assassin’s attempts to hide them.“Twenty-two.”

Dante swallowed his sigh of relief, too. Not a girl, then, but a woman. He had no qualms about dispatching a woman. He’d known many well enough to know they can be just as deplorable as men. Still, he kept himself from glancing at the woman against the back wall. He would walk out of this office today and she would remain here with Sol. He wasn’t sure if she or his new target would have the worst fate.

“What’s the catch?” Perfect targets were rare. Even the cowards who paid his master to take care of their problems were usually able to handle someone without magic on their own. When such requests did come through, they paid a hundred golds at most. Certainly not a hundred thousand.

Sol’s serpentine smile returned. He was enjoying this. He spoke slowly, drawing out each word as he answered. “The target is the Princess of Wassalia.”

Dante’s indifference slipped for only a heartbeat as he felt his eyes widen, but it was enough for Sol to know he’d won this match. She’s not just the princess, but the crown princess. The only child of King Achrod and Queen Mallis Orlana. The heir to the throne.

Even if Dante could infiltrate the castle and get close enough to kill the princess, he’d also have to get back out without getting caught. And if he was caught, he was certain he would not be given such a merciful punishment as death. No, he would be tortured, likely for years before they finally let him expire.

But a hundred thousand golds was on the line. Freedom was on the line. He could finally go back home for good. He could give Marnie the life she deserved. “A hundred thousand golds,” he mused. “I’ll take it.”

Sol lifted up the piece of parchment and held it over a candle until it caught then tossed it into the fireplace behind him. Dante joined him in watching the flames. When the parchment was nothing but ash, he rose to leave.

Sol nodded to the guard at the door, who took a step to block the way.

“No. Three hundred thousand golds. The client offered me two options, but I am only offering you one. Just as your money triples by delivering her alive, so does mine. I want that money, Dante.”

Moving a target to a second location alive was far more difficult than killing them where they stand. And despite what Sol might think, Dante wasn’t greedy. He opened his mouth to object when Sol cut him off.

The lord’s eyes narrowed on him in fatal promise. The same look that had been terrifying enough when Dante was a boy to convince him that nothing could ever be worse than Sol’s wrath--a belief that he had never quite shaken, even to this day.

“The job is to deliver her unharmed for three hundred thousand golds. You can accept it or you can decline it and I will offer it to someone else. There is no room for negotiation. If you kill her, you forfeit your pay to make up for the money you’d lose me.”

This task was impossible, even for Dante. But for everything the payment promised, he had to at least try. “Deliver her where?”