Free Web NovelChapter 342: Chapter 342
That was all the opening the first assassin needed.
He tore free and retreated in one smooth, fluid motion, already turning toward the window. His mouth curved into a faint, satisfied smirk as shouts grew louder outside the chamber door.
"I will let you live tonight," he said calmly, his voice steady despite the chaos closing in. "Next time we meet, you will die."
He wrenched the window open as Aeron struggled to rise, his injured leg restricting his movement. Cold night air flooded the chamber, carrying with it the sounds from outside.
Just before disappearing into the dark, the assassin paused and glanced back, eyes glinting.
"The queen sends her regards."
Then both figures were gone, swallowed whole by the night just as the door burst open behind them. Armed men flooded into the chamber, steel swords flashing in the low light, boots thundering across the stone floor, far too late to stop assassins who had already vanished.
Several guards immediately rushed toward the open window, leaning out to peer down at the dizzying drop below. From this height, a fall would have meant at least a broken limb, yet there was no sign of bodies, no broken forms on the ground beneath. It was as if the intruders had leapt from the window and simply vanished.
Aeron let out a strangled groan as agony tore through his body. He stumbled forward, one hand braced against the bed for support as blood poured freely from the wound in his thigh, soaking into the fabric of his breeches. His vision swam for a brief moment, and the fury he felt in that moment was the only keeping him upright. He straightened as much as he could and rounded on the guards, his glare cutting like a blade as he jabbed a finger in their direction.
"Useless fools! All of you!" he roared, his face twisting into a tight, furious mask. "How could you let armed men into my home?"
The leader of the guards immediately bowed his head, posture stiff with shame. "My apologies for the misstep, my lord," he said quickly. "We have more men patrolling the grounds as we speak. They are searching for the intruders now and they will be brought before you as soon as they are caught." As he spoke, his gaze flicked to the bloodstain marring the bed sheets, then dropped lower to the dark red spill spreading down Aeron’s leg. His voice faltered. "My lord, your leg—"
"That’s not why I pay you, is it?" Aeron barked, cutting him off without mercy. "Get out of my sight and find them. And if you fail to bring them to me, not a single one of you will be employed come morning."
The guards did not hesitate. They turned and filed out of the room in quick succession, heads bowed, save for two who remained behind at the door, rigid and alert. It was then that Aeron’s gaze snagged on something dark lying near the foot of the bed. A sac, half-hidden in the shadows. It looked out of place, abandoned in the chaos, most likely left behind by one of the assassins.
Curiosity took hold. He limped toward it, every step sending fresh lances of pain up his leg, his jaw clenching hard enough to ache. When he reached it, he bent and picked it up. It was slightly heavier than it looked. His fingers tightened around the it as he opened the sac and peered inside while the two remaining guards watched, weapons still drawn.
Aeron recoiled instantly.
He dropped the sac as bile surged up his throat, horror and revulsion churning violently in his gut. The bag hit the floor with a dull thud, and something rolled free of it, coming to a stop between him and the two guards. A severed head stared sightlessly up at the ceiling, dark blood matting the hair, the features frozen in death. Even the guards flinched, startled curses slipping from them before they could stop themselves.
Aeron recognized the head at once.
Jorrit was one of his most exceptional workers from the guild. He was loyal, efficient and always careful. A man who rarely made mistakes. Jorrit had been one of Aeron’s favorites for that very reason.
Whoever had done this knew exactly who Jorrit was and more importantly, who he served. Why else would his head be sent here, into Aeron’s own bedchamber? Yet that knowledge only birthed more questions. Who was responsible for this? And how, in all the gods-damned hells, did they know of Aeron’s ties to the guild? ƒreewebɳovel.com
The initial horror was quickly drowned beneath a rising, simmering rage. It coiled in his chest, tightening until even breathing felt difficult. It was rare for Aeron to let his emotions bleed so clearly onto his face, but now fury carved itself into his expression. Rage that his home had been violated. Rage that assassins had dared to attack him in his sleep. Rage that they had left a severed head behind as a message, meant for him to find.
His thoughts churned as he tried to piece together the events, but the pain in his leg and the roar of blood in his ears made it difficult to think clearly. With a sharp hiss, he bent again and snatched up the sac, forcing himself to look inside once more. He knew there had to be more.
As he suspected, there was a folded note tucked within.
It was smeared with a few dark drops of blood, but the parchment itself was intact, the writing bold and legible. Aeron brought it closer to his face and read its contents.
"This is the last warning I will give. Stay away from my children, and be glad that you had none of your own for me to behead." The note read.
His fingers curled around the paper, crumpling it into a tight ball as a low snarl tore from his throat. He spun on the two guards, eyes blazing.
