Lykalis has a new obsession: a bewitching man carrying secrets stained in blood. But is he worth less than the safety of her kingdom? Or is he worth more than she could ever imagine?
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The King...
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Coincidental Suicide
THE last time Lykalis decided to sneak around the palace, she'd been hungry for orange phyllo cake, a delicacy the head chef only made for special occasions. With mouth watering cake stuffed between her lips and sticky hands, six-year-old Lykalis had been caught by her very disappointed Mother and sent to help Osteria clean the stables. So maybe Lykalis wasn't the best at sneaking around, but she wasn't six years old anymore, and she wasn't searching for something as frivolous as cake.
She brushed past a countess as the tip of Iver's tail disappeared underneath the right staircase to the elevators. Her eyes darted across the area, surveying for security guards who were far too busy scrutinizing the wealthy meandering around with greedy eyes. Her wings were an inconvenience as she folded them tighter against herself.
The shadows did well to hide her as she slipped through the door, right at Iver's heels. The moment she entered the corridor she was greeted by two halls–one to her left, and one to her right. In front of her was a titanium safe, gears turning as it teetered shut.
Lykalis's wing thrusted outward, catching the vault with the center of her wing. Her flesh strained against the weight and she grasped the handle before she could snap her feathers in half. Dismissing her idiocy, she glanced down both corridors, then slipped behind the vault.
She wasn't completely oblivious to the perils of entering a vault which locked from the other side. She shifted her cloak just enough to reach into a miniscule pouch tied to her belt-loop. She removed a dekerma–a gold coin of Koltean currency–and placed it upright between the steel and the doorframe. She carefully let the vault door close, though the lock did not click.
She did not have the time to observe the prolific amount of money circling her. It was impressive, as the vault itself was expansive and filled to the brim with gold and silver.
She heard a door click shut and her eyes darted to the furthest wall to her right. The gunmetal gray bricks were fractured, undulating down from the ceiling to the floor. She drew close, inspecting the faint line. She lifted her wing, primary feather sweeping against the border. It barely slipped between, but it did, and Lykalis grasped onto her own feather to push it further.
She grimaced, lips pursing as she tried to catch the edge of the door with her nail. She pulled, wishing she'd taken Moira's armored nail hooks.
