Ahlvie disappeared into the gardens. It was a maze he realized. Perfect. He would be happy to be lost tonight.

He already felt it.

He was a fool. Truly this time.

He’d always played the fool. Being quick-witted, a jokester, a drunk, and a scoundrel among other less favorable things had always done him good. He’d never been in a situation where his humor and ridiculous behavior hadn’t helped him through it.

He was way into enemy territory. Nearly as far away as possible from the assignment he had been on back in Fen. But it was all to the right end. He knew where he fit into all of this. It all made sense at least. He’d known since he was thirteen where he fit in with it all.

And then Avoca had crashed into his life.

She was a game changer.

“Creator,” he whispered into the stillness. “Betrothed and a princess at that.”

He hadn’t seen that coming. He’d known that there was something between she and Ceis’f. Cyrene had said as much. But he’d mostly assumed that Ceis’f was obsessed with Avoca. He hadn’t known the whole story. Cyrene had warned him on their way from Strat. He should have listened. He never followed orders, but he probably should have for this one.

How can I compete with a betrothal to a prince?

“No clue,” he murmured to himself as he walked farther and farther into the maze of gardens.

He heard the crack of a twig behind him.

He whirled around. “Who’s there?”

There was no answer.

“Avoca?” he said. “Miss me?”

He couldn’t help it. The witty tone effortlessly fell off his tongue as he shifted back into his role. At the same time, he slid the blades out of their sheathes at his wrists and toed the ones in his boots.

It smelled like trouble. He could sense someone stalking him. He must have really been lost in thought if he hadn’t noticed it earlier. He was usually more perceptive than that.

If it had been Avoca, she would have already called out to him. That meant it was an unfriendly intruder. He was prepared for it. As prepared as he could be for an unseen attacker.

That was when it hit him.

Square in the chest.

All the air rushed out of his lungs as a beast knocked him off his feet. Ahlvie rolled and flipped back onto his feet as it lunged at him again. He was wide-eyed and ready when it came for him again.

He realized it for what it was this time. An Indres.

He would have been glad had he seen the last of those things in the woods the night before he had been captured and dragged to Strat. It seemed his luck had run out.

The small blades in his hands wouldn’t do much against the massive creature.

It stood on all fours, glaring at him with bright golden eyes. It came up to Ahlvie’s chest, and saliva was dripping from its fangs.

“You’re one ugly wolf,” he grunted.

As if the Indres could hear him, it tilted its head in offense and then rushed toward Ahlvie. He held his blades at the ready. He wished he’d had a sword on him, but he wouldn’t have been able to easily conceal a giant sword that could slay a creature of the dark. He was gifted with knives but not like a sword.

Ahlvie cut at the beast, inch by inch, as it tried to bring him down. The beast was oozing rivers of thick black blood from its many wounds. Its massive fangs jutted out of its mouth, and it seemed to be trying to find a way to get past his blades and to its target.

They circled each other like fighters in a ring.

Ahlvie wondered dimly where the rest of the pack was but thanked the Creator that he didn’t have to deal with them. This one seemed to be the Alpha. He didn’t need the pack to protect him. Wherever he had come from, his objective seemed to be to kill.

When the beast lunged once more, Ahlvie twisted and slashed a dagger across the beast’s throat. It reached out, snarled, and scraped its razor-sharp claws across the front of Ahlvie’s jacket. They both fell to the ground.

Ahlvie rolled, gasping for breath.

The front of his jacket was shredded, and he pulled his arms out of the sleeves, discarding the ruined material on the floor.

“I liked that jacket,” he spat.

Blood spotted the front of his tunic from the claw marks that were reddening under his gaze.

The beast was slow to get up, but get up, it did. It appeared that the knife hadn’t completely pierced his jugular, and he was still moving, despite the blood flowing out of his throat like a torrent.

It was sluggish this time but desperate. Ahlvie barely missed a slash at his sleeve, and at the last second, he kicked up with the dagger in the toe of his boot and drove it into the beast’s chest. Ahlvie rushed at him then and brought his final dagger through the Indres’s throat, severing his jugular.

It twitched, as if clinging to life, and then fell into darkness.

Ahlvie leaned over the creature, heaving and holding his hand over the open wound on the Indres’s chest. He heard howls slice the night air, and he shuddered.

The Indres knew their leader had fallen. They would come for him. Either to take their retribution from his flesh or name him their new Alpha. He could feel them beckoning to him in the chilly night air. His pupils dilated in the dim lighting, and he choked on the summons calling to him from the Indres pack.

“No,” he whispered.

I have my own mission. I have Cyrene. Protect Cyrene.

“No, I can’t.”

The air closed in on him, and then he fell face-first onto the maze floor, next to the fallen Alpha. He busted his lip open, and his forehead split. He gasped for breath as their summons seized him. As he fought to stay away from them, black filled his vision, and he gave in to their request.