The Duke’s private study was as imposing as the man himself. The heavy oak desk that dominated the space had its surface cluttered with documents and reports that spoke of the responsibilities he bore as the Duke of Targu.Conor sat across from the Duke, feeling the weight of the man’s scrutiny. The room was silent, save for the faint ticking of an antique clock on the wall. Conor’s heart thudded in his chest, not from fear but from the heavy mix of anticipation and determination.He knew this meeting was a test, one that would determine how the Duke viewed him—not just as the newly declared Deinmaar of Celia, but as a man who now stood at Kerrigan’s side.The Duke’s gaze was piercing, his emotions barely concealed behind his carefully controlled expression. “Conor,” he began, his voice low and measured, “I’ve been eager to speak with you, and I won’t waste time with pleasantries. You made quite the declaration yesterday. Deinmaar of Celia… stepping into the role your mother once held
The grand dining hall of the Duke’s estate was a stark contrast to the tension that had filled the air earlier. The sun streamed through tall, arched windows, casting a warm glow on the intricately carved wood paneling and the long table set for lunch. A row of servants moved about silently, setting down trays of freshly prepared dishes, their movements precise and practiced. The smell of roasted meat, fresh bread, and aromatic herbs filled the room, momentarily lifting the weight that hung over their heads.Kerrigan, seated beside Conor, glanced around the table. Reilynn stood discreetly at her back, her stance relaxed yet alert, while Sorcha, ever the vigilant dragoon, had taken her place behind Conor’s chair. Sorcha’s eyes missed nothing, scanning every entrance, every shadow, as if danger could lurk behind every draped curtain. Parker was present too, keeping to the side, but allowing Sorcha the space she needed to integrate into the team.The Duke of Targu sat at the head of the
Kelan’s stomach twisted as the queen of hearts shimmered on the table, the final card that sealed his fate. Four of a kind—aces, beaten by a straight flush.The Triad leader’s grin stretched wide, smug satisfaction oozing from his every pore as he raked the massive pile of chips toward him. Stacked towers of reds, blues, and golds, the last remnants of Kelan’s pride, vanished in an instant.Kelan tried to keep his face neutral, but panic clawed at his insides, tightening his chest with every breath. He had been so damn sure that he had it.Those aces felt like destiny, a sign that he was back on top. Now, they were nothing but a reminder of his failures—worthless paper like all his broken promises.“Well, that was fun,” the Triad leader drawled, lighting a cigar with a deliberate flick of his gold lighter. He exhaled a cloud of thick smoke, letting it hang lazily in the air, a bitter symbol of Kelan’s defeat.Sergei, the host of tonight’s game, leaned back in his chair, tapping the ta
The early morning sun was just starting to break over the skyline of Velyki, casting a golden hue across the city as Conor and Kerrigan’s convoy rolled to a stop in front of Elena Marchand’s law firm.The building was a stately structure of glass and stone, its entrance flanked by wide steps that now served as the stage for a much-anticipated press briefing.The team had flown through the night, exhaustion etched into the faces of the dragoons and soldiers who fanned out behind Conor and Kerrigan. They stood resolute, their uniforms sharp and their stances ready.Kerrigan and Conor were dressed in their matching outfits—a powerful blend of Celia’s deep ocean blue and Abraxas’s forest green, symbolizing their united front. The duo radiated strength and determination, their presence commanding the attention of every camera and reporter gathered.Provincial troops, provided by the Duke of Targu, formed an additional line of defense, their presence a reminder of the heightened stakes. The
The atmosphere inside Elena Marchand’s law firm was thick with tension, but also a sense of controlled triumph. The team had just faced a relentless media storm and had come out unscathed, steering the narrative in their favor.As they filed into the conference room, a heavy silence settled over them, the weight of the battle they were fighting evident on every face.Kerrigan and Conor took seats at the long table, flanked by Colonel Eli, Sorcha, Reilynn, and Parker. The Dragoons, ever watchful, stood positioned near the exits, their eyes sharp and their senses on high alert.Elena Marchand and Cara Johnson were already seated, reviewing notes and updates from the press briefing.Sorcha, who had been standing near the window, finally spoke up, breaking the silence. Her voice was cautious, yet tinged with frustration. “I still don’t get it. Why didn’t we just name Kelan? Isn’t he the one pulling the strings? He’s the main focus, isn’t he?”Kerrigan glanced at Conor, then back to Sorcha
The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels against the tracks filled the carriage as the team made their way to Jinstain. The journey provided a rare moment of respite from the whirlwind of strategy meetings, press briefings, and legal maneuvering that had defined their last few days.The luxurious train car, reserved for heads of state and top officials, was spacious and elegantly appointed, but the team occupied it like soldiers on a campaign, their weapons never far from reach.Sorcha sat by one of the wide windows, watching the rolling countryside blur by in shades of green and gold. Her mind, however, was not on the passing scenery. Instead, she found herself quietly observing her new teammates.She had been welcomed into this close-knit circle, but she still felt like the outsider looking in, trying to learn the rhythms of a dance that had been choreographed long before her arrival.She glanced across the aisle at Reilynn, who was sharpening her dagger with methodical precision. T
The train ride into Jinstain was a beautiful sight, the city’s skyline appearing on the horizon like jagged teeth rising from the sea. The sun hung low, casting long shadows over the bustling metropolis.Autumn had touched the city gently; a cool breeze blew in from the ocean, but it was a far cry from the colder mountain winds of Velyki. The air was warm enough to remind them that summer had only recently departed.As the train pulled into the station, Conor and Kerrigan exchanged a knowing glance. They were in enemy territory now, navigating a province where Gregor Benedict’s influence reigned supreme. Jinstain was a city of power and secrets, and the Benedicts had their hands in both.The dragoons moved efficiently, escorting Conor, Kerrigan, and the team off the train and into waiting SUVs. Faolan padded silently at their side, her keen eyes darting around as she sniffed the air. Sorcha and Reilynn were immediately on high alert, scanning every shadow, every rooftop.“This place h
The team’s convoy wound through the outskirts of Jinstain, leaving the towering skyline behind as they ventured into the more rural part of the province. The roads became narrower, framed by dense clusters of trees that stood as sentinels against the creeping tide of urban development.The farther they traveled, the more Conor felt the tension in his shoulders ease. There was something liberating about the open spaces, the absence of towering buildings, and the subtle hum of city life.Parker guided the convoy toward Kerrigan’s Jinstain residence, a place she had called her own for only a few short months but had already come to cherish. The house was a stately old home, surrounded by lush greenery and nestled on ten sprawling acres of land that backed up to a vast, untouched forest.It had once belonged to a respected judge, an upstanding figure whose legacy was as much a part of the house as its walls and windows.“I never realized how much I missed this place,” Kerrigan said softly