Draven stepped out of Rowena’s chambers and pulled the door closed behind him. He stood still for a moment in the empty corridor, a devilish smile forming on his face. He could still feel the warmth of the kiss. Then he raised his hand and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

Down the hallways, his sharp senses caught the voices of two servants, their words muffled by the stone walls. He did not wait to see who they were. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, and his body dissolved into the thin air.

Elowen was walking quickly through the lower corridor that led to the servant quarters. Her head was down, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her dress. She kept replaying the moment she had delivered the scroll to the Queen, making sure no one saw her and leaving without raising suspicion. She had done everything right.

So she thought about the gold Rowena had given her days before meeting with the artist, where she would hide it properly and how much she would send to her family in her hometown.

When Elowen turned a corner, Draven appeared in front of her without sound. She gasped, stumbling backward, and her hand flew to her chest.

She lowered her head immediately. "My lord, you...startled me..." She said, her voice shaking.

Draven forced a smile that did not reach his eyes. "My apologies. I did not mean to scare you."

Elowen’s heart pounded even as she looked up at him. "It is nothing, my lord."

Draven studied her for a moment. "Walk with me," He said.

Elowen hesitated briefly, then nodded. She fell into step beside him. Neither of them said a word as Draven guided her down a narrow passage that branched off from the main corridor, then another until they reached an area of the castle she did not recognize. Nobody was seen in the area.

"Tell me, do any of your friends know about you and me? About the arrangement we have?" He asked, his voice casual.

Elowen shook her head quickly. "No, my lord. No one knows."

Draven nodded, seeming satisfied. He stopped walking and turned to face her. "You have done a good job delivering the scroll to the Queen. I told you I would reward you when the task was complete without a fault."

Elowen’s face brightened slightly. "Thank you, my lord. I made sure no one saw me when I entered the Queen’s chambers. And the Queen herself has no idea that I switched the portrait. She believes it came from the artist and does not know I gave her what you provided instead."

Draven’s jaw tightened slightly. The girl talked too much. She was nervous, and he understood that, but nervous people made mistakes. They let things slip. They could not be trusted to keep their mouths shut when it mattered.

"Good," he said, keeping his tone even.

But he knew he could not allow his plan to be tainted by a servant who did not know when to stop speaking.

He reached inside his cloak and brought out a leather pouch full of gold. He held it out to her.

"For your service," he said.

Elowen’s eyes widened slightly. She took the pouch with both hands, her fingers closing around the leather tightly. "Thank you, my lord. Thank you." She bowed her head.

Draven nodded. "You may go," he said.

She turned and hurried away, clutching the pouch to her chest. Her footsteps echoed on the stone floor, fading as she moved toward the main corridor. Draven watched her go. He counted her steps in his head. Ten. Twenty. Thirty.

Then he changed his mind.

Draven moved. The next moment, he was standing in front of her, his body blocking her path.

Elowen’s heart skipped as she nearly fell, her face turning white. "My lord?"

Draven grinned deviously. "Sorry, sweet girl." He said.

Before she could speak, his hand moved. It drove into her chest, through cloth and skin and bone as if her body were made of soft paper. His fingers closed around the muscle of her heart and pulled it free.

Elowen’s eyes went wide. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her body went limp and crumpled to the floor, the pouch of gold falling from her hand and landing on the stones.

Draven looked down at the heart in his hand. It was still beating, slow and diminishing pulses that he could feel against his palm. He snapped the fingers of his other hand, and a black linen appeared. He wrapped the heart carefully in the fabric and then made it disappear with another snap.

He crouched down, picked up the pouch of gold, and tucked it into his cloak. Then he lifted his hand to his mouth and touched the tip of his finger to his tongue, tasting the blood that coated it. Tiny veins of black and red spread across his face, branching from his mouth towards his temple. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, steadying himself. When he opened them again, the veins had faded.

He snapped his fingers once more. His hands came clean, and Elowen’s body burst into blue flames. The fire consumed flesh and bone in seconds. It left no ash, no smoke, and no trace.

He stood up, closed his eyes, and disappeared.

Zareth was in his study, seated behind his desk. A parchment lay before him, half covered in his handwriting. He had dipped his quill to continue when the air in the corner of the room shifted.

Still, he did not look up immediately.

Draven appeared without a sound. He walked forward as if he had been in the room all along. He started to whistle a tuneless sound. His footsteps were loud on the stone floor as he approached the desk.

Zareth’s nose wrinkled. He set down his quill. "You smell of rot, Draven." He said.

Draven dropped into the chair across from the desk and stretched his legs out, resting his boot on the edge. The motion nearly knocked over the ink pot, but he made no move to correct it.

"You are the rot, Zareth. And Drakwyne is a land filled with a shitload of rot." Draven said, his tone teasing.

Zareth took no offense at his words. He looked at him for a long moment. His expression was unreadable. Then he looked back down at the parchment and picked up his quill.

"I assume you have news about Rowena. I don’t have time for idle talk."

"Idle talk?" Draven scoffed. "I am also busy with the tasks you assigned to me." He let his head fall back against the chair. "The ball is in motion. But the girl does not doubt you. She trusts you completely. As a matter of fact, she thinks she’s no better than you are. Evil is the right word."

Zareth set the quill down again. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. His mismatched eyes fixed on Draven’s face, searching. At the same time, he reached out with his mind, trying to use magic to read what was behind Draven’s expression and his thoughts at that moment. He found nothing but a blank wall—a void.

Draven noticed. A smirk formed on his expression and was followed by a short, dry laugh. "Careful now, Dark Lord. We do not want to breed trust issues between us." He said. His voice was still light, but there was an edge beneath it. "Trust is important between allies." He dropped his legs off the table.

Zareth’s gaze hardened slightly. "Draven—" 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

"Sadly, this is how you repay me after everything I have done for you, all the tasks, all the loyalty. I’m disappointed."

He stood up abruptly. The chair scraped back against the floor. His expression shifted, the amusement drained away, and was replaced by something harder.

Anger crossed his features as he tightened his jaw. "If you do not trust me, then find someone else to do your tasks."

He turned and started walking toward the door.

"Draven," Zareth called.

Draven didn’t stop. He pulled the door open and stepped out. As he walked down the corridor, the anger on his face melted away, replaced by a wide, devilish grin.