A Long Night Part II

When Ronan left the mansion, he did not stop walking until he reached the gate. His steps quickened into a jog. At the end of the street a carriage was waiting. He pulled the door open and sprang inside.

The inside was dark. Ronan sat down on the bench, trying to catch his breath. Across from him, half-hidden in the shadows, was the man he had first met in the cellar. The air around him seemed heavy, and even in the dim light Ronan felt those sharp white teeth.

"So, did she agree?" the man asked.

Ronan's throat tightened. "No… Tomorrow is the mourning ceremony for my father. She said he was killed in Virethorn."

"Damn," the man muttered. His grin did not fade. "That's news from today. We couldn't have known. We would have told you if we knew your daddy died." His voice was almost mocking, but smooth, practiced.

Ronan leaned forward, forcing confidence into his voice. "But that's no problem. I can convince her. We can still go tonight, to the VIP lounges at the opera. A spontaneous date."

When the man's outline seemed strange, twisting faintly, like the lantern light refused to settle on him Ronan swallowed hard. The man almost looked like he wanted to say something but stopped himself. Instead, his voice came again, calm and steady. "You know how sudden this is. Alone the lounge would cost us five hundred gold crowns tonight. Then the bribes on top of that. Tell me, she agreed, didn't she? Did she suspect anything?"

Ronan forced a grin. "No. Of course not. I could see it in her eyes. She trusted me. She waited all day for me, I know it. And I was right. Letting myself be found in a brothel showed her she isn't so important. So, she dressed up for me tonight to prove she is the only woman for me. She was… really cute tonight."

The man's grin widened, sharp and cold. "Maybe there is more in you than I thought. A court boy should know how to charm women, after all." His fingers tapped lightly against his knee. Then he leaned back into the dark. "All right. Let's do this."

He knocked on the window to the driver. "To the opera. Fast."

Selira had agreed. She was coming with him. She had chosen to follow his lead. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he had won. Everything was going smoothly. The plan was working.

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing slower. Maybe things were finally turning around. Maybe this was his chance to prove himself. To prove he was not just the spare, not just the disappointment everyone whispered about.

Unknown to the people in the carriage, a trail of saltwater streaked along the cobblestones. It clung to the wheels, a thin sheen that shimmered faintly in the lamplight before vanishing into mist. The horses snorted at the smell of brine, ears flicking uneasily, but the driver only tightened the reins and drove on.

Above, dark shapes vaulted across the rooftops. Their steps left wet marks on the tiles, droplets that sizzled before fading into vapor. They moved too fast, too sharp, their bodies bending at odd angles, like men only half-remembered by the sea.

The air smelled briefly of tides and iron. Then even that was gone.

--::--

Selira glanced at the clock on the wall. It was already eleven. The late-night shows at the opera would begin at midnight. She wondered if Ronan would really come back tonight or if he had already failed again and gone running. If he vanished, she would kill him this time. For real.

Still, a small part of her felt disappointed at the thought of missing the show. Not the opera itself, but the game Ronan had tried to play with her. Since coming to Ashford she had always been chasing after others, always a step behind. But tonight, this was her stage. If Ronan tried something stupid, she would use it. If not, then at least she would get a date worthy of her name. Did she not deserve some distraction after all this?

She sighed softly, then the door opened. Ronan had returned. Selira rose from her seat in the fireplace room, dressed perfectly in her evening gown, hair styled, perfume faint in the air. She wore a smug smile of expectation as he entered.

"I did it," Ronan said quickly. "I secured a VIP lounge for tonight. The very best package. They agreed after they learned who we were."

Selira's eyes moved over him once. He wore new gowns, well-cut, polished enough to look noble again. Not shabby, she thought. He had at least tried.

They walked together to the waiting carriage. Two of Selira's knights mounted the driver's bench while a servant opened the door. Ronan's eyes darted nervously to the knights. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. When the door closed and only the two of them were inside, he looked almost relieved.

So, no date at all, Selira thought.

She turned her gaze to the window. Drops of water traced across the glass, shimmering before dissolving. Saltwater. Her lips curved. The Trift Guard was moving.

Oh, Talon. It's getting more and more exciting.

She looked back at Ronan, her smile smooth. "I am really excited for the opera. It was such a lovely idea."

Ronan flushed, pride flickering across his face. "Of course. I thought it was time I treated you properly. I wanted you to see that I can still arrange things, that I can give you the life you deserve."

Selira tilted her head slightly. "How thoughtful of you. You do seem very confident tonight."

He straightened in his seat, puffing his chest. "Confidence comes naturally to me. I was raised in the capital. I know how to host, how to please. Once you see the opera tonight, you will understand. This is only the beginning."

Selira let out a soft laugh, her voice smooth as silk. "Is that so? Then I look forward to it, husband."

Inside, her thoughts were cold and sharp. He really believed it. He believed she trusted him. It almost made her want to applaud. Almost.

The opera house of Valewick rose like a palace in the night. Its tall arches and columns were draped with black silk, a sign of mourning for the Duke's death. Yet inside, the air was festive. Carriages rolled up one after another, noble families stepped down in shimmering gowns and polished coats, jewels glittering under the torchlight. Music drifted faintly through the open doors, warm and inviting.

Selira stepped out of the carriage with practiced grace. Ronan offered his hand as if it mattered, and she allowed it, her eyes scanning the wide marble steps. At the top stood the host of the evening, a round man with flushed cheeks and a smile so wide it looked painful. His rings glittered as he clapped his hands together, his voice booming across the entry hall.

"Ah, Lord and Lady Ashford, what an honor!" he exclaimed, bowing with surprising agility for his size. "You bring light to our house tonight. Please, follow me, your lounge is ready."

His joy was almost ridiculous. Yet Selira let him lead them, her expression calm. They moved through gilded corridors, where paintings of past operas hung in ornate frames. Between the bright banners of celebration, black ribbons were tied, a reminder of grief. The contrast was sharp, joy and sorrow woven together. It was the empire itself in miniature.

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The fat man continued, his words flowing like wine. "Tonight will be unforgettable. You will see the famous voice of the Southlands, Madam Elvarra. She is adored across the whole northern continent, and only here in Valewick will she perform this season. I trust you will be moved to tears. Everything you desire tonight will be provided. Wine, sweets, music, company. Only say the word, and it shall be yours."

Selira smiled politely, though her mind was sharper than her face showed. Ronan was already puffing his chest, pleased with the host's deference.

"I have always admired the southern singers," Selira said softly. "Their voices are said to carry like wind over the dunes."

"Indeed, my lady!" the man said with enthusiasm. "You will see for yourself. Your lounge is one of the finest. A view directly over the stage, private and quiet. I pray you will enjoy every moment."

They reached the tall double doors of the VIP lounge. Selira's knights stepped inside first, checking quickly, then nodded. The fat man bowed again, his cheeks shaking with the motion. "Please, make yourselves at home."

Selira entered with Ronan at her side. The lounge was lavish, with velvet seats and carved wood polished to a deep shine. A wide balcony opened before them, giving them a perfect view of the stage below. Already nobles were settling into their places, the air buzzing with talk and excitement. Candles burned in tall stands, their light catching the crystal chandeliers above.

Her knights remained outside the door, standing watch. The fat man clapped once more, his grin never fading. "Enjoy the show, Lord and Lady Ashford. Tonight is yours."

The door closed softly behind them. Selira let her fingers trail along the edge of the carved railing as she looked down at the stage. Ronan leaned toward her, flushed with pride.

"You see," he said quietly, "I told you I could do this."

Selira's lips curved into a faint smile. "Yes. You did."

--::--

Ronan could not help but feel a little proud. The velvet seats, the perfect view, the attention from the host—this was the kind of treatment he had always liked. He enjoyed showing off, being seen. Getting the VIP lounge tonight felt like proof that he still mattered.

But he reminded himself he was not here for pleasure. This was his chance. His one in a hundred chance. He regretted that it had come to this, yes, but it was his way out of the nightmare he had been living. Selira had made it clear she had no interest in his well-being. Why should he be considerate toward her?

Even so, when he saw her again tonight, doubt crept in. Selira was stunning. Regal, graceful, perfect in every detail. She looked like a woman men could only dream of, and for once, she had not treated him as an ice queen. She had even smiled at him. Could there be a chance for them after all? He was her husband, her legal husband. That bond meant something.

He sighed inwardly. No, he was too deep now. He could not back away. And besides, there were other women. The capital was full of beauty. He only wanted to leave Ashford behind, to return to the life he had known. The man had promised him that chance. Even the clearing of his name.

The show began, and Selira settled into her seat, her eyes fixed on the stage. Ronan rose and said quietly, "I'll pour us some wine." She did not look back, only nodded faintly.

He walked to the sideboard in the lounge. His hand slipped into his coat, fingers brushing the device the man had given him. A small silver piece, smooth and cold. He placed it under the wooden board and pressed the prepared mana pearl into its slot.

A quiet click. Then a soft hum.

Ronan was no mage, so he could not see the magic at work. But he remembered the explanation. A null-device. It would disrupt every spell below the third circle. Selira was only known as a second circle mage. That meant when the field spread, she would be nothing more than a woman. No body-strengthening, no mana tricks.

It saddened him, a little. He admitted that. She looked radiant tonight. But he had endured enough. He would not be humiliated again and again. He thought of Grace, his little sister, already gifted lands of her own at the age of six. He thought of his own reward, just a mansion in Valewick, where even the servants did not take him seriously. The insult burned too deep. He knew he had no future in Ashford.

He lifted the wine glasses, careful not to spill, and walked back to her. "Here," he said softly. "I hope you enjoy the show."

Selira turned her head, her silver eyes lingering on him. For a moment it looked like she wanted to say something. Instead, she smiled faintly. "I guess I will… husband."

A small sting hit Ronan's heart. But he forced it aside. He had to think about the future. He only had to wait until the first pause. By then the device would have built its field, spreading wide enough for the whole lounge.

The first part of the opera had been wonderful. Ronan found himself leaning forward as the famous singer's voice filled the hall, clear and strong. He had seen her once in the capital, but to hear her again here was a pleasant surprise. For a few moments, he almost forgot why he was here.

The curtain fell and applause rippled through the audience. Then came the knock at the lounge door. One of Selira's knights opened it, and two servants pushed in a cart covered with a white cloth. On top were trays, bottles of wine, and polished cups.

Selira gave the cart a brief glance, then returned her eyes to the stage below. She looked calm, almost bored. Ronan stood up at the servants' nod, walking over to "help." His hands felt heavy, but he moved anyway.

The blanket shifted. Another man rose silently from beneath it. He was rough-looking, dressed in dark leather studded with knives. His eyes flicked to Ronan once, then back to Selira. One of the servants lifted a bowl from the cart, revealing not food but a dull metal device. He pressed it to the wall by the door. A faint glow ran over its surface, and the air grew strangely heavy. Sound would not pass beyond this room now.

The servants grinned savagely. So did the man in leather. Ronan swallowed, knowing everything was ready. He cleared his throat. "Selira… could you please be so gentle and come to the back of the lounge? We need to talk. If you cooperate, everything will be fine."

Selira rose slowly. She gave only the barest glance at the men around the cart, then looked back at the stage. Her silver eyes caught the candlelight, steady and sharp. "Oh, Ronan, really…" she said. No fear showed on her face. She walked with grace to the sofa at the back of the lounge and sat, arranging her gown as if it were nothing more than another evening conversation.

The men circled behind her, knives glinting faintly in the light. Ronan's throat tightened.

"So what is this?" Selira asked, her voice dry, almost mocking. "Do you want to scare me now?"

She still did not see it, Ronan thought. Or maybe she refused to. Denial was easier.

The man in leather turned to him. "I didn't think you could do it," he said in a crisp, dry tone. "But the boss will be satisfied. Everything went according to plan. You can go now, onto the balcony."

Ronan shuddered but obeyed. "Just… make it short," he muttered. "I don't want her to suffer."

He turned away and walked to the balcony doors. The air was cooler there, and below he could see the stage again. The singer was preparing for the next part, musicians tuning their instruments. He tried to focus on that. Tried not to listen.

Behind him came muffled sounds. A splash. A thud. Quick movements, sharp and final. Selira did not scream, nor did she speak. Nothing but silence after.

Ronan's chest loosened with a strange relief. At least she was at rest now. At least she would not struggle anymore. Perhaps that was mercy.

He leaned on the balcony railing, whispering to himself about his future, about the life waiting for him once he left this place.

Then a voice cut through the quiet.

"So, after this is finished… could you come over so we can talk, Ronan?"

Cold washed down his spine. It was Selira's voice.

Ronan turned slowly.

The sight before him made no sense. Selira sat on the sofa in a regal pose, her hands folded neatly, a faint smirk touching her lips. On the floor lay the servants and the man in leather armor. Their heads were gone.

Three men stood behind the bodies. Each held a severed head in one hand and a long, wet knife in the other. They wore dark blue leather and masks shaped like the faces of sea creatures. Water dripped from their clothes, pooling on the carpet. They smelled of salt and iron.

Ronan's knees trembled. These men were far worse than the grinning one from the cellar. They radiated danger. His mouth opened and words tumbled out, broken. "They… they forced me to—"

Selira snorted. "That was the worst assassination attempt I have ever had to witness, dear husband. Sit down. Now."

Her voice cut him like a blade. Ronan obeyed, moving slowly, his legs stiff. He glanced at the device humming faintly by the door. The anti-magic field was still active. Selira should have been helpless. So where had these men come from? Did she carry some secret way to summon them?

He sat in a chair across from her. "I can explain—"

"No, no," Selira interrupted, shaking her head. "It's fine, Ronan. I don't want excuses. We just wait here for our other guest."

"Other… guest?" Ronan repeated, his voice hollow.

The door opened again.

The fourth-circle mage, the one who never left Selira's side, stepped in. Ronan's stomach dropped. How could he have forgotten him?

The mage dragged another man across the floor. The grinning man from the cellar. Except now he was ruined. His body was bruised, his face swollen, and his grin was gone because his teeth were gone. He moaned weakly, slumping under the grip.

Selira tilted her head. "So, this is the man who hired you?"

Ronan could only nod.

"Well then," Selira said, her smile thin and sharp. "This will be a long night, dear husband. But do not worry. I informed our aunt about everything. We will be excused tomorrow."

Ronan's heart stopped cold. Great aunt Montclair. Lady Protector of Ashford. Aunt of Liliana. He had not thought about the consequences, only the gain. Now the weight of it crushed him.

He bit his tongue hard, tears blurring his vision. "Selira… I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Iras, you are so pathetic," Selira cut him off. Her voice was almost bored. Then her smirk deepened. "But tonight you did me your first favor ever."

Ronan lowered his head, shame burning him raw.

It was indeed going to be a long night.

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