Hallowed Ground | Chapter One

N/A: This is chapter one of my 2025 NovMo. You can can check out the worldbuilding here

Chapter One

Rel ducked around the corner into the servant's hallway, swearing softly. He'd been in the Imperial Palace for a little over a month now, posing as a servant. It was disturbingly easy to find employment there, honestly. All he had to do was show up. They hadn't even tried to see if he was armed. It had been good. Stable employment, somewhere safe to sleep, food to eat. It was a good deal for him. With the added bonus of his family and the Guild never thinking to look for him there.

But now the Crown Prince was back from the western border.

And Rel knew he'd be noticed.

Shit.

He'd heard that the man was paranoid but it was ridiculous just how paranoid. Honestly, might not have been his best idea to infiltrate the palace as a servant. Rel leaned back against the wall and pressed a hand to his chest, gaze darting towards the main hallway, watching from beneath his hair as the Prince walked past. A dozen attendants and servants were following him. Rel gave him a quick up-and-down glance and frowned. He looked like any other human, if quite handsome. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin. Rel hummed, thoughtful. Yes, the Crown Prince was quite handsome indeed.

But now was not the time to be appreciating how he looked!

If the Prince figured out what Rel was, he was a dead man.

The Prince's head turned and Rel jerked back against the wall, turning his face away. Shit, shit. He couldn't be seen, especially not by the Prince. He was hoping like hell that the shadows hid his features, and especially his horns. Fey'ri were not particularly liked outside of the Isles, let alone tolerated. Rel was lucky that he could pass for elf or half-elf instead. A lot of his family couldn't. It was mostly why he'd fled for the mainland in the first place. He still owed Nariel big time for his help in aiding Rel's escape. He hadn't said where he was going outside of Tar Odessa and Nariel hadn't asked more than that. Rel was still grateful for that. Out of all his family, Nariel was the understanding one.

He watched from the corner of his eye as the older man paused, head still turned towards him slightly. Watched as he frowned and then kept moving. Rel watched him go warily, eyes narrowed, and once he was sure the Prince was gone, he pushed off the wall. He carefully slid along the wall back towards the main hall and peeked around the corner to watch the last of the Prince's entourage trail around the corner.

Rel sighed and leaned against the wall for a moment, eyes still on the corner the prince had disappeared around. He'd been headed for the Throne Room, which meant Rel was probably safe to slink off back towards the kitchens where he was supposed to be. He snorted. If Cook didn't yell at him, he'd be lucky. He shook his head and pushed off the wall. He'd best get back before he was missed.

Yeah, he'd rather not be yelled at for being late to his shift.

He sighed and rubbed both hands over his face. He'd better get moving before he really was late. He really, really did not want to be yelled at--especially not by Cook. Cook was a big orcish woman with a temper. Rel tried to avoid her whenever he could, much preferring her assistant, a stout little dwarf man with a much milder temperament. Morath was a bit of an enigma to Rel. He didn't look all that much older than Rel did, but he spoke like he'd been around for centuries. With dwarves, one couldn't be too sure. Honestly, with most of the races that could be found in the Empire it was really hard to tell. Elves always looked so perfectly radiant, but you could tell if they were really old by how faded their hair was. Most elves preferred not to talk about their age, though, which, well, Rel figured was perfectly valid. He didn't like advertising his age, either. And he was only early into his second decade. Which was relatively young compared to most other races.

Rel shook his head and slipped through the door into the kitchens.

"Rel! Where have you been?"

He froze, eyes widening at the sheer volume. It made everyone else in the kitchen turn to look at him. He blinked once, twice and then turned to face Cook, giving her a bright smile. She was standing a few feet away, her hands on her hips and a disappointed expression on her face. He winced.

"Hi Cook," he said and cleared his throat, giving her a little wave.

"Don't you 'hi cook' me, young man," she grumbled, eyes darting up and down. "You are late. Where were you?"

"Had to duck outta the Prince's way," he said, shrugging. "Seemed to be in a hurry to see the Empress."

Her eyes narrowed. "Did you now?" She harramphed and turned away. "Get to work before I make you go hunt down Phee again."

"Yes, ma'am," he said and moved towards the big basket of vegetables he knew he should be peeling. He glanced back to watch as Cook moved about the kitchen.

"Next time you're late," Cook called over her shoulder, returning to the meat she had been chopping up, "I'll make you go to the fish market at dawn."

Rel grimaced at that and turned to pick up a potato. He really did not like the fish markets, especially at dawn. They were too loud and smelled absolutely foul. He'd rather not stink of fish all day, thank you very much. He snorted at a comment one of the other kitchen staff made and settled into peeling vegetables, letting the various conversations flow around him. He didn't participate much, a comment here and there, a reply to a question. Everyone knew he wasn't much for conversation and preferred to fade into the background. With his red hair and pale, freckled skin? Yeah, they definitely understood why. Dark red hair like Rel's was rare, and even rarer to be paired with freckles and mismatched eyes.

He rubbed at his cheek absently with a knuckle of the hand holding the knife and sighed. Cook called something over the general noise of pots and pans banging and things being chopped and cooked, and Rel jerked his hand away, blinking a little. He glanced over and went back to peeling the vegetables. He had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

Somehow, he managed to avoid the Crown Prince for just over a week.

It was the one day he was passing close to the training yard that he slipped up. He got too close and hadn't realised the Prince was there, training with some of the other soldiers, so Rel was only mildly surprised when he suddenly felt fingers in his hair right as his head was yanked backwards at an awkward angle. He found himself staring up at the Crown Prince with wide eyes, and the Crown Prince was staring back at him with eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You," he said, deceptively softly, and Rel felt all the blood drain from his face. He was in deep trouble now. Rel didn't bother struggling, merely grabbed the Prince's wrist and held on. He could probably break free, but if he did so... Well, that wouldn't be a good sign. He was supposed to just be a servant, not a former assassin. Best to let the Prince think whatever he liked. "You work in the kitchens, correct?"

Rel swallowed and darted a look away from the other man. There was a couple of soldiers standing nearby, sweaty and half-dressed with swords drawn. Fuck. He was definitely in trouble now. And if those soldiers were half-dressed.... No, not the time, Rel!

"Yes, sir," he whispered, wincing when the Prince's grip tightened a little.

The Prince hummed at that, and suddenly his other hand was on Rel's chin, thumb brushing his bottom lip. Rel tensed, jerking his gaze back to the Prince's. The man looked more considering now than suspicious, and that had Rel even more worried. The Prince's fingers pressed in harder, thumb shifted up to brush below his eye--the purple one. Oh, no.

"Mismatched eyes," the Prince murmured, thumb pressing into his cheekbone and making Rel wince. That was probably going to leave a bruise, especially if the Prince pressed any harder. "Unusual hair colour." One of the soldiers snorted to hide a laugh and Rel cringed, closing his eyes. The fingers trailed up into his hair and then paused when fingertips brushed against one of his tiny, hidden horns. "Ah."

"Please," Rel whispered, a sinking feeling settling into his stomach. "Don't."

"Horns?" the Prince breathed, lips suddenly right up against his ear. Rel shuddered at the proximity, eyes flying open. "Fey'ri, huh? That's... unusual..."

"Don't--" Rel started to protest, but it was too late. The Prince had started to rub at his horn, humming right into his ear. Rel couldn't help the tiny noise that escaped him at that. It was, frankly, embarrassing. A fey'ri's horns were particularly sensitive, and the Prince's touch was not helping, let alone welcome.

"Sensitive, are we?"

"Please," Rel breathed, "stop... sir..."

The touch abruptly left his horn and then the fingers were back on his chin. Rel coughed a little, squirming as the Prince pressed up against his back. He was too close and too touchy-feely for Rel's comfort. He supposed that was just standard for royalty, but he couldn't be sure. One of the soldiers cleared his throat and the Prince's fingers slid down to his neck, then tightened around his throat in a silent threat.

"Are you, perhaps, an assassin?"

Rel froze, eyes going wide. He darted a startled glance at the two soldiers, who were shifting uncomfortably now. They could probably hear every word the Prince was saying, and that just made Rel even more uncomfortable. He was mortified now, worried that the soldiers were going to kill him--if the Prince didn't first. Fuck, he was in so much trouble.

"No!" he hissed, twisting in the Prince's grip now. The other man's grip tightened even more, fingernails digging into Rel's neck in an obvious threat.

"I think that's a lie," the Prince hissed, right in his ear. Rel tried to jerk his head away but the other man's fingers dug in dangerously. Pain burst to life in his throat and Rel stilled, breathing heavily. The Prince guided his head back even more, straining Rel's neck, and glared down at him. "Definitely a lie."

"It's not," Rel whispered, carefully going lax against the other man. The prince grunted when Rel's weight hit him but didn't move--and didn't release him. "I swear... I'm not!"

The Prince stared down at him, eyes narrowed dangerously. "Hmm. If you say so."

One of the soldiers cleared his throat and the Prince glanced away. Rel stayed still, breathing heavily and trying to ignore the threat of fingernails against the tender skin of his throat. He was starting to regret his idea to hide in the Imperial Palace. Yes, it meant his family wouldn't think to look for him there...but now the Crown Prince was suspicious of him, and it was likely to make his life far more difficult than it needed to be. He would probably need to leave now, and he really didn't want to do that. No assassin would look for one of their own in a palace, let alone think one would hide there. Well, not unless they were insane. Not that Rel was insane! He was just smarter than some of his cousins.

"Your Highness," one of the soldiers said, low and warning.

Fingers abruptly left Rel's throat, letting him gasp in a more solid breath than before. He could reach for one of his throwing knives, or his dagger, but he stayed his hand. It wouldn't be a good look to go for a weapon after being accused of being an assassin. In fact, that would probably reinforce the idea. Fuck. Rel couldn't do anything right now.

"Take him to my quarters," the Prince said and abruptly turned to shove him towards the waiting soldiers. Rel stumbled, catching a glimpse of the soldiers' startled faces as the one on the left caught him before Rel could stumble face-first into their bared chest. "I need to speak to my mother."

"Yes, Your Highness," the other soldier said, glancing towards Rel, who stared back at him with wide eyes. He twisted to look at the Prince, who wasn't looking at him anymore and was instead staring down the open pathway at something. Rel didn't want to look--and did not want to know. It was probably just another servant, honestly, but it didn't matter much. The two soldiers grabbed him and started hauling him away.

In the direction of the Imperial Wing.

Oh, fuck.

Rel glanced back as he was dragged away, catching sight of the Prince's bare back, glistening with sweat, and the shadow of someone approaching with the sun behind them. He cursed softly as the two soldiers jerked him back around, noting the sword on the Prince's hip, and the two that both soldiers still held, still bared in a clear threat. Neither of them were wearing shirts--or sword sheaths--and didn't seem inclined to find either shirt or sheath. At least they were wearing pants. Rel wasn't sure what he would've done if they weren't.

The march through the palace was a bit of a blur, but it became increasingly clear when they grew closer to the Imperial Wing by the lack of visible servants. Rel knew that part of the palace had hidden servant hallways and was a little worried to find that the two soldiers--clearly members of the Praetorian Guard, now that he thought about it--hadn't bothered to use them. Rel knew he looked out of place in his off-white and soft grey palace servant uniform. At least no one had seen him yet. He thanked the gods for small mercies for that.

They reached the Prince's residence and the man on his right handed his sword off to the other one and shoved open the door. The soldier dragged him through the doors into what looked like some kind of antechamber. Rel wasn't sure. He'd never been in this area of the palace. They shoved him into the room, making Rel stumble slightly, and retreated. The doors slammed shut behind him.

Rel whirled towards the door just as he heard the defined click of the key turning in the lock. He froze, staring at the doors, motionless and worried. He'd been found out by the Crown Prince, publicly dragged off by said Prince's soldiers, and now he was in the man's personal quarters.

Fuck. He was so screwed.

He'd known the palace was a little more chaotic than usual, that it had been all week, since the Praetorian Guard had returned along with the Prince. That he'd even lasted a week was impressive. Rel hadn't thought he'd last more than a day, to be perfectly honest, so that was... longer than he'd thought.

And now he was in the Imperial Quarters, in the Crown Prince's rooms.

Alone.

Rel twisted to look around, taking in the elaborate carvings and intricate designs, the expensive silk and the latticed windows, worried. That sinking feeling he'd had since the moment he'd felt fingers in his hair--and met the Prince's suspicious gaze--settling deeper into his gut. The windows weren't just wooden lattice--they were metal. Barred, intricate designs so one could look outside yet kept intruders out--and unwanted guests in. Rel mostly likely didn't have the time--or patience--to figure out how to open the windows, let alone pick any locks. He certainly wouldn't make the attempt with the Praetorians outside the door. That was just stupid. Incredibly so.

He exhaled slowly, turning back towards the main doors. There were two other doors on either side of the room, likely leading to a bedroom and a bathing chamber. Not that he wanted to check. He had a feeling the guards—and the Prince—would know if he went snooping. The guards would hear him and the Prince was clearly far too observant. Which meant Rel had nothing to do and nowhere to go.

Rel rubbed his hands over his face and then glanced about again. He went to the window—the one that didn’t have a low chaise lounge in front of it—and peered out into the imperial gardens. He could see other servants tending to the plants and several upper and lower nobility scattered about, enjoying themselves, and no way out. The metal latticework on the window appeared to be pretty solid with no obvious signs of how to open it. Rel ground his teeth together and turned to peer down at the desk behind him. Papers and writing utensils were scattered across the surface and, at a glance, seemed like nothing particularly important. There was a map of the area, some papers on a horse and something to do with military equipment on the top. Rel didn’t want to touch anything and it wasn’t anything he was familiar with anyway. Except the map. He tried to memorise that one as well as possible. He had a good memory, but the map was extremely detailed with little handwritten notes all over it in what seemed mostly like gibberish but was likely some kind of code. He snorted at that, knowing he wasn’t likely to remember everything. Apparently the Crown Prince didn’t even trust the servants in the palace.

With good reason, considering Rel’s presence.

“Paranoid bastard,” he muttered, moving away from the desk. He glanced towards the doors, gaze narrowed. He couldn’t even hear the two Guard outside at the moment. They were being disturbingly quiet. He supposed they would be, considering they were the elite soldiers directly responsible for the Imperial Family’s safety.

Rel sighed and moved on from the desk, trailing fingers across the wood. He was careful not to disturb any of the paperwork, straining to hear what the guards outside the door were doing. Or saying. Still nothing. Still disturbingly quiet. Rel pressed his lips together and moved around the desk, lifting his hand so he didn't bump the small trinket sitting on the edge of it--some kind of stone, he thought, although he wasn't entirely sure. It was glossy and red, so dark that he nearly mistook it for black. He paused to stare at it, frowning a little, then shook himself and moved on to the chairs. Would it be too presumptuous of him to sit in one? Probably... Didn't stop him from trailing his fingers over the soft fabric of the back as he went.

How long was he going to be left alone in here? How long before the Prince returned? Or the Praetorians decided he was being too quiet. Rel snorted and moved to stand in the middle of the room, his back to the desk. He stared at doors down with narrowed eyes, waiting, hands clasped behind his back. He'd let the Prince make the first move. The paranoid bastard already had at least three of his cards; he was Fey'ri, he was an assassin, and he wasn't supposed to be there.

Rel would make him work for the rest.

~~~

Theron was pissed when he headed back to his rooms. He'd had a very frustrating conversation with his mother, the Empress, and three of her four Generals. They had refused to take his warnings seriously. Refused to acknowledge that someone was plotting against them. Honestly, as if the repeated assassination attempts weren't all the warning they needed. But, as usual, they all ignored his warnings. The Generals, anyway. His mother had been...concerned, but she had full faith in the Palace guards and Theron's Praetorians--men trained to be loyal to the Imperial Family, to obey only Imperial Family members. Not that that had stopped them from being used to commit assassinations before. Not in many, many decades, of course.

Still, he worried.

Something was wrong and he was determined to find out what.

He noted that the two guards who'd taken the--admittedly very pretty--fey'ri away had switched places with two men who were fully kitted out. He nodded to them and swept past, unlocking the doors. He pushed the doors open and froze when he found the fey'ri standing there at parade rest, waiting for him. His chin was tipped up and his mismatched eyes were narrowed, a dangerous glint to them. Theron paused, fingers curled around the doorhandles. He glanced over his shoulder at the Praetorians, who were looking at him, and then dragged his gaze back to the fey'ri. The assassin.

Something told him he wouldn't be needing the guards.

Theron shook his head minutely and the two men relaxed, hands sliding off their sword hilts. He hadn't even noticed them going for their weapons. A lapse in judgement he would not be repeating. Theron exhaled and calmly stepped into the room, eyes on the fey'ri as he shoved the doors closed behind him and locked them. That, too, was something he knew would be safe to do. He may not have much magic, but he trusted his instincts implicitly.

He leaned back against the doors, eyes narrowed, and watched the assassin watching him. The fey'ri hadn't moved. He still stood at parade rest with his chin tipped up and his gaze intense. Theron considered him for a moment before pushing off the door and striding towards him. The fey'ri twitched like he wanted to cringe away, like he wanted to put distance between them as Theron stopped a foot away. Theron stared at him, watching him wet his lips and shift his weight from one foot to the other. Nervous, his instincts told him.

"You know who I am," he said, and it was not a question.

The fey'ri's eyebrow twitched. "As if I could mistake you for anyone else," he said, body language tense and tone deceptively soft. Theron's gaze narrowed further, suspicious now. It wasn't exactly a secret, who he was. Nor what he looked like. The assassin had a point. He wet his lips and added, "you highness," to that, a little belatedly.

Theron was amused--and found the man had no sense of danger to him. He wasn't a threat. Interesting, he thought, and slid a foot closer. Those mismatched eyes darted downwards, then back up, and the fey'ri's muscles locked up. Was he expecting Theron to attack him? Was he expecting a slap? A blow? Something else? He wasn't sure he had an answer to any of the questions. He shoved them all away, switched tactics.

"Why are you in the palace?" he asked, his tone just as soft. The fey'ri tipped his chin up a little higher, gaze still narrowed--and didn't say a word. Theron scowled. "Answer me, little assassin."

The fey'ri’s gaze darted past him, towards the doors. Theron lifted a hand slowly, carefully, and caught the assassin's chin in a gentle grip, drawing his attention back to him. The fey'ri was utterly still now, eyes widening just a little, breathing a little more sharply. Like he was about to panic at any moment. Theron cocked his head, leaning a little closer.

"I'll know if you lie," he breathed, lips so close to the assassin's.

The fey'ri stared a little longer, wetting his lips, and then closed his eyes.

"I'm hiding from someone," he said, tone low, and every instinct Theron had screamed truth at him.

Huh. That was...not what he'd been expecting. The little assassin was growing more mysterious by the second. Theron had never been as interested in anyone as he was in the fey'ri before him. He pulled back a little, expression smoothing out.

"Who?"

The fey'ri winced, like he didn't want to answer him, but sighed and did so anyway.

"Guild," he said, as if that answered the question. He twitched like he wanted to pull away but was forcing himself to stay put, to let Theron hold him still. "My....my family..." He swallowed thickly, eyes opening a slither to peer up at Theron from beneath long lashes. "I..." He stopped, grimaced and closed his eyes again. "I ran away..."

Theron raised an eyebrow at that, studying his face. He was confused by the answer, but every word rang with truth in his senses and he sighed, releasing the fey'ri, fingertips whispering across his skin as he let his hand drop.

"I see," he said, very carefully.

The fey'ri opened his eyes, staring up at him as Theron backed off a step. He crossed his arms, watching the--former--assassin watch him. He really was quite pretty. If Theron's instincts hadn’t pinged with this one does not belong when he'd first seen him, he might’ve taken him to bed. It hadn't been a threat, not really. More a maybe-threat. But now? Now he was just looking at someone seeking sanctuary in the one place the Guild--who Theron had heard of--wouldn't look.

"You're....not mad?" the fey'ri asked, frowning at him. Theron shrugged. "I could still be lying to you."

Theron snorted. "I may not have much magic," he said, warily--but truth deserved truth, so--," but what I do have are impeccable instincts."

The assassin blinked at him. Once, twice. And then he nodded. Theron felt something flare out from the assassin--magic, most likely--and then the fey'ri sagged, falling out of parade rest like he was a puppet whose strings had been cut. He exhaled heavily and then swayed a little. Theron twitched, wanting to step forwards to steady him but wasn't sure if he should. They fey'ri seemed...a little adverse to touch at the moment. And Theron wasn't one to push boundaries unless he needed to, not when he could afford to give someone a little grace.

"Instincts," the assassin said after a moment, once he'd stopped swaying. "Funny way of saying you're walking truth serum."

He laughed, a low chuckle that had the fey'ri's head jerking up. Cute, he thought, more than a little fondly.

"You're not going to....?" the assassin trailed off, clearly unsure if he should finish the question--or how to, Theron supposed.

"No," he said, moving around him now and behind the desk. None of the papers scattered across it had been touched but he had a feeling the fey'ri had looked. Of course he'd looked. Theron knew it would be fairly pointless, though. The troop movements were written in code and half the papers on his desk were decoys and not actually worth anyone's time. Clearly the assassin had known that much, considering he'd touched nothing and was still standing in the middle of the room, his back to Theron. "Not going to sit down?"

The fey'ri stiffened, not looking at him. "Didn't think I was allowed, your highness."

Theron rolled his eyes and sat down, the soft rustle of his robes against wood and softer fabric making the fey'ri's head twitch, just a little. Like he wanted to turn, wanted to look at him. He smiled at that, turning his attention to the scattered papers. He let the smile fade as he began to shuffle them into a neat stack.

"Sit," he said, not looking at him. "On the chair, please. Not the floor." He glanced up to find that he fey'ri had turned around, that he was looking at him now. Theron hadn't heard him move. Yes, definitely an assassin. "I'm not a brute."

The assassin stared at him for a beat before dipping his head and moving to sit on the chair in front of his desk. Gingerly, like he was expecting something else to happen at any moment. Like he was expecting a knife in the back. Theron felt his chest twinge with guilt and lowered his gaze, focusing on the papers he was organising. He got them neatly stacked and set them aside. It left the map more exposed, but he didn't mind. Theron was sure the little assassin couldn't decode his notes.

"What's your name?" he asked, leaning back in his seat and raising his gaze to meet mismatched eyes. The fey'ri twitched again, gaze darting away and then back. Like he hadn't been expecting Theron to ask him that.

"Rel," he said after a beat, gaze darting away again. He didn't elaborate and he didn't offer any other names. Theron was sure that was short for something, but he'd get his hands on the staff list for the Imperial Palace later, maybe send one of his spies down to gather whatever information they could on the---on Rel.

"Just Rel?" he pressed, gently.

The look that earned him was scathing. "That's all you need to know," Rel ground out, clearly frustrated and annoyed now, "your highness."

He lifted his hands off the desk in a clean sign that he'd conceded the point. Rel scowled at him a little longer before looking away again. Theron shifted a little, considering him thoughtfully, and then leaned forwards, planting his elbows on the edge of his desk and his chin in his hands.

"What to do with you," Theron mused, tone soft, and Rel flinched--properly, this time. Theron sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you, Rel."

"Forgive me if I'm a little wary of unsolicited hospitality."

He stared at him for a long moment, felt himself softening at the edges. For all that Rel had sharp edges, Theron found him....not lacking, definitely not that....but certainly aimless. Lost. He'd abandoned his old life to start anew, had run from a life as an assassin and who knew what else. Theron couldn't bring himself to see the younger man as a threat. Certainly not to him, or his family. Not to anyone in the Palace, as far as his instincts could tell. Perhaps he could be an asset? Something to hide up his sleeve for whoever decided to feed the next poor soul lies and point them in his direction.

"You're forgiven," he said, almost absently, eyes pinning the fey'ri to his seat.

Rel was fidgeting under his stare, gaze darting away and back and away again. Theron let him stew, considering him thoughtfully. If he offered protection... Yes, that could work. He hummed, drawing Rel's pretty eyes back to him. The fey'ri raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'll let you stay in the Palace," he said slowly, quietly. "Under my protection..." Rel's shoulders dropped and he started to sag a little in his chair. Relived, clearly. Too bad Theron was about to stomp all over it... "On one condition."

Rel froze, eyes back on him. Theron stared right back, meeting that one blue and one purple eye beat for beat. Theron waited, watching him consider the offer. Watched him turn it over and over in his head. Saw the moment he resigned himself to being Theron's pawn.

"What's the condition?" he asked, tone dull. Resigned.

Theron hummed again. "You'll answer directly to me and only me." He leaned forward a little, eyes narrowing. "No questions asked."

Rel stared at him, lips parted in surprise--and a little in anger. Theron saw it flicker across his face, there and gone before it could be truly registered. He'd seen it anyway. He wouldn't make Rel kill again, not unless he had to. Not unless it was self defense. He wasn't, as he'd said earlier, a brute. He wasn't cruel. Theron could be kind, if he needed to be. But having a pet assassin at his command? That changed things. Whoever was trying to plot a coup... They wouldn't see Rel coming.

He saw the moment Rel accepted his offer, saw it in the way Rel's body language went soft and open. The way the tightness in his jaw eased, though he didn't look happy about it.

"I accept your condition," Rel said, deceptively soft, "sir."