The flame of the candle danced on the stone walls of Aric's private chambers, sending shadows across the bookshelves and intricately carved furniture. In the other corner of the room, Cedric stood stock still, face a mask of unreadability—but his eyes betrayed none of the fire they once burned.
Aric observed him intently, sitting in his tall-backed chair, fingers clasped together under his chin.
"Tell me, Cedric," Aric at last spoke, his deep voice smooth.
"Do you regret your choice?"
Cedric clenched his jaw, but responded with all due haste.
"No."
Aric smiled. The Sovereign's Brand had taken hold.
"Good. For I have duties for you to perform."
Cedric sat up, bracing for his orders.
"You will demonstrate your allegiance to me this night."
Silence reigned in the room.
Then Aric leaned forward, his eyes intent.
"Lord Wilhelm Bexley—he's harassed me long enough. His presence in the court is a danger, and he's been wondering at my reckless ascension." Aric's fingers drummed against the armrest. "I require him to be gotten out of the way."
Cedric stiffened.
"Disposed?"
"Yes. Quietly. This is your test, Cedric. If you fail—" Aric's voice dropped to a whisper, cold and menacing, "then perhaps I was too easy on you to allow you to serve me."
Cedric swallowed tightly, then bowed deeply again.
"It shall be done."
Aric stepped back to watch him leave, a slow smile spreading across his face.
Now, the true test started.
The moon was full when Cedric came to the Bexley manor. The mansard house loomed behind heavy iron gates, the guards pacing along the fence. Cedric tightened his cloak, his heart not racing.
Failure wasn't an option.
Slipping unseen into the shadows, he moved with the silent effectiveness of a cat, avoiding observant eyes until he came to a hidden side door. A flash of his wrist, a poison knife in the palm of his hand, and the single guard who was waiting there fell silently to the ground.
Cedric breathed more easily.
He entered the manor, moving quickly through its candlelit corridors.
Wilhelm Bexley was a suspicious man—paranoid, actually. His room was guarded, but Cedric had been ready.
A vial of Lurker's Mist, that alchemical poison that sent its victims into a trance, was enough to silence the guards with no fight.
Cedric entered the room.
Lord Bexley slumbered, breathing slow and strained. A man unaware of what his fate would be.
Cedric approached the bedside, ready to strike with his dagger.
And then-doubt.
He tightened his fingers.
The old Cedric would have shunned such an order. Would have defied it outright.
But now?
He had no other option.
The Sovereign's Brand pushed him.
Cedric pressed the blade against Wilhelm's throat—
And sliced it cleanly.
The noble gasped, eyes flying open, but the cut was too deep. His body twitched once, then lay still.
Blood spread into the silken sheets.
Cedric breathed out.
It was finished.
With cold efficiency, he cleaned the blade and melted into the night, vanished before the body was found.
Aric waited.
When Cedric entered the chamber, he kneeled, presenting the bloodstained dagger.
"It is done."
Aric reached out, taking the blade. He examined it for a long moment—then smiled.
"You've done well, Cedric."
A slow sigh escaped Cedric's lips. Relief. Completion.
The brand on his soul pulsed.
Aric stood, walking past him, placing a firm hand on Cedric's shoulder.
"This is only the beginning," he whispered.
Cedric didn't protest.
He belonged to Aric now.
And soon—so would the rest.