Damien's steel-gray eyes stayed nailed on the mysterious woman, who had just introduced herself. Amara Draven. Not a name he recognized-not even the faintest recall of his life before. No word of her among the winding channels of royally schooled spies and informants. Yet here she stood before him, without one tremble, as if she had every right to be in his inner sanctum.
He didn't lower the dagger. "You have three seconds to tell me why I shouldn't call my guards to throw you into dungeons."
Amara sneered, slumping against the edge of his desk as if she hadn't just threatened someone's life. "Because, Your Grace, you're smarter than that. If I managed to sneak into your study without raising an alarm, what makes you think your guards could stop me?"
She was bold, and that infuriated him, but also intrigued him. Most people trembled with fear at the sight of him. This woman treated him as a riddle she was anxious to solve.
"And what do you want," he asked in low, measured tones.
Amara tilted her head, her blue eyes gleaming. "I've been watching you, Duke Vryce. The infamous tyrant, scourge of the kingdom, suddenly playing the role of a savior? You're dismantling your own power base, rescuing strangers from bandits, and offering apologies instead of threats. Frankly, it's fascinating."
Damien's grip on the dagger tightened. "So, you're a spy."
"Not exactly," she shrugged. "I prefer the term 'opportunist.' I think we might be able to help each other."
Her self-confidence bordered on arrogance, but Damien saw no hint of dishonesty in her eyes. Still, he couldn't trust her-not yet. "Help each other?" he repeated, his voice incredulous.
Amara fidgeted under her cloak, and Damien tensed to strike. She was merely withdrawing a parchment, which she rolled up and let fall to lie on the desk.
"Consider it a gift," she said.
Damien hesitated before slowly unrolling the parchment. His eyes widened as he scanned its contents-it was a map of the western territories, right down to troop movements, secret supply caches, and the strongholds of several noble families.
"This…," he said, with the inflection of incredulity. "This is Lord Reynard's fief."
Amara smiled. "It is. The good lord has been plotting a rebellion for years, consolidating power under your nose. You've been too preoccupied with other… pursuits to notice."
Damien's jaw clicked shut. Of all his former friends, Lord Reynard had been the most fervent supporter; yet now, Damien could clearly see that the man's ambitions went far deeper in reach than Damien had ever thought possible. This was perilous evidence.
"How did you get this?" he demanded.
Amara broke into a wide smile. "Just say that I have a knack for turning up in the right place at the right time."
Damien narrowed his eyes. "And why give it to me?
"Because," she said, stepping closer, "you're not the only one who wants to see Reynard fall. He's a snake, and he's left plenty of people like me in his wake. People who wouldn't mind watching him burn."
Those words of Reynard rang inside Damien's head. There was so much time in his old life spent coveting power and control that he hadn't even caught around himself the snakes. Betrayal, though not from who Damien expected it to come from, stung so very deep.
"What do you want in return?" Damien asked.
Amara twitched an eyebrow. "Good question, smart question. Let's just say I have. personal reasons for wanting Reynard out of the picture. But if you want to know specifics, I'll settle for a bit of protection."
"Protection from whom?"
"Everyone," she said simply. " I have a lot of enemies, Duke. Most of them would kill me if they knew I was here. But if I ally myself with you. well, you're the scariest person they know."
Damien couldn't suppress a dry chuckle. "I'm flattered."
Amara crossed her arms, frowning. "Listen, I am not asking you to do something blindly. I know you have no reason to believe me."
"But you are trying to clean up this mess you made, aren't you? I can help you. Maybe you can hold a sword fairly well, but you're going to need something other than brute strength to overthrow Reynard and men like him. You're going to need someone who can slip through the cracks; someone who can find the secrets they don't want known."
She was persuasive, and Damien hated how it felt right. He didn't think he could wipe his past clean without help. If her information was right, he might actually find an ally.
"Fine," he said finally, lowering the dagger. "I'll give you a chance, but if you betray me?"
Amara held up a hand. "I get it. You'll kill me in some creative and terrifying way. Noted."
Damien sheathed the dagger but kept his gaze fixed on her. "I'll need to verify this map. If it's accurate, we'll discuss next steps."
"Take your time," Amara said, already moving toward the door. "I'll be around."
"How do I reach you?"
She paused, glancing over her shoulder with a sly grin. "Don't worry, Your Grace. I'll find you."
And so he went out of the study, leaving to his thoughts alone Damien.
---
The next day, Damien called in his spymaster. He was a scrawny man with piercing eyes and a permanently furrowed brow that gave him a hawklike appearance.
You wanted to see me, Your Grace?' Orlen asked, bowing his head. He pushed the map across the desk. "I want this confirmed. Discreetly. Mind the western territories—Reynard's places." Orlen's eyes lingered over the map. Now his face fell serious.
"It is. disturbing, Your Grace. If true, then Lord Reynard is far more wicked than I ever could have thought possible."
"Exactly why I want it confirmed, " said Damien. "And I want it done quickly."
Orlen nodded.
"Okay," he said.
As the spymaster departed, Damien slumped back into his seat, running over in his mind what had been said. If Reynard was indeed gathering strength to prepare a revolt, then Damien's second chance would likely prove far more complicated than he'd envisioned. But remaining, resting, and ruminating above all else was Amara Draven. Who was she, really? Her confidence, her skill, her knowledge of his enemies-it didn't seem right for some rogue looking for coins. She had a history-one she wasn't ready to share. But for now, she'd given him a tool he couldn't ignore.
---
As evening fell, the gentle tapping, echoing within the four walls of his study, announced some presence.
"Enter!" he instructed, expecting Mathias or one of his guards to enter.
Instead, Amara entered with unusually serious expression for her.
"Back so soon?" Damien asked in slight disbelief.
"I thought you'd like to know," she said and gently closed the door behind her. "Reynard knows."
Damien paused. "Knows what?"
"That someone is poking around in his business. He is wearing a look of fear and has already begun taking steps to cover up."
Damien muttered an oath under his breath. "How do you know this?"
"Because I saw his men leave the city." Amara's voice shook a bit from the intensity of the moment. "They're headed out west, probably to secure his strongholds."
Damien balled his fists. If Reynard was already reacting—the clock was running down with ferocity.
"We have to move faster," he said. "If he gathers his forces, then we have lost our chance of stopping him."
Amara intejected with a sardonic smile, "Well, good! I was hoping you'd say that."
As Amara advanced into his space, Damien knew whatever lay ahead, but one thing was manifest: this second chance was no fight for redemption, it was merely a struggle for survival.
And with allies like Amara, it would be a war unlike any he had ever fought before.