Daggermouth

Chapter twelveMy Sweet, Spineless Heir

The elevator door to Greyson’s apartment floor swept open with a hiss like a final exhalation before his sanctuary became a battlefield. That’s what it would be with a Daggermouth living beside him—a battlefield.

He pushed his key into the apartment door, twisting until it clicked, then pushed it open. For a moment he hesitated, knowing the second he took a step forward, there would be no turning back.

Greyson took a deep breath then closed his eyes, not caring about the guards or the Daggermouth at his back, and let himself feel as the last vestiges of control slipped through his fingers.

This was it, this was his life now.

His father had won.

His eyes shot open as two hands slammed against his back, jolting him forward and over the threshold. Pain flared through his body as his head snapped toward Shadera and his fingers found the wall for balance.

This fucking Daggermouth.

“Move,” she barked, elbowing past him into the entryway.

He swallowed back a snarl, his eyes narrowing on her as the Veyra slid in beside him and fa

She stood three feet to his left, close enough that he could hear her breathing—controlled despite the bruises mapping her face. She didn’t look at him, keeping her eyes fixed ahead, her posture deliberately casual, though her shoulders remained rigid. Blood still crusted her hairline, her left eye swelling rapidly—evidence of what the Veyra had done to her in that prison.

Greyson found himself wondering what other wounds she was hiding underneath her torn clothes, what other prices she’d paid for her failed assassination. None of them would be enough.

The only fair price was her life.

“Standard security sweep, sir,” Mikel a

Greyson nodded once, the gesture mechanical. His throat had gone dry the moment they’d stepped through the door. Beneath his bedroom closet, wrapped in anti-scan mesh and hidden under a false panel in the floorboards, lay enough contraband medical supplies stamped with the Serel serial number to earn him a public execution.

One moved to the windows, sca

But it was the fourth officer that made Greyson’s fingers twitch against his thigh. The man headed straight for the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

Shadera shifted her weight, arms crossing over her chest. The movement was relaxed, but Greyson caught the way her eyes tracked each guard, cataloging their weapons, their positions, their blind spots. Even beaten and bloodied, she was calculating angles of attack. He wondered if she’d try something stupid. Part of him hoped she would—it might provide enough distraction to keep the guards from being thorough. Or at the very least get her killed.

Either would work for him.

“Living area clear,” the first guard reported, moving toward Greyson’s study.

The wound in his abdomen chose that moment to tear, sending a lance of fire through his core. He kept his expression neutral behind the mask, but his hand pressed against his side.

The motion drew Shadera’s attention. Her green eyes flicked to his hand, then up to his mask, and for one suspended moment he thought he saw something other than hatred there. Recognition, maybe. He knew from how she fought, she knew pain intimately—lived in it, breathed it, distributed it like currency.

The thought eddied from his mind as her lips curled into a smug smile and her eyes turned back to the Veyra.

The officer in his study was pulling books from shelves now, shaking them open, checking for hollowed-out pages. Each thud of a book hitting the floor was an echo of his rapid heartbeat. Greyson’s pulse hammered against his ribs. If they found the supplies, his father would know everything. The careful balance he’d maintained for years would shatter.

“Clear,” came the call from the study.

Three guards headed toward the bedroom where their captain was already searching, converging on the hallway. Greyson forced himself to remain by the door, knowing that following would only draw suspicion. His fingers curled into his palm, nails biting crescents into skin. Beside him, Shadera had gone perfectly still, the stillness of a predator sensing a shift in the wind—sensing danger.

The master bedroom door opened. Greyson heard drawers sliding open, the rustle of clothing being moved as the captain searched. One guard was checking behind artwork on the walls. Another had dropped to his knees, ru

The third opened the closet door.

Time dilated. Greyson listened as the sound of the guard’s boots thudded into the walk-in closet, heard hangers scraping against the rod as clothing was pushed aside. The man would check the walls first, then the ceiling, then—

“Captain.” The guard’s voice carried from the closet. Greyson’s stomach plummeted. “Walls seem solid, but I should check—”

“Leave it,” Mikel interrupted. “The President wants this done quickly. If the Daggermouths managed to smuggle any surveillance devices in here, our preliminary scans would have detected it.”

The boots’ tread grew louder as he exited the closet, the officer moving to check the bathroom instead.

Greyson allowed himself a microscopic exhale.

His shirt had gone damp underneath the Veyra uniform jacket, and the tremor in his hand had begun working in overdrive. He cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back, and tried to mimic some semblance of a man unbothered.

Twenty minutes stretched like hours. The guards were thorough but not exhaustive, their search designed more to establish presence than to actually find anything. His father’s real message was clear.

I own this space now. I own you both.

Finally, Mikel approached. “The sweep is complete, sir.” He paused, mask tilting toward Shadera. “Any attempts to leave will be interpreted as violation of the President’s directive.”

“Understood,” Greyson managed, his voice steady despite the adrenaline still flooding his system.

“Not you, sir. Just her. Of course you may come and go as you please, uninterrupted,” Mikel responded as Shadera scoffed.

That was a lie.

He could no longer exist uninterrupted, let alone walk the streets of the Heart without being watched from every angle. Greyson nodded in response, not trusting himself to speak. Right now, his words would only lead to violence.

The Veyra filed out in formation, the door clicking shut behind them. Greyson waited exactly three seconds, then reached up and pulled the obsidian mask from his face. The cool air hit his skin like absolution. He placed the mask on its stand by the door then pulled open the entry table drawer.

The sca

Greyson powered on the device, the display showing a subtle electromagnetic field overlay of the room. He began at the door, moving in slow, methodical sweeps.

Behind him, Shadera remained where she’d stood during the entire search, watching him with those calculating eyes. He could feel her gaze on the back of his neck as he worked, could sense her processing this new information about him—that he didn’t trust his own father, that he had secrets worth protecting, that he was perhaps more than just the Heart’s obedient Executioner.

The sca

They were now prisoners in a glass cage, every word and movement monitored.

The sca

“You should—”

“Don’t fucking speak,” Greyson snapped, cutting Shadera off as his eyes flickered from the sca

She stared back at him for a long moment, her features hardening even as understanding dawned on her face.

She was a fucking cunt, but she wasn’t stupid.

She stayed silent, pressing her lips together in a tight line as she gestured for Greyson to continue. Another device, tucked into the window’s black metal frame.

“Actually, fuck you.”

I take it back. She is fucking stupid.

“Your Daddy should hear when I make his perfect little prince squeal in pain,” Shadera said from behind him.

Greyson’s head shot up, eyes locking on to hers as a

“Put the fucking mask back on, Serel. Taking it off is what landed us in this shit situation.”

Greyson couldn’t hide the exasperation that washed over his face. “You trying to assassinate me is what got us into this situation. And why should I? We’re already as good as married according to mask law.” He turned away from her, moving along the wall as the sca

Shadera scoffed, the sound sharp enough to cut glass. “I’ll never marry you.”

She moved past him toward the kitchen, her gait slightly uneven from whatever damage the Veyra had done to her. Greyson tracked her movement peripherally while keeping the sca

“There we go.” She pulled out a bottle of vodka, made before the city’s partition. Worth more than most Boundary residents saw in three years. She twisted off the cap and drank straight from the bottle, no wince, no hesitation. Just a long pull that made her throat work in a way that drew his attention before he forced his eyes back to the sca

She was actually insane.

Nine devices so far. Another one in the entrance to the bedroom hallway.

“Fuck, that’s smooth,” Shadera breathed, wiping her mouth and inspecting the bottle.