"My lord, I think we should leave this place immediately," Raymond whispered to Finn the moment Fenrik stepped out and began addressing the crowd.
The words barely reached Finn's ear, swallowed by the hum of voices and clinking goblets, but the tension in Raymond's tone cut through the noise. Finn did not turn to look at him right away. His eyes stayed forward, watching Fenrik's slow, deliberate movements as he positioned himself where everyone could see him. The man carried himself so proudly with that annoying ponytail of his.
Finn was still waiting for the real reason behind the invitation and besides, he had plans of his own if he managed to walk out alive. His fingers curled slightly at his side, then relaxed. He had already accepted the possibility of death the moment he stepped into the hall. That part did not bother him. What bothered him was leaving without doing what he came here to do.
Raymond had been uneasy ever since Fenrik and his subordinates appeared. Finn had noticed it right away. The shift had been subtle at first, a stiffening of Raymond's shoulders, a hand hovering closer to his sword than usual. In fact, it reminded him of the first time Raymond had taken him to the fuck house. The same sharp alertness in his gaze, the same silent calculation. That night, Raymond had been watching the doors instead of the women, scanning every shadow like something might leap out at them.
"What is it, Raymond? We just got here," Finn whispered back.
He finally turned his head slightly, just enough to catch Raymond's profile. The knight's jaw was tight, lips pressed thin. He did not look relaxed the way other guards did at noble gatherings. He looked like a man standing on a battlefield, waiting for the first arrow to fly.
"This place smells of danger. It's my duty to protect you at all costs. I cannot fail you, my lord," Raymond said seriously, his voice tight with concern.
His hand flexed once, fingers brushing against the hilt of his sword as if to reassure himself it was still there. He rarely spoke this much, especially not about his own feelings. Tonight, though, there was no mistaking it. He was genuinely alarmed.
'Does he know about the plan? Finn wondered.'
His gaze drifted back to Fenrik, then to the nobles gathered around him. Laughter rippled through the crowd, light and careless. Silk sleeves brushed past one another. Jewels caught the candlelight and glittered. It all looked normal. Was Raymond aware of what was about to happen?
Finn could have left if he wanted to. He could have taken Raymond's warning seriously and walked straight out the doors, mounted his horse, and disappeared into the night. But coming here to die for his father wasn't the only thing he had planned tonight. That had merely been the excuse. The lie everyone believed. He needed to stay, in fact, he needed to stay until the very end.
"Raymond, you are my knight, sworn to protect me if danger arises," Finn said quietly, forcing calm into his voice. "Here, I neither smell nor see any danger. This is merely a gathering, a celebration of whatever cause it may be. As a stand in baron, my presence here is for the sake of…"
His words trailed off even to his own ears. He knew he was rambling. The explanation sounded hollow, stitched together from phrases he had heard other nobles use a hundred times. He was halfway through inventing the rest when someone spoke.
Before Finn could finish his improvised nonsense, words even he barely understood, he was interrupted.
"Oh, Sir Raymond. What a pleasant surprise to see you at my gathering." The voice was smooth, amused, and unmistakable.
Fenrik approached, flanked by his two loyal lapdogs. They moved in perfect step with him, close enough to feel intentional. Raymond straightened immediately. He gave Fenrik a stiff nod, then locked eyes with him. The air between them changed.
Finn felt the tension immediately, sharp and electric. It was the kind of silence that followed a drawn blade, the kind that made conversations nearby falter for just a second before resuming. Something was going on between the two. Finn could feel it in the way Raymond did not look away, and in the way Fenrik's smile did not quite reach his eyes.
For Fenrik to acknowledge a knight before a noble was unusual.
"Hey, you cunt," Oliver sneered. "How dare you not bow to your duke?"
Finn resisted the urge to sigh. Just had to remind him about the bowing ritual, as if Finn had not been bending his spine all evening for people who thought themselves gods. He shifted his weight, then bowed to Fenrik properly, slow and deliberate.
When he straightened, he glanced at Oliver. The look he gave him was calm, almost lazy, but there was a promise in it. We will meet later.
"Oh, you must be Baron Jakob Boldon's son," Fenrik said, his attention finally settling on Finn. "How disappointing. I truly thought I'd see him here today. Where is he, by the way?"
Finn felt the familiar irritation rise, hot and sharp, but he kept his expression neutral.
"My father is ill, so he sent me in his place," Finn replied. "The old man wants me to learn politics before I grow hair on my chest."
A few nobles nearby chuckled quietly. Finn barely noticed. With every word, Finn reconsidered whether it was wise to speak so casually to a psychopath like Fenrik. The man's smile did not falter, but his eyes flicked over Finn with something cold and measuring.
"Oh, I hope he recovers," Fenrik said smoothly. "I wanted him here today. But you'll do. I have a message for him. I'll send it through you." The words carried weight, more threat than courtesy.
Fenrik smiled, briefly glanced at Raymond, then turned to leave. The look he gave the knight was quick, almost dismissive, yet loaded with something unspoken. He took two steps away, then stopped.
Fenrik looked back at Finn, head tilting slightly, as if noticing something for the first time.
"I love your cologne," Fenrik said. "It smells nice and cheap."
The other two burst into laughter, loud and unrestrained.
Finn opened his mouth. "Oh, thank you, it's…" He did not get to finish.
Fenrik had already turned away, seamlessly slipping back into conversation with another noble, as if Finn had ceased to exist.
Finn's jaw tightened. His fingers curled into his palm.
"That bastard," Finn muttered under his breath. "I'll make his life miserable if we ever meet one on one."
"I really think we should leave, my lord," Raymond insisted. Finn turned on him sharply.
"Shut the fuck up, Raymond," Finn snapped. "Your lord was just insulted right in front of you, and you claim to protect me. Bad review, Ray. Very bad."
Raymond's expression did not change, but something in his eyes dimmed. He exhaled slowly, then finally gave up trying to drag Finn away.
Time stretched. Music played. Servants moved through the crowd with trays of wine. Conversations resumed their normal rhythm, nobles laughing and gossiping as if death were not hanging quietly in the air. Finn watched them all, one by one. Faces flushed with drink. Backs turned. Guards relaxed.
As time passed, Finn expected nobles to start dropping dead at any moment, bodies collapsing onto marble floors, screams tearing through the hall. But nothing happened.
His heartbeat slowed, then quickened again. He wondered if Fenrik had abandoned his plan altogether, or if this delay was part of it. Waiting had always been his least favorite form of torture.
Then Fenrik stepped into the center of the hall. The music faded. Voices quieted. Heads turned.
"Everyone," he announced, smiling, "it is time…" The silence deepened, a pause. "…for you all to die."