When the warm season drew to a close, Valek took an evening off to go into Jewelstown. He changed before meeting the Commander. The fabric of his pants chafed against his thighs and calves. He’d been wearing a skirt so long, pants now seemed to restrict his movements—odd and amusing at the same time.

Valek looped around the Black Cat Tavern. A clash of voices and clangs of dishes and mugs poured from the open windows—normal tavern sounds. Too bad the four goons hiding in the shadows around the building were not standard. Assassins? No. They were too easy to spot. Valek waited until a group of people entered and he slipped inside with them.

A mix of patrons filled the bar and occupied the tables. Even without spotting the subtle differences in clothing, the body language marked the soldiers from the civilians. The Commander sat in the darkest corner of the room. Valek wondered how close he’d get before someone tried to stop him. Not many of the Commander’s followers knew about Valek.

Sure enough, a wall of muscles inserted themselves between him and the Commander about two tables out.

Valek showed them his empty hands. “I’m just looking to sign up, boys.”

“Let him through,” Ambrose said.

They parted. He squeezed in between them and sat across from the Commander.

Valek hooked a thumb at the brutes. “Are they here in response to those four waiting for you outside?”

“Four? Hell, Lenny said there were two.” He waved a man over and told him about the others. “Do another sweep right before we leave and make sure no more have joined their friends.”

“Yes, sir.” The man glanced at Valek before moving away.

“They’re not the King’s men or assassins. Mercenaries?” Valek asked.

Ambrose gave him a tired smile. “Close. They’re bounty hunters. Once the King figured out he couldn’t reach me with the professionals, he thought if he offered enough gold some untrained hack would get lucky. They’re more annoying than dangerous.” He swigged his ale. Dark smudges lined his eyes. “How’s your pet project going?”

“I’m in.”

He straightened. “How soon?”

“The next time the King is feeling amorous.”

Ambrose laughed. “And how will we know that?”

Good question. “Do you have anyone else inside the castle?”

“Half the servants and more than half the soldiers.”

Impressive. “I’ll give a message to one of them to deliver to you. You’ll have about five hours’ notice. Will that be enough?”

“Plenty. Give the message to a housekeeper named Margg. Do you know her?”

“I’ve seen her around. Is she trustworthy?”

“Yes. She’s from my town. I sent her to work undercover at the castle years ago.”

“All right. Do you want me to take care of those annoying bounty hunters lying in wait for you?”

“No. They’re potential recruits.”

“And if they refuse to join the cause?”

“I haven’t encountered that problem yet.”

“You certainly present a convincing argument,” Valek said. He rubbed his chest as he remembered their first encounter. “Does everyone get a C carved into their skin?”

“Only you.”

That surprised him. “Why?”

“You’re the only one who managed to get close.”

“Even the other assassins?”

“Yes. I can sense them coming, while you were a complete surprise.”

Funny, it didn’t seem that way to Valek. Perhaps the Commander was a magician. “Sense them with your magic?”

Horror creased Ambrose’s face. “No. Magicians are vile creatures and we will cleanse our society of them, starting with the King.”

We, meaning Valek. He had no love for magicians, but to kill them all...seemed a waste of resources. “They could be an asset to your rule.”

“No. They’re not trustworthy.”

This was the first time Valek hadn’t agreed with the Commander. Not that it changed anything. He’d sworn his loyalty to the man.

Valek left the tavern and changed back into female clothing. He rubbed a hand along his jaw, testing for stubble. Sometimes he needed to shave twice a day. Returning to the castle, he checked in with the Queen in case she required anything. She didn’t.

Three more nights passed without a visit from the King, but on the fourth night the Queen received a message. Anticipation curled in Valek’s stomach. He handed a note to Margg to deliver to the Commander.

That night as he arranged the Queen’s thick hair so it fell in waves over her shoulders, he handed her a drink.

“This is called My Love. It’s supposed to...ah...greatly enhance the mood,” he said. “The cook swears by it and she has six children.”

The Queen blushed, but downed the drink pretty quick. Soon after, she complained of being dizzy and he helped her into bed. As Valek fluffed pillows, she died from the poison. A quick death—more than she deserved for being a nasty person.

He closed her eyes and turned the lantern down low. The biggest problem tonight would be the King’s guards. Six of them would escort the King to Jewel’s suite and they would then wait in her receiving room until morning. Her guards had the night off. Valek had to take the King’s men out before the King realized Jewel was dead and raised the alarm.

Valek changed into his black sneak suit and scanned the receiving room, searching for a good place to hide. Dark corner? No. Behind the curtains? No. Under the couch? Not if he wanted to live. He glanced up. The ceiling had shallow wooden rafters. He climbed up the wall and wedged his body between the stone ceiling and the beams that crossed above the room. It wasn’t ideal. If the soldiers spotted him, he’d be an easy target. He readied his blowpipe and darts as he waited for the King’s entourage. Hesitation wasn’t an option.