1. Ratter

RATTER

I ’d never killed a man in the middle of a waltz before. But if there was one thing I enjoyed, it was trying something new.

Not the killing. I’d murdered plenty of prickish Alpha lordlings with foul minds and wandering hands, though the one I was dancing with now should have been safe. After all, I’d made a promise to my boss, the Master Spy of Rimholt, not to murder any more Alphas this year. He’d lectured me about needing to learn when to kill, and when to only maim or terrify. He’d reminded me I was an apprentice spy, not assassin, and complained that I’d killed “as many men as the plagues,” or some such nonsense. Maybe someday, sure, but I was only seventeen.

That sort of accomplishment took time.

Keeping my foolish promise should’ve been a far easier task, since it was only a few days until the winter Solstice. But this perverted nobleman—Duke Lukenza Dunquerfer of Mirren, though I’d gotten his name wrong more times than not—had done the one thing that would make me break that vow. He’d dared to touch my little sister.

Verity stood at the edge of the ballroom, her eyes bright with tears, probably of anger. She’d been on her best court behavior, at one of her first dances. She was only eleven, after all. Then this breathing corpse had asked for a dance, waltzing her into a corner where he must have assumed no one would see him attempt to grope her.

She’d avoided his hands, but looked terrified. I knew she could have defended herself, could have killed him, as easily as I. But she’d been scared to do the deed in the middle of a royal ball, surrounded by his countrymen and family. Verity cared a little too much about showing good manners. Thankfully, she still had time to grow out of that.

I didn’t give two shits in a storm drain if the bastard’s family saw him die. I would commit any crime, from picking a pocket to slitting a throat, for the children I loved. That included the nine street rats who’d grown up with me and made up my crew of adopted siblings, as well as the rest of the urchins who worked for me from time to time but lived all over the streets of my city. It also included the king’s growing brood, who I’d sworn to guard when I was only eleven. They were all mine to protect.

Vow or no vow, Duke Dumbfucker had made his last mistake.

“You’re a strong little thing, aren’t you?” the duke grunted as I led us into the very center of the dancers, as far as I could get from Verity and the other children who were watching the ball from the sides of the room. I faked a giggle, and let the blade I had tucked in my sleeve drop into my hand. Then I gave a sharp triple whistle, in tune with the music. I didn’t have to look to know that the children were being herded out through the closest doorways by my other siblings.

They didn’t need to see this.

The duke leaned down to whisper in my ear, one of his hands landing on my bodice, just below my breast. “Not as young as I like, but you’ll do. Pert little tits ya got?—”

My knife moved faster than the strings of the harp in the orchestra as I sliced his throat, then the wrist of the hand that he’d tried to grope my sister with. My blade was razor sharp, and so he may not have felt it slice through the tendons as well. He couldn’t shout for help when he did feel it, either, though he did make an interesting gurgling noise as he stared down at the mangled appendage.

A woman screeched. “Blood! There’s blood!”

I sighed when the screaming began, knowing I wouldn’t have time to cut the hand off entirely. I was about to be in a shitload of trouble, not that I cared.

If anyone touched one of my own, the children I loved? They’d draw back a bloody stump. If they tried to do anything worse?

Honestly, whether he knew it or not, I’d done the guy a favor. There were far worse ways to die, and worse fates than death.

Thinking back on it, though, I should’ve remembered that. Because worse than death was what I’d have to face.

My boss.