Novels by SEVEN

The heavy oak doors of the royal bedchamber clicked shut, leaving Rhovek alone with the man who claimed to be his monarch. The room was unnaturally cold, smelling of crushed lavender and a sharp, stinging scent of ozone that prickled the back of Rhovek’s throat.The King sat at his mahogany desk, quill in hand, his posture eerily perfect. He did not look up."You have a habit of wandering, Minister," the King said, his voice smooth, devoid of any genuine inflection. "The palace is a labyrinth for those who do not belong in its corridors."Rhovek took a measured step into the room, his hand instinctively straying toward his waist where a concealed dagger sat. "I was just looking for a bit of air. This place gets stuffy, don't you think?""Stuffy?" The King finally looked up. His eyes were like polished glass, reflecting the candlelight without a flicker of life behind them. "It is the seat of power. Power is often heavy."Rhovek felt his body surge with the need to kneel, to bow, to of

The heavy, carved oak doors of the Cabinet Chamber groaned as they swung open, a sound that Rhovek felt in his marrow. He strode in, his posture—as always—defying his own will, radiating a statesman-like authority that made the other ministers stop their hushed conversations and turn toward him with varying degrees of sycophancy and envy."Gentlemen," Rhovek announced, his voice smooth, resonant, and entirely unwanted. "I trust the city has not managed to burn down in the last four hours?"Veylor Karth stood at the far end of the long, polished mahogany table, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, nervous beat against a stack of ledgers. He flashed a thin, practiced smile. "Not yet, Dalmarys. Though I’m sure your arrival will give us the spark we’ve been missing."Rhovek slid into his designated chair, the leather creaking under him. He caught Kervos, standing stoically by the door, roll his eyes just enough to be seen. "I’m sure you’re right, Karth. I’m simply here to offer a few observati

The silence of the palace was not the quiet of a sleeping house; it was the suffocating, heavy stillness of a tomb. Every step Rhovek took on the marble floor felt like a thunderclap. Beside him, Kervos was a ghost, his hand locked onto his hilt, his eyes darting through the ink-black corridors."Remind me," Kervos whispered, his voice barely a breath. "Why exactly are we breaking into the most heavily fortified vault in the kingdom during a magical blackout?""Because, you simpleton," Rhovek hissed, sliding past a frozen suit of armor, "if the lights are out, the alarm runes are dead. It is the only time the crown jewels are actually vulnerable. I didn't spend my life learning how to crack locks just to end up as a glorified social worker for the Silt.""You seem pretty committed to the role, My Lord," Kervos muttered. "Especially considering you spent the last hour worrying about whether or not the orphanage had enough firewood."Rhovek stopped, his face contorting in the darkness.

The man in the midnight-blue coat stepped out of the shadows, his boots making no sound on the wet cobblestones. He didn't move like a thug; he moved like a predator who had spent his entire life hunting in the dark.Rhovek felt his skin prickle. His instincts, sharpened by decades of dodging city watchmen and rival guilds, screamed at him to back away, to melt into the architecture. But his body? His body stood firm, chest out, chin tilted with a maddening, noble air."You speak in riddles, friend," Rhovek said, his voice smooth and measured. "The Silt is a place of many ghosts. I suggest you pick a clearer target for your accusations."Zhaevor Kress stepped into the dim light of a flickering street lamp. His face was angular, his eyes like polished obsidian. He didn't blink. "Rhovek Dalmarys was a thief who wouldn't know a charity ward if it bit him on the backside. Yet, here you are, handing out coin and breaking heads for the benefit of the downtrodden. It’s a compelling act.""It

The following morning, the Silt District greeted Rhovek with the familiar, suffocating stench of wet rot, coal smoke, and desperation. It was home. Or at least, it had been his home for thirty years before he woke up in a body that smelled like lavender and expensive soap.He stood on a rickety balcony overlooking the central market, his fingers itching to swipe a gold-inlaid coin purse from a passing merchant. Instead, his right hand was busy waving with an airy, regal grace at a cluster of soot-covered children."Look at this place, Kervos," Rhovek muttered, his smile tight enough to crack his porcelain skin. "It’s a dump. A goldmine of misery, but a dump nonetheless. How are we supposed to squeeze blood from this stone?"Kervos leaned against the damp brick railing, his eyes scanning the rooftops for snipers. "The King wants a 'prosperous' district, My Lord. Maybe start with, I don’t know, not arresting the tax collectors?""I’m not arresting them, I’m ‘optimizing’ them," Rhovek hi

The carriage ride to the Royal Palace was a study in sensory torture. Rhovek sat stiffly against the velvet upholstery, his fingers rhythmically tapping against a small, glass vial concealed in his silk sleeve. Beside him, Kervos sat in stony silence, his hand never straying far from the pommel of his sword."Stop shaking your leg, My Lord," Kervos muttered, his eyes scanning the passing streetlights. "You’re acting like a caged beast.""Because I am one," Rhovek hissed, staring at his own hands. "Do you realize how hard it is to hold a vial of lethal nightshade when your own body keeps trying to reach out and straighten your cravat? It’s humiliating, Kervos. It’s like being possessed by a saint."Kervos chuckled softly, a rare, dry sound. "Maybe the body knows better than the mind, eh? Perhaps a little nobility would do you good."Rhovek shot him a look that could have curdled cream. "I am here to empty the treasury, not to win a popularity contest. If I have to kill the King to get