WRATH OF THE ASHEN TWINS: REBORN IN BLOOD

Blood on the Silver spoon

When corrupt politicians try to clean up their mess with hired killers during a formal dinner, everything falls apart fast.

The dining hall was dead silent except for the heavy, suffocating weight of twenty years of betrayal hanging in the air. Crystal chandeliers threw sharp light across the room. Silver cutlery clicked against bone china. Lady Eleanor sat rigid at the far end, her smile frozen so tight her jaw looked like it would snap, while Cassian sweated straight through his expensive velvet doublet. Everyone at that table was calculating how to destroy everyone else.

Then the heavy oak doors of the dining hall didn't just open. They blew inward off their iron hinges with a crack that shattered the glass in our hands and rattled the wine across the table.

Shadows poured through the entrance. Men in matte-black leather armor, faces hidden behind cruel iron masks, moving with the dead, synchronized silence that only elite guild killers possess. The Crimson Vane. The most feared shadow guild in the kingdom, hired directly by the high council to wipe us out before morning.

Chaos hit the room instantly.

Lady Eleanor shrieked at the top of her lungs, diving under the mahogany table like a frightened rabbit. Little Clara burst into tears, curling into a tight ball by her mother's velvet skirts. And Julian? Big, tough Julian fell backward out of his high-backed chair, dragging the heavy tablecloth, his plate of roasted pheasant, and a full goblet of red wine right down on top of himself. He looked like a bloody mess before a single blade had even cleared its scabbard.

Cassian scrambled backward, his chair screeching against the marble floor, his eyes wide with sheer panic as he stared at the armed killers swarming the room.

Vesper and Cael didn't blink.

Before the first assassin could even raise his heavy crossbow, Cael grabbed the edge of the heavy mahogany dining table—loaded with silver platters and half-eaten food—and flipped it over with a single violent heave. It crashed into the floor, creating an instant barricade right in front of us.

"Get down!" Cael yelled across the wood, his voice sharp and steady.

The assassins opened fire. Heavy iron bolts slammed into the underside of the table, splintering wood and hissing past our ears with lethal force.

"My turn," Vesper whispered, her eyes flashing a bright, cold shade of violet.

She didn't reach for a weapon. With a sharp flick of her wrist, a wave of dark purple magic erupted from her palm like a physical shockwave. It slammed straight into the front line of assassins, sending three grown men flying backward. They crashed hard against the stone pillars, their ribs snapping like dry twigs.

I vaulted over the overturned table, my boots hitting the marble with a heavy thud. My old leg scar throbbed with a sharp spike of white-hot pain from the beast-rot, but adrenaline burned right through it. Pain just meant I was still breathing, and I had work to do.

An assassin lunged at me, a poisoned dagger flashing toward my throat. I ducked under his swing, spun on my heel, and drove the heavy pommel of my hunting knife straight up under his iron mask. He dropped instantly.

To my left, Cael moved like a blur. He caught another assassin mid-charge, blocked a strike with his round iron shield, and swept the man's legs out from under him. Before the guy could hit the ground, Cael’s short sword drove deep through his chest plate. Clean, brutal, efficient.

The entire room turned into a slaughterhouse in less than ninety seconds.

Blood splattered across the gold-plated candlesticks. The sweet smell of roasted pheasant vanished, replaced by the sharp, metallic stench of fresh blood and smoke.

Within two minutes, seven of the eight elite killers were motionless on the floor.

The last one—the squad leader—tried to crawl toward the shattered doorway, clutching a shattered shoulder where Vesper’s magic had hit him. He was wheezing behind his mask, dragging himself across the bloody marble.

Cael walked over, planted the heel of his boot between the man's shoulder blades, and pressed down until the assassin gasped in agony. Cael rested the tip of his bloody short sword against the back of the guy's neck.

"Going somewhere?" Cael asked, his voice deadpan and cold.

Over by the table, Cassian and his family peeked out from hiding, completely paralyzed. Lady Eleanor was shaking so violently her teeth chattered. Julian stared at the corpses with wide, blank eyes.

I walked over slowly, my boots squelching in the blood pooling on the floor. I crouched down, grabbed the edge of the assassin's iron mask, and ripped it off.

The man beneath it was middle-aged, sweating, with a jagged scar across his jaw. He stared up at me with panicked eyes.

"The... the Crimson Vane..." he choked out, coughing up blood. "The high council hired us... they'll send a thousand more..."

I let out a cold breath, leaning in close.

"I know who hired you," I whispered. "And I know exactly who runs this pathetic kingdom."

I grabbed his leather collar, pulling him up so he had no choice but to look me in the eye.

"Here’s what's going to happen. You are going to get up. You are going to load your dead friends into a cart and deliver them straight to the front steps of the high council's private quarters before sunrise."

The assassin's eyes widened. "You're letting me live?"

"I'm not letting you live out of mercy," I hissed. "I'm letting you live because I need you to deliver a message. Tell the lords who paid you that the ghost they threw off a cliff twenty years ago is back. And if they want me dead, they better come down here themselves—because next time, I'm taking the whole damn throne."

I stood up, stepping off his back. The assassin scrambled up like a terrified animal, grabbed his broken shoulder, and threw himself out the shattered doors into the dark hallway, dragging his dead comrades behind him.

The dining hall fell into a suffocating silence.

I turned around slowly, wiping a stray drop of blood off my cheek, and looked down the length of the ruined room.

Cassian was still sitting flat on his back in the spilled gravy, staring at me like I was a monster.

"Well," I said, my voice echoing off the blood-stained stone as I picked up my wine goblet, which was miraculously still upright. I took a slow sip. "Dinner was lovely, Your Highness. We should definitely do this again sometime."