The reception hall of the Royal Palace was a sea of pastel silk and forced laughter.

It was the weekly gathering for the kingdom's elite.

Marcus Aldridge stood near the buffet table and held a glass of sparkling wine he had no intention of drinking.

He was currently hiding from three different women.

Seraphina was in the corner, but her eyes kept drifting toward him.

Catarina was holding court with a group of merchants, but she had winked at him twice.

Iris was supposedly studying human architecture, but she was studying him.

Marcus needed a distraction.

He scanned the room for a safe harbor.

His eyes landed on a figure standing near the balcony doors.

It was Countess Vivienne Blackthorn.

She wore a gown of midnight blue velvet. It was tasteful, modest, and incredibly expensive.

She held a fan in one hand and nodded politely at a minor baron who was droning on about turnip yields.

She looked perfect.

She looked like the ideal noble widow.

She also looked like she was slowly dying inside.

Marcus watched her for a moment.

Her posture was rigid. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. It stopped at her mouth like a border guard.

Her amber eyes, usually so sharp and predatory, looked glassy.

She was performing a role.

Marcus recognized the symptoms immediately.

He sighed.

His brain told him to stay away.

Adding the intense, terrifyingly attractive mother of his best friend to his list of complications was a bad idea.

But his gut told him he couldn't leave her like that.

Marcus set his glass down. He adjusted his coat.

He walked across the room.

He navigated the sea of skirts and swords and arrived at Vivienne's side just as the baron paused for breath.

"Countess Blackthorn," Marcus said. He bowed slightly. "I hope I am not interrupting."

Vivienne turned. For a second, a spark of relief flared in her eyes.

"Lord Aldridge," she said. Her voice was smooth and practiced. "Not at all. Baron Miller was just explaining the intricacies of root vegetable rotation."

The Baron looked flustered. "I... yes. Fascinating subject."

"Indeed," Marcus said. "But I must steal the Countess for a moment. I have a question regarding... estate management."

He offered his arm.

Vivienne took it. Her grip was firm, stronger than a lady's should be.

"You saved me," she murmured as they walked away. "Five more minutes and I would have strangled him with his own cravat."

"I noticed," Marcus said.

They walked toward the open balcony doors. The night air was cool against the stuffy heat of the ballroom.

"You look lovely tonight, Vivienne," Marcus said.

"Thank you," she replied automatically. "One must keep up appearances."

"You look miserable," Marcus corrected.

Vivienne stopped walking. She stiffened.

She looked at him. The polite mask cracked slightly.

"Excuse me?"

"You look like you're wearing a costume," Marcus said. "And it's two sizes too small."

He gestured to the ballroom behind them.

"You are standing there, nodding at people you despise, talking about things you don't care about."

He looked her in the eye.

"The Crimson Viper seems very far away tonight."

Vivienne pulled her arm away. She turned to face the railing. Her knuckles were white on the stone.

"The Crimson Viper retired ten years ago," she said sharply.

"Did she?" Marcus asked.

"I am a Countess now," Vivienne said. She sounded like she was reciting a lesson she hated. "I am a mother. I have responsibilities."

"Those are roles," Marcus said softly. "They are things you do. They aren't who you are."

"Who I am is irrelevant," Vivienne snapped. "This is my life, Marcus. This is what respectable women do."

"Is it?"

"Yes! We host parties. We discuss turnips. We fade gracefully into the background so our children can shine."

She took a ragged breath.

"We do not run around forests with knives."

"Why not?" Marcus asked.

"Because it isn't proper!"

"Proper for whom?" Marcus pressed. "For the neighbors? For the ghost of your ex-husband?"

Vivienne flinched. The mention of her ex-husband hit a nerve.

"You don't understand," she whispered.

"Then help me understand," Marcus said. "But not here."

He gestured to a secluded alcove further down the balcony. It was shadowed and private.

"Tell me the truth, Vivienne. Not the Countess's truth. Yours."

Vivienne looked at the ballroom. She looked at the alcove.

She looked at Marcus.

She saw no judgment in his gray eyes. Only curiosity. And an infuriating amount of patience.

She let out a long, frustrated sigh.

"Fine," she said.

She marched toward the alcove.

Marcus followed and prepared himself.

✧✧✧

The alcove was quiet.

Vivienne paced back and forth. The space was too small for her energy.

She looked like a tiger pacing in a gilded cage.

"You want the truth?" she asked. She didn't wait for an answer. "The truth is that I am bored."

She spun around.

"I am bored out of my mind, Marcus. I wake up, I approve menus, I sign ledgers, I attend parties, I sleep. Repeat until death."

"And before?" Marcus asked. "When you were adventuring?"

Vivienne stopped pacing. A distant look entered her eyes.

"It was chaos," she said softly. "It was dirty. It was dangerous."

A small smile touched her lips. It was the first genuine expression he had seen on her all night.

"We slept in mud. We ate dried rations that tasted like sawdust. We smelled like wet dog and ozone."

She looked at her manicured hands.

"But when you step into a boss room... when the air pressure drops and you feel the killing intent... you are awake."

She clenched her fist.

"Every nerve is singing. You aren't worrying about stupid turnips. You are worrying about survival."

"You were good at it," Marcus said.

"I was the best," she said simply. There was no arrogance in it. Just fact.

"I was an A-Rank. The Guildmaster begged me to take contracts. Monsters checked under their beds for me."

Her shoulders slumped. The light faded from her eyes.

"Then I met Aldric."

She sat on the stone bench. She arranged her skirts carefully. The Countess was back.

"He told me it was time to grow up," she said bitterly. "He told me a Count's wife doesn't carry daggers. He told me I had to be soft to be worthy of him."

She let out a harsh laugh.

"So I became soft. I locked the Viper away. I became the perfect wife. I gave him everything."

She looked up at Marcus. Her eyes shone with unshed tears.

"And he cheated on me with a barmaid who barely knew how to read."

Marcus sat beside her. He left a respectful distance between them.

"He was a fool," Marcus said. "He tried to turn a falcon into a canary because he was afraid of your wings."

"Maybe," Vivienne said. "But the falcon forgot how to fly, Marcus. It's been ten years. My muscles are stiff. My instincts are dull."

"Muscle memory is a powerful thing," Marcus countered.

"I'm thirty-eight," she whispered. "In this world, that is ancient for an adventurer. If I go back out there... what if I fail? What if I'm just a pathetic old woman playing dress-up?"

"That's the fear talking," Marcus said. "That's the voice Aldric put in your head."

He turned to face her fully.

"You aren't afraid of failing, Vivienne. You're afraid of loving it."

Vivienne stared at him.

He had hit the mark. He always hit the mark.

"If I love it," she said slowly, "I won't be able to come back to this." She waved a hand at the ballroom. "I won't be able to pretend anymore."

"Good," Marcus said.

"It's not that simple."

"It is," Marcus insisted. "You don't have to conquer the world. You don't have to join a grand crusade."

He leaned closer.

"Just take one step. Do one raid. A small one. A moderate dungeon. Just to see."

"A raid?" Vivienne scoffed. "I don't even have a party. Who would take me? I'm a noblewoman who hasn't held a blade in a decade."

"You have contacts," Marcus said. "You have the Guild. Call in a favor. Use a pseudonym if you have to."

He challenged her with his eyes.

"Unless, of course, the Crimson Viper really is gone. Unless you really do prefer the turnips."

Vivienne's eyes narrowed.

The gold in her irises seemed to brighten.

"You are manipulating me," she accused.

"Is it working?"

She looked at him. She looked at the door leading back to the boring party.

She looked down at her hands.

Slowly, deliberately, she unclasped the heavy pearl bracelet on her wrist.

She dropped it into her purse.

"I still have my old daggers," she murmured. "I kept them. Hidden in the back of my wardrobe. Behind the winter coats."

"Are they sharp?" Marcus asked.

Vivienne smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was a smile that promised violence.

"They are mithril, Marcus. They never lose their edge."

She stood up. The rigid posture was gone. She stood with her weight on the balls of her feet.

"One raid," she said. "Just to prove you wrong. Just to prove I'm too old for this nonsense."

"Of course," Marcus said. "Just for scientific purposes."

"I'll need a week," she said, planning aloud. "To condition. To find a group that won't ask questions."

"Take your time."

"And if I break a hip," she warned, "I am blaming you."

"I'll pay the healer," Marcus promised.

Vivienne looked at him one last time. There was a new energy coming off her. It crackled like static.

"You are a dangerous man, Marcus," she said.

"I'm just a... scumbag," Marcus replied.

She laughed. It was a rich, throaty sound that made a passing waiter stumble.

"Are you?" she asked not expecting any answer.

She turned and walked back into the party.

But she didn't walk like a Countess anymore.

She walked like she was sizing up the room for kill zones.

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