Chapter 280: Flirting with the Demon

Luke stood face to face with Bartholomew. Every nerve screamed at him to strike. End it here, end it now, one clean kill in front of everyone. His hands twitched with the urge to draw steel, to carve through flesh. But reason clamped down hard. Madness. To attack here would unleash chaos, Bastion’s most dangerous fighters descending at once. Allison and Mason would be dragged into the crossfire, and worst of all, the mission would collapse. They wouldn’t even reach the first mechanism.

He cursed himself silently. Bartholomew was untouchable tonight. Protected. Too much damn luck on his side.

“And you, miss,” Bartholomew asked, eyes resting on him, “what is your name?”

“Lucy,” Luke answered evenly, forcing composure.

Allison exhaled, her tone cool, cutting. “You’re standing too close.”

Gasps rippled through the guests nearby.

“Back away!” Bartholomew commanded.

The crowd recoiled instantly, retreating in a wave. A few lingered at the edges, unwilling to miss the spectacle, but they gave them space.

“My apologies, Lady Rhiannon,” Bartholomew said smoothly, his voice silk over steel. He gestured to the hall. “I wasn’t expecting your visit, but a table has been prepared for you. Please, make yourself comfortable there or anywhere else you wish.”

“Thank you,” Allison replied. “I hope we can speak later about the future of this place. Now that Marshall is no longer… an issue.”

“Of course,” Bartholomew said, lips curving faintly.

Luke forced himself to peel away, each step leaden, carrying him toward the banquet table. He needed distance. He needed to steady the riot inside his chest. He scanned the hall instead. Other doors were shut. He could slip through as mist, but too many eyes. Too much risk.

The details pressed on him: musicians coaxing elegant notes from instruments finely wrought, a bard plucking a lute with calm precision, weaving a melody that draped the hall in refinement. Guests cloaked in silks and polished fabrics, opulence that mocked the outside world, where people scraped by with secondhand rags and wondered if they could afford soap.

On a silver tray lay masquerade masks, dainty, held by sticks. Excess paraded as entertainment. Luke turned toward a pitcher of juice and wine, needing the motion, the pretense of calm.

“Excuse me,” a voice said behind him.

He spun. A man stood there, mid twenties, polished, smiling faintly, holding something in his hand.

“Did you happen to drop this necklace?” the man asked.

Luke’s blood went cold. Instinctively, his hand darted to his hair, where Artemis was hidden, then to his throat, where Allison’s necklace rested. Both still there.

He studied the item in the man’s palm, forcing control over his face. “No. That necklace isn’t mine.”

“Are you sure?” The man’s smile deepened. “Madam, I think it would look beautiful around your neck.”

A vein pulsed in Luke’s temple.

“What did you just say?” His voice strained, his jaw tight, irritation threatening to crack his disguise.

“I only mean,” the man continued smoothly, “this necklace is in my possession, but it would suit you so much better.”

That bastard’s hitting on me. He’s using my own trick against me. Son of a… he’s dead. He’s absolutely dead.

Laughter exploded in his skull. Artemis. ‘Oh gods, this can’t be happening. I can’t. I’m going to cry from laughing so hard.’

Luke wanted nothing more than to grab that necklace and strangle the bastard with it until he stopped breathing.

“I already have a necklace. I don’t need another one,” Lucy snapped, irritation bleeding through despite himself.

He turned sharply back to the drinks table, desperate for something, anything, to steady his nerves.

“C-can I pour it for you, madam?” one of the men asked, leaning in with eager eyes.

“No. I’ll do it myself.” He ladled liquid into a wooden mug, used a quick botanical purification, and drained it. Plain water now, nothing that could betray him.

“I’ve never seen you around the fortress before,” said the necklace man, slipping the trinket into his pocket.

Luke clicked his tongue, tugging at the dress where the fabric scraped his skin. “This damn thing itches…” he muttered under his breath, scratching before lifting his gaze. Somehow, five men had gathered around him, watching too closely.

Great. How the hell am I supposed to disappear with this many eyes on me?

“It’s my first time stepping into Bastion,” Lucy said at last, conjuring a practiced smile.

One of them cleared his throat eagerly. “You know, I’m a sergeant here. I even live in the fortress.”

Luke rubbed his cheek. And what do you expect me to say? Congratulations?

“How wonderful. I imagine it’s dangerous work,” Lucy replied smoothly. “But having the privilege of living here must make it worthwhile.”

“I-I live here too!” another blurted.

“Same!” a third chimed in.

Now all five were staring at him, flushed and eager.

Lucy scratched his head, annoyance gnawing at his patience, but forced himself to stay friendly. “I live in the city, but I’ve always admired this place.”

That was when someone finally slid in at his side. Mason.

“Darling, is there a problem?”

Finally. About time.

Luke had been signaling for rescue, scratching head and cheek in the little code they’d agreed on.

“Did you know these five all live in Bastion?” Lucy said sweetly.

The men flicked nervous glances between Mason and Lucy.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“So… you gentlemen want something with my girlfriend?” Mason asked.

Their eyes widened in panic. “N-no, it’s not like that!” one stammered.

Luke shifted again, the dress irritating him in every possible way. Heat crawled across his skin, yet his bare legs prickled with cold.

“Darling, I told you not to fidget with the dress like that,” Mason muttered, turning his head away.

“It’s uncomfortable!” Lucy snapped back.

Then Luke caught Mason’s expression, the flicker of color in his cheeks, and narrowed his eyes.

“Just so we’re clear, I’m not wearing panties,” Lucy announced flatly.

Mason choked on his own breath.

I’m wearing boxers. Obviously. No way in hell I’d go that far.

The men surrounding them turned crimson, eyes wide, faces burning with awkward fascination.

Why are they all blushing and staring at me like that?

Luke seized the chance to stride away from the table, leaving them gaping behind him.

“I-I-I need to be elsewhere,” Mason stammered, fleeing in haste, muttering something about calming his heart.

“Perfect,” Lucy grumbled. “He ditched me.”

Still, Mason was playing his part, drawing attention back to Bartholomew, anchoring himself beside Allison. That was where all the nobles’ eyes lingered, where the guards’ focus sharpened, where every whisper of curiosity coiled. Which left Luke with one task. All he needed was the right moment to slip away.

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