I tried to keep a lid on my rising panic, but when an infamous assassin like Marlowe threatens you with your own dagger, a little panic seems only reasonable. At the same time, I knew I had nothing to lose. If I wasn’t able to win him over, I was going to die anyway, and if he were to kill me now, chances are I would wake up and have to go through this whole nightmare all over again.

It was enough to make a girl want to scream, if I hadn’t been certain that Marlowe would stab me immediately upon such an outburst. And besides, if I really did have to die, I’d much rather it be later, and not right now.

The blade scratched my skin, its cool blade heating up as it lay upon my neck, and I recoiled as much as I was able with my back pressed against the door. “You would be a fool to harm me,” I said, swallowing thickly, “Sir Garnier knows I am here.”

He paused, doubt flickering momentarily in his eyes before they hardened once again. “Knights can be killed, just like anybody else.”

It was a dismal thought. If I couldn’t come up with a story that would satisfy this monster of a man, Sir Garnier’s life would also be at risk. My thoughts raced, but my mind remained utterly empty of anything useful beyond sheer panic. “I don’t know what to tell you,” I stammered, “No one sent me. I sent myself.”

Which was true, as far as it went. Did I really have no choice but to tell the full truth? Would he even believe me? “I suggest you answer the question,” Marlowe said, clearly growing frustrated with my lack of response, “I can see through your bullshit. You’re clearly holding something back.”

He had hit the nail right on the head, but I didn’t want him to know that. “What do you mean?”

I didn’t bother trying to hide my fear. What was the point, when he already had a knife at my throat? Surely he already knew that I was afraid.

“When a beautiful and renowned lady such as yourself seeks me out,” he said, sketching a small mocking bow with the tip of the knife, “There has to be a reason. So either you came here to hire me to kill someone, or…”

He paused for a moment, then shook his head. “I see no other reason. Spit it out.”

There was nothing for it. He had me utterly cornered.

That didn’t mean I couldn’t be a lady about it.

I drew myself up to my full height—a somewhat difficult task due to being menaced by an infamous knife-wielding assassin—and looked Marlowe right in the eye. “I came here for your help.”

He looked back, still skeptical. The blade did not move.

I sighed. “I’m cursed,” I added, the confession spilling from my lips almost without my consent.

Marlowe blinked. He studied me for a moment, his intense eyes searching for more lies; more secrets.

Then, slowly, he lowered the dagger.

And burst out laughing.

“I fail to understand what’s so funny about this situation,” I reproached.

He was hunched over in his mirth, resting his hands on his knees. “Do I look like a witch,” he chuckled, “I’m an assassin. I can’t break curses.”

“Oh, I know exactly who you are,” I scoffed, “and you’re the reason I’m cursed to begin with.”

Marlowe straightened up, expression still mirthful. “You’re lying again. What proof can you possibly have?”

Internally, I heaved a sigh. I could tell him the real story—it was more absurd and complicated than anything I could have invented. But ultimately, there was only one way I could convince him.

I unbuttoned my collar.

Heedless of Marlowe’s raised eyebrow, I pulled the cloth back to expose the curse mark.

His smile dropped, lips parting as he drew near me once again. I could feel his warm breath on my exposed neck.

“Wh—” he sputtered, and then he pulled the dress off my shoulder.

My collarbone, shoulder, and arm were now exposed to the air of the room. Instinctively, I covered my chest with my forearm as he stepped back, taking in the wolfsbane flowers and their interconnected root systems now covering much of my upper torso and back.

He nearly laughed again, a higher-pitched, choked cry of disbelief, before shaking his head and pointing. “It could be a tattoo,” he said, “To trick me.”

I glared. “Do you really think I would pay someone to defile my body with permanent ink in the shape of a curse just to trick you?”

He huffed. “But why do you think I can help you break the curse? I have nothing to do with it!”

“You don’t yet,” I told him, “But you will. Unless you help me break it before it’s too late.”

He stared. “For fuck’s sake, woman. You’re making no sense.”

How could I begin to explain? Best to just come out with it. “You’re planning to poison me,” I blurted.

He arched a brow and waved me off like one might a madwoman. “You don’t need my help, you need a doctor. Or, better yet, I need a drink.”

Pushing past me, he unlocked the door, still shaking his head.

I grabbed him by the forearm. “Where are you going?”

He sighed. “If you expect me to believe half of what you’re saying, I’m going to need something to convince me.”

He gestured towards the dark, narrow hallway beyond the door frame. “I’m going downstairs.”

I moved to follow. “I’ll join you.”

Marlowe paused; turned back. “You can’t,” he said, “Not like that.”

And he reached for my bare shoulder, rough hands brushing my skin with surprising, if unintentional, gentleness. His touch sent shivers radiating down my spine before he pulled my dress back up, gruffly positioning my collar to hide the mark.

Then, he turned and stomped his way down the stairs, heedless of the way they creaked and groaned beneath him.

I took a deep breath, the ghostly sensation of his hand on me moments ago teasing me, before I finally shook it off. I couldn’t give up just yet.

I followed after him, catching up just as he was about to stride back into the tavern. I grabbed his arm. “We shouldn’t be seen together.”

He grunted his assent and led me towards a particularly shadow-shrouded corner of the bustling tavern. Several men were already there, huddled over their drinks and engaged in conversation.

“Scram,” Marlowe told them, barely even bothering to raise his voice.

The men looked at each other with varying levels of disbelief. “Now, wait just a minute, man,” said one, “You can’t just—”

“I can,” Marlowe said, “And I have.”

One of the assembled man’s eyes widened in sudden recognition. “Shit, better do what he says, that’s the assassin Marlowe!”

Nearly as one, the men abandoned their table, drinks and all. Said assassin pushed me down into one of the newly vacant seats, stopping a passing waiter. “A beer for me and one for the lady too.”

We waited in relative silence, Marlowe drumming his hands on the table, sneaking glances at me when he thought I wasn’t watching. When the drinks arrived several minutes later, he downed his in one swift gulp, and I watched the way his Adam's apple moved as he swallowed, transfixed by the long column of his throat. “Alright,” he said, slamming the empty tankard on the table with a sigh, “Talk.”

It was challenging, stepping into the proverbial spotlight under his gaze. What if he didn’t believe me, even though I was telling the truth? “I used to be…close with Prince Emory,” I began, “but six months ago, he jilted me and got engaged to Princess Calliope. They’re getting married next month.”

Marlowe waved a hand. “Oh, I know all about the wedding. That’s all anyone’s talking about—the announcement went out this morning. What does any of that have to do with me?”

I sighed. This was the hard part. Was he going to believe me? It all sounded so ridiculous, and what reason did he have to take the word of a woman that as far as he was concerned, he’d never met before. I had to try to explain, I had no other choice. I pressed on. “I’m going to hire you to…”

Lowering my voice, I leaned in close. “To kill Calliope on their wedding night.”

I watched him closely, but the shadow across his face didn’t shift—he wasn’t reacting at all. Had he heard me?

“But instead of killing her,” I continued, “you’re going to betray me, and kill me.”

Marlowe sneered slightly in the darkness. “So that’s why you’ve been trying to seduce me.”

I could feel my cheeks heating. “I wasn’t trying to seduce you,” I stammered, “I’m only trying to get you to change your mind. What can I do to convince you not to kill me?”

He stood up, a neutral expression on his face. “There’s nothing you can do.”