chapter 34 The price of arrogance

The moment my amulet pulsed, a deep crimson glow flickering like embers in the dark, I felt the torn flesh of my neck knit itself back together. The pain vanished, replaced by a chilling numbness as the wound sealed shut with unnatural speed. Across from me, the Faceless Man's eyes widened—just for an instant. It was the only sign of his shock before I moved.

I drove my knee into his gut with brutal force. His breath left him in a sharp, strangled gasp, his body folding like paper. I seized his arms before he could recover, twisting them with merciless precision. The sickening snap of bone echoed in the chamber.

He shuddered, but before a scream could escape, my hand clamped over his mouth. I felt his body tense beneath my grip. His kind were trained to endure pain, to accept death—but instinct always betrayed them in the end. I forced his jaw open, fingers prying past clenched teeth until I found what I was looking for: a small, sharp fake tooth embedded near the back.

Poison. Of course.

With a harsh yank, I ripped it free and tossed it to the floor, the tiny capsule rolling until it disappeared into the shadows. His eyes flickered to it, then back to me, still swimming with confusion. This wasn't how his mission was supposed to go.

I leaned in close, my voice a whisper of ice.

"So this was your plan?"

The Faceless Man struggled, but the pain in his broken arms made resistance impossible. His breathing was shallow, measured—he was already recalculating, trying to find some path out of this.

I gave him no such chance. My fist cracked across his temple, and his body slumped, unconscious.

The Reckoning Begins

"Guards!" My voice was a thunderclap against the stone walls.

The heavy doors burst open, two Dothraki warriors rushing in, scimitars gleaming in the dim light. They halted abruptly, their eyes flicking between me—blood-soaked but standing—and the assassin sprawled at my feet.

Their hesitation was brief, but I saw the flicker of unease in their eyes. I turned my cold gaze upon them.

"Explain to me how this assassin got in here past your watch."

One of them, a scarred warrior with braided hair, stiffened. "No one passed through us, my khal. We swear it."

"Is that so?"

I cast a slow, deliberate glance around the chamber. There was no way he had walked through the doors. That left only one explanation.

"There must be a hidden passage. I grew complacent." The admission tasted bitter on my tongue, but the truth was unavoidable. I had underestimated my enemies. Had it not been for the amulet, I would be dead. And now, its power was spent.

I clenched my jaw. The price of recharging it would be steep—a hundred souls drained, their blood spilled to restore the amulet's dark reserves. That was a problem for another time one not hard to solve but annoying.

"Bring me Drogo and the Hound. Now."

The warriors bowed their heads and rushed from the room.

I dragged the assassin's limp form to a chair, securing him with precise knots. When I was satisfied, I gagged him, then struck his face—once, twice—until his eyes fluttered open. He groaned, dazed, and then his gaze locked onto mine.

There it was—fear.

It was subtle, but I had seen it before. The Faceless Men were legends, whispers in the dark, but in the end, they bled like any other man.

I leaned close. "You're a fool for taking this contract. You'd better understand that." My grip tightened on his jaw, forcing his mouth open just enough to remind him that I could break every bone in it if I wished.

"I'll remove the gag, but if you try to bite your tongue or do anything foolish, I'll pull every tooth from your skull one by one. And then?" I let my voice drop to a deadly whisper. "I'll find every temple of your god and burn them to the ground."

He blinked. A flicker of something—concern? No, it was deeper than that. Hope.

Yes, he was devoted to his god. Even now, facing death, he saw an opportunity. These men didn't fear death. But they feared the death of their faith.

I removed the gag. His lips parted, dry and cracked. "Littlefinger," he rasped.

I chuckled darkly. "Of course. I should've guessed."

His breathing steadied, and for the first time, I saw defiance in his gaze. He had given me a name, but he knew it changed nothing for him. He would die either way.

I smiled. "Not if you cooperate."

His brow furrowed, but I continued.

"You will deliver a message to your leader. A choice. In every city I conquer, a temple to your god will rise—if they comply. If not, I will hunt down every last one of you and leave your order in ruins. When I am done here, I will meet your master myself. Do you understand?"

For a long moment, he was silent. Then, slowly, he nodded.

The doors opened, and Drogo and the Hound entered.

Drogo's sharp eyes flicked to my throat, noting the fresh scar where the wound had been. His expression darkened. The Hound, standing beside him, let out a low growl. "My lord?"

I gestured to the assassin. "This man is an assassin. One of the Faceless Men."

Drogo stepped forward, his hand tightening on his blade. "Shall I end him, my Khal?"

I shook my head. "No. I have other plans."

I turned to my guards. "Escort him out through the passage he used to get in. He is to deliver a message."

As they carried out my orders, I turned on my heel and strode from the room, Drogo and the Hound falling in beside me.

Now, there was another matter to attend to.

The Spider and the Lioness

The halls were dimly lit, torches flickering as I moved swiftly toward the Queen's chambers. Cersei had been too quiet. Too compliant.

No, she thought I'd be dead by now.

As I approached her doors, two Lannister guards stepped forward, crossing their halberds.

"The Queen has ordered not to be disturbed."

I didn't slow. My fist struck the first guard's jaw with bone-shattering force. His skull cracked against the stone wall, and he collapsed. His partner barely had time to react before I sent him sprawling with a brutal kick. Blood spattered the walls as their bodies crumpled at my feet.

With one swift motion, I kicked the doors open.

Inside, Cersei and Littlefinger sat by the fire, wine glasses frozen halfway to their lips.

I locked eyes with Littlefinger. He started to rise, but I was faster.

My bloodstained hand clamped around his throat, lifting him off the ground. His feet kicked uselessly, hands clawing at my grip.

"Did you really think a Faceless Man could kill me?"

He choked, blood trickling from his nose.

"If you ever try this again," I growled, squeezing tighter, "I will open your belly and hang you with your own intestines."

He nodded frantically, terror evident in his trembling limbs.

I turned to Cersei, who had paled. Her fingers gripped the wine glass so tightly I thought it might shatter.

"Tell me, Cersei," I mused. "If I rip off Joffrey's head and shove it up his ass, would Robert even punish me?"

She said nothing. But in her silence, she knew the answer.

I smiled. "Good. Then understand this—I am not a piece in your game. I am the one who flips the table."