I opened all my Scrivener files to write something related to Mirrors or Fool Me Twice today and my brain was like, nah. We’re not interested. So I stared at the computer for a while, then I wrote this. I don’t even know what it is but I had fun.

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On the outskirts of Wymoor, a woman crept through the night, clutching the folds of her cloak tightly around her face.

It would not do for anyone to see her wandering on her own so long after dusk had fallen, but Brenda Barrett had no other choice.

She’d waited long enough for her revenge.

The tavern was tucked between two dilapidated warehouses on the docks. Wymoor had once been a bustling port city, but it had fallen into ruin and neglect since the tragedy that had struck the royal family over a decade earlier.

There were men milling about outside, coarse and foul-mouthed men who looked as though they hadn’t seen the inside of a tub in a long time. Brenda bobbed and weaved around them, hoping to escape their notice.

Alas, that proved impossible as a meaty hand reached out and snatched her by the elbow. “Wot’s this? A lass? When did the boy bring back the whores?”

Brenda hissed and reached with her free hand into her cloak. With a flash and a yelp, her elbow was released as her captor clutched his bleeding forearm, rage flashing in his eyes. “You feckin’ bitch—”

“Touch me again,” Brenda snarled as she twirled the dagger in her hand and, with a flick of her wrist, aimed it at the group, “and you’ll not know the pleasure of a woman again.”

“We’ll see about that—” The man lunged for her, but Brenda didn’t make idle threats and had been trained since birth to have a care for herself.

She darted back and spun, the dagger slicing into his meaty shoulder. With a grunt, she yanked it back and jabbed it into the air. “You want to see if your luck will hold a third time?”

“I think Pete has learned his lesson.”  A cool, amused voice came from her side, but Brenda did not take her eyes off her attacker, nor did she so much as lower the dagger an inch. “Pete, apologize to the lady.”

“Lady? A lady at Sonny’s? Not bloody likely—”

“An apology,” the man at Brenda’s side repeated, the amusement gone now. “Or I’ll let her finish the job.”

“I won’t accept it. Just tell him to be about his business. I have my own to see to.” She could only sense the man—he was taller than her and quiet. She’d not heard him come up behind her.

“I see you again, bitch, we’re gonna have a dance,” Pete threatened, but his words lacked a bit of punch as the blood seeped down his already stained shirt from the wound to his shoulder. He sauntered off, followed by several of his friends—all of them grumbling.

“I can’t imagine what business a member of the royal family might have here.”

At that, Brenda turned to finally face the man who had forced Pete to back off. He was taller than her—but then many were—and broad-shouldered with chiseled cheekbones, hair that might be fair with more light and blue eyes —

“I need to speak with Michael Corinthos.”

“You do not deny your background?”

“No.” Brenda lifted her chin. “Though I would ask how you came by this knowledge. We’ve not been introduced.”

“No, we haven’t.” The amusement came back to those eyes, but his face never changed. It might as well have been chiseled from stone. “Come in. Sonny might enjoy this.”

—

Jason Morgan hadn’t seen a woman wield a dagger like that since he’d left the Quartermaine estate nearly five years earlier, but only the royal daughters were given the training to make daggers dance in the air the way hers had.

He led the stranger through the public rooms of the tavern and up a cramped set of stairs that led to the room where Michael Corinthos, better known as Sonny, ruled the waterfront.

Not that there was much left to rule. Not since the young king had taken his business to another port and left Wymoor to crumble around itself.

His best friend and partner frowned when Jason led the woman inside, rising to his feet from the desk where he’d been balancing the ledger. “What’s this?”

Jason opened his mouth, but the imperious woman swept past him, removed her cloak, and tossed it at Jason as if he were a servant. His mouth pinched, but he kept the garment in his hands. For all her air of privilege and grace —

She was dressed as a peasant, her face thin and her eyes too large. The material of the cloak was a rough cloth. Even if this were a disguise, it did not change the fact that this woman had not seen a good meal in many days. If not longer.

“My name is Brenda Barrett, but I was once Lady Brenda of Nevoie. They tell me you understand revenge. I’m here to ask for your help in getting mine.”

Nevoie. Jason tipped his head, trying to place the name. He looked at Sonny, hoping to find some clue, but his friend’s expression had not changed.

“Nevoie,” Sonny repeated slowly. “Many have claimed to be the Lady of Nevoie. I imagine you have the missing princess tucked in those skirts.”

Brenda exhaled slowly, then shook her head. “No.” Her voice had lost some of that hauteur, and Jason saw the shadows cloud her eyes. “No. There can be no hope. After all this time, my cousin is gone.”

“Missing princess,” Jason repeated. “What’s going on?”

“Before your fall,” Sonny said, now looking at Jason, “the youngest daughter of the previous king died when she was three, but there were always rumors that the family had covered something up. Five years later, the queen and her sister were murdered at Nevoie. There was evidence that two children had lived there. Neither were ever found. Brenda is the heir to a very ancient title, and many suspected the queen was there to visit her daughter, hidden away for some dangerous defect.”

Jason drew his brows together, then looked at Brenda. “I don’t know this story.”

“It is not a story,” Brenda said tightly. “It is the truth. My cousin came to live with us when she was a child, and we were raised as sisters. I was fifteen when the men came. They slaughtered my mother, my aunt—” Her voice broke. “Mama told us to run into the forest, but we were separated. I heard screaming—I heard her screaming—” Her fingers curled into a fist. “I have waited twelve years for my revenge. I know who killed my mother. Who killed my family.”

“And the queen,” Sonny drawled sarcastically. “I suppose you think to take this story to King Steven, tell him you can find his missing sister—”

“Steven never knew she was alive. No one did. And if you continue to mock me—”

“What? What are you going to do—”

“Sonny, she carries a royal dagger,” Jason said quietly. “And she knows how to use it.”

At that, Sonny fell silent. He stared at Brenda, then stalked towards her, his hand outstretched. “Give it here.”

“We do not surrender our daggers.” Her hand clutched the belt at her waist. “Not with breath in our bodies. You either believe me, or you don’t—”

“Are you sure of this?” Sonny asked.

“My sister married into the Cassadine family,” Jason said and then found Brenda offering him a measured glance.

“Legitimate sister?” Brenda inquired. Jason glared at her. “If you have connections to the family that has trained the women of the royal line for generations, then you are not some errand boy for a crime lord.”

“I used to be Jason Quartermaine,” Jason said slowly. “Until a fall destroyed my memory. I don’t know them, and I don’t claim them. Except for my sister. I saw her husband training the king’s betrothed when I last visited.”

“Our new queen,” Brenda sneered, “foisted on my cousin by his guardian. He is weak. But yes, she was trained in the art of the dagger. I doubt she possesses the grace.” She paused, then looked back to Sonny. “Will you help me?”

“Why did the royal family hide their daughter away?” Sonny demanded. “Why fake her death?”

Brenda exhaled slowly. “I tell you only because I am convinced that she no longer lives, but even then, this must not leave this room. I was told you could be trusted.”

“You have my word. And Jason’s.”

“My cousin was born with the curse.” Brenda pressed a fist against her heart. “She set the stables on fire when she was two, angry at some slight. She was a witch.”

A witch. Jason’s chest tightened at that for nothing else, explained the royal family abandoning one of their own. Men with power worked for the council and had respect. Women with power were burned at the stake for simply being suspected of it. “Is that why the queen was murdered?”

“No. I only wish it were,” Brenda murmured. “But my aunt’s fate was cast the moment the king died in battle, and the guardian for Steven was set.”

“Guardian,” Sonny repeated. “Cesar Faison. You’re saying Faison had your family killed.”

“Yes. I have the proof.” Brenda flipped back the leather pouch at her waist and drew out a piece of paper, folded several times and worn from age and handling. “One of the men dropped this. It’s signed by Faison and gives the location of our home.”

“This would not convince anyone who matters—”

“Does it convince you?” Brenda cut in swiftly as Sonny perused the document.

“I need no convincing that Faison would murder a child in cold blood,” he said. “But I don’t matter—”

“I have no interest in justice. Justice is not possible. I only need vengeance for the lives of my aunt and my mother. For my cousin. I came to you because I want him dead.”

Instead of responding to that claim, Sonny set the document on his desk and leaned back against it. “You’re very sure that your cousin is dead, are you?”

Brenda’s eyes flickered. “Of course. If she weren’t, she would have found me—why—”

“Or she may be in hiding as you are. You were both believed to be dead,” Sonny said. “Why would she think you had survived?”

“She was much younger—” But her voice faltered. “Why would you give me this hope?”

“Sonny—” Jason frowned, shaking his head slightly. “What’s going on?”

“Cesar Faison once came to me to perform a task,” Sonny said. “He explained the parameters—vaguely—and I declined. That was six years ago.”

“My cousin died twelve years ago—”

“Your cousin had something he wanted,” Sonny said softly. “And when she refused to give it to him, he wanted her dead. Faison asked me if I could rid him of an unwanted house guest. She had worn out her welcome, but there was nowhere for her to go.”

“She was alive six years ago? And you left her—”

“What do you take me for?” Sonny said, his lips curving in amusement. He flicked his eyes to Jason. “Before I decide whether or not to help the Lady of Nevoie, perhaps you should fetch my sister.”

“Your sister,” Jason repeated. The sister he had never met and that Sonny rarely mentioned. “Have you been hiding a royal princess—”

“You have my cousin?” Brenda demanded. “I wish to see her immediately—”

“Your cousin does not remember you,” Sonny told her. “She spent many years held hostage by Faison’s men. She does not know she is the princess. In fact, until tonight, I did not know she was either. I thought she was someone Faison wanted dead, and one day, I might be able to use her as leverage.”

“You—” Brenda’s eyes flared with rage. “You rescued her only to lock her up again—”

“She’s not my hostage,” he said easily. “You can ask her yourself when Jason brings her back.” He looked at his partner. “I’ll send a letter with you; otherwise, she won’t trust you.”

“Why don’t you go yourself?” Jason demanded, but Sonny shook his head.

“Faison has had me watched for a very long time—since he came to me for the job, and she vanished out from under his nose. He suspects I know where she is, but he’d never believe I’d tell you or anyone else. Bring her here the way we smuggle the brandy.”

“I want to go—”

“No,” Jason said before Sonny could answer. “It’s not safe. It will barely be safe for her—” He paused. “Sonny, you’ve never told me anything about her. I don’t even know her name—how am I going to get close enough to even give her the letter?”

“You’ll know her name. It’s not the one she was given at  birth— I never knew that, and she didn’t remember it—”

“Oh, God, what did he do to her?” Brenda cried. “How could she forget even her name—”

“Only she and I know the name she’s chosen for herself,” Sonny said, ignoring her. “Elizabeth will know I sent you when you use it.”