Lord Collin Valerius guided Viviana away from the heated brilliance of the ballroom. They stepped through tall French doors onto a stone terrace, and from there, descended a short flight of steps into a beautifully arranged garden. Neat hedges of boxwood framed beds overflowing with pale roses, their scent heavy and sweet in the cool night air. A marble fountain gurgled softly in the center, its waters catching the silvery moonlight that filtered through the branches of carefully pruned trees. The stone path beneath their feet was smooth, leading them deeper into the tranquil, secluded space.
"It is much more pleasant out here, is it not, Lady Cassandra?" Lord Collin murmured, his voice a low caress. He led her towards an ornate stone bench nestled in an alcove of flowering shrubs.
"Indeed, my lord," Viviana replied, her voice still holding that soft, shy tremor. "It is a relief. Thank you for your thoughtfulness." She allowed herself to be seated, arranging her crimson skirts around her.
Lord Collin remained standing before her, a silhouette against the moonlit fountain. He leaned in slightly, as if to share a kiss, or perhaps to get a better look at her eyes behind the elegant mask. "You know, Lady Cassandra," he began, his voice dropping to an even more intimate tone, "a lady of your… intriguing quietness is a rare find in our boisterous society. One wonders what thoughts are hidden behind such lovely eyes…"
" My Lord, you are too close." Viviana replied, her voice laced with concern. " if we are caught together like this, I believe it will cause a scandal."
He didn't answer, instead he moved in more closely, his face mere inches away from hers. This was the opening. His attention was focused, his guard down, his neck exposed as he craned slightly forward.
Viviana's hand, which had been resting near her lap, moved with speed. Concealed within the delicate folds of her lace fan was a tiny, needle-thin silver pin, its tip coated with a potent, fast-acting toxin. As he paused, expecting another fluttery disapproval, she pressed the pin into the soft skin of his neck, just below the ear. It was a minute movement, a tiny sting, like a mosquito.
Lord Collin flinched, a slight frown creasing his brow. "What was that? A gnat?" He rubbed the spot, then his eyes widened slightly as a sharp, burning pain began to spread from the tiny puncture. He stumbled back a step, his hand flying to his neck. "What… who… who are you?" he stammered, his voice suddenly hoarse, a look of dawning terror in his eyes.
Viviana smiled, a slow, chilling smile that did not reach her eyes. The demure, shy facade dissolved like mist in the sun. She rose gracefully from the bench, her posture transforming into one of confidence. "They call me 'The Raven,'" she stated, her voice now clear, cold, and utterly devoid of its earlier softness.
"Guards!" Collin croaked, his voice already weakening, panic seizing him. "Guards! Help me! In the garden!"
Viviana let out a sigh, a sound of genuine irritation. "Honestly," she said, her tone laced with a weary sassiness, "why do all of you nobles insist on making me spill more blood than necessary? So terribly dramatic. One clean prick should suffice, but no, you always have to make a scene."
Two guards, patrolling the garden's perimeter, heard his choked cries and came running, their boots thudding on the stone path. They burst into the clearing, swords already drawn, their eyes wide as they took in Lord Collin clutching his throat and the unknown woman in crimson standing calmly before him.
"Milord! Are you alright?" one barked, advancing.
"Step away from him, woman!" the other commanded.
Viviana's smile thinned. "Let's get this over with, shall we?" she murmured. With a swift motion, she reached beneath her silken skirts. Strapped to each thigh were slim, perfectly balanced daggers, their dark metal gleaming faintly in the moonlight. She drew them with ease, the leather sheaths barely making a sound.
The two guards lunged simultaneously, their swords aimed for her heart. To them, she was one woman, likely untrained but they were wrong. She sidestepped the first guard's thrust, the point of his sword hissing past her ear. As he stumbled off balance from his own momentum, a quick flick of her right wrist sent her dagger biting deep into the exposed flesh of his outer thigh, four times. He howled, a raw sound of agony, and crumpled to the ground, his sword clattering on the stones.
The second guard, seeing his companion fall so easily, hesitated for a fatal second. His eyes darted from Viviana to the path leading back to the ballroom, a clear intention to raise a wider alarm forming on his face. "Reinforce—!" he began to shout, turning to flee.
He never finished the word. With a movement too swift for the eye to truly follow, Viviana's left hand snapped forward. The second dagger left her fingers, spinning through the air. It struck the fleeing guard squarely in the back, between his shoulder blades, sinking to the hilt with a sickening thud. He pitched forward without another sound, his shout cut off, and lay still. Within seconds, he fell with a thud.
Viviana strolled over to the fallen guard, her crimson dress swishing around her. She placed a foot on his back, pulled her dagger free with a grunt of effort, then casually wiped the blade on a patch of his uniform before re-sheathing it. The other dagger followed suit after a similar cleaning on the incapacitated, groaning guard's uniform.
Lord Collin had sunk to his knees, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. His face was pale, beaded with sweat. "What… what have you done to me?" he rasped, his eyes fixed on her with a mixture of terror and disbelief.
Viviana walked back towards him, calmly re-strapping the daggers to her thighs beneath her dress. "It's a rather efficient concoction from the East," she explained, her voice conversational, as if discussing the weather. "Quite a specialty for people like you. First, your breath will shorten, as you're undoubtedly noticing. Then, your voice will fail you completely. Soon after, your thoughts will become… rather clouded, I'm afraid. And then, quite simply, Lord Collin, your life will end. It's usually quite peaceful, towards the very end."
She tilted her head slightly. "Oh and before that last part happens, Lord Ashton instructed me to convey a message. He says, and I quote, 'Have a pleasant journey to hell, Valerius.'"
A flicker of understanding, then pure, unadulterated fear, crossed Collin's face. He tried to speak, but only a gurgling sound emerged.
Viviana watched him for another moment, her expression unreadable. Then, abruptly, her entire demeanor shifted again. Her eyes widened, her mouth formed an 'O' of feigned horror. She clasped her hands to her cheeks.
"Oh, heavens!" she shrieked, her voice now high-pitched, filled with panic and distress. "Someone help!Oh Please, someone! Out here, in the garden! Lord Collin… he's been attacked! He's hurt! Please, hurry! I'm scared!" Her cries were convincing, carrying clearly back towards the brightly lit ballroom.
Footsteps pounded on the terrace, voices raised in alarm. Guards, followed by a wave of curious, then horrified, masked guests, began to spill into the garden. They saw the two fallen guards, Lord Collin on the ground, clearly dying, and the beautiful woman in crimson apparently frozen in terror.
A commotion erupted. Shouts, screams, orders being barked. It was perfect chaos.
This was Viviana's exit strategy. As the first wave of responders rushed towards Lord Collin, creating a swirling mass of bodies and confusion, Viviana allowed herself to be "jostled" by the panicked crowd. She feigned a near-swoon, pressing a hand to her forehead.
"So dreadful… I must get away…" she gasped to no one in particular.
She blended seamlessly into the sea of distressed, retreating guests, her black stick mask making her just another anonymous face in the terrified crowd. Her crimson dress, moments before a beacon, was now just one of many rich hues moving away from the scene of horror.
As she was swept along with the tide of fleeing partygoers, back through the French doors and towards the main entrance of the mansion, she began a silent, internal countdown.
Ten… (She reached the edge of the ballroom, the music now a fading memory).
Nine… (A well dressed gentleman, his face pale, offering to save a damsel in distress, which she "gratefully" accepted).
Eight… (They were moving through the grand foyer, other guests pushing past).
Seven… (The cool night air seeped in from the open main doors).
Six… (She "stumbled" slightly, thanking the gentleman for his support).
He wouldn't have long now. The poison was swift.
Five… (Down the main steps, onto the gravel driveway where carriages were being hastily summoned).
Four… (She subtly disengaged from the helpful gentleman, murmuring about her waiting carriage).
Three… (She spotted her pre-arranged, unmarked carriage waiting discreetly at the edge of the drive, away from the main chaos).
Two… (A calm, unhurried walk, melting into the darkness).
One… (The carriage door opened by a driver. She slipped inside).
Lord Collin Valerius was dead.