An assassin never forgets his first kill, or the only person he couldn’t.
Keeping watch from outside the lively villa as the promise of warmth and the smell of roasted meats taunted his senses, Hart was keenly aware of the night chill.
Laféron was a city of nobles, and if there was one sinfully excessive thing nobles liked to do, it was party. Lavishly dressed lords and ladies stepped out from their carriages and, linked arm-in-arm with their companions, headed into the manor. Their decadent jewelry glistened teasingly in the moonlight, but Hart restrained his greed. Pale, blue eyes waited patiently for the mark. The man would be hard to miss.
Esperance Valois. The son of, and now heir to, Lord Aurélien Valois. A strikingly handsome felidae adopted into a society of rich and affluent elves. He always stood out, if not for his looks than for the trouble he caused.
Lord Esperance was as charismatic as he was eccentric and he liked to spend his time at gambling houses, theatres, and brothels, much to the chagrin of his poor father. Politicians hated him because he liked to toy in their affairs, but the Church hated him even more. Hart could guess why.
A vain nobleman with a blemished reputation and, usually, a stomach full of wine.
It should have been an easy job.