Grey came home to find his front door not only already unlocked, but also somewhat ajar. He very nearly took a bolt of 7.62 to the neck before he realized the trap was still armed. He stood there in shock for a moment, something had passed his elaborate locks without destroying the heavy metal security door, and utterly ignored both the physical trap and the magical ward. Grey narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, flowing through the cracked-open door without touching it and moved soundlessly through the hallway to the kitchen, a small surgical scalpel hidden in his hand to deal with any intruders. Instead, he was met with Diane Cowell sitting at his table, one leg crossed over the other and sipping from a mug of something that smelled of bitter dark chocolate and mint. The champion of the Queen of Dragons, and the euphemistically-named “Queens Regards”. Sitting at his table. Grey froze solid mid-step.

For a universally-feared assassin, and a sea-serpent at that, she didn't fit the image in the least. She appeared to be somewhere in her middle forties, murky brown hair and emerald green eyes. Her figure was just a little overweight, “motherly” was probably the diplomatic way of putting it. She wore baggy black cargo trousers with straps around the joints and cuffs, as well as a white v-neck shirt bearing the painted image of a small kitten examining a bird.

Diane looked up from her drink with a polite smile. “Hello, Grey. You really ought to invest in better locks.”

“The traps were meant to make up for them.” Grey stated tersely. “I don't drink hot chocolate, where did you get that?”

“I brought it with me.” She set down the mug and placed her hands one over the other in her lap. “You see, I've just had a very informative talk with her majesty the Queen.”

The colour drained from Grey's face in an instant. Diane laughed worryingly warmly. “Oh, the Queen hasn't sent you her regards. I'm actually taking an...” She rolled her head slightly in contemplation as she strained out the words. “Extended leave from her service.” The way she flexed her head showed a tiny flash of deep green scales creeping their way up Diane's neckline.

“Then why are you here?”

Diane's answer was to hurl the mug at Grey's head. The searing hot liquid spread out impossibly into a wide, flat rectangle that slammed into Grey's throat and wrapped around it like a snare. Only then did Grey smell the third ingredient in that aroma, sea salt. The noose tightened, Grey instinctively trying to dig his fingers into the dark liquid, trying to pull it free and open his airways. It was no good, his fingers passed into the surface and became lodged in the water.

The faintest scrape of metal against metal heralded a pan being removed from the hob. Diane turned off the stove and stepped closer to the struggling Grey, pulling a strand of boiling salt-water from the pot with a tiny gesture of her now scale-covered finger. It snaked through the air, joining with the snare around Grey's throat, making him convulse in pain.

He didn't scream, he wouldn't give her the satisfaction. “What's wrong, Grey?” She asked, the scales of her neck had spread up and begun to open up into a cobra-like hood, eyes gleaming and webs connecting her fingers. “Not so charismatic now. No more honeyed words.”

“You won't kill me! You can't!” Grey choked out between gasps, still struggling to loosen the liquid snare around his throat. He was right, while leaving the Queen's court was one thing, murdering one of her own courtiers was quite another.

“Don't worry. I didn't plan to.” Diane dumped out the rest of the boiling water and let the pan drop to the floor. “I got a piece of advice a long time ago. It's really quite simple. Don't get mad, get sadistic.”

Greys eyes widened in horror, the slowly-forming Sea Leviathan coming to form in his own home.