The hustle and bustle was gone from the castle, banners hanging limply against the walls. Even servants wouldnot stick their head out without a clear purpose, and certainly not in the more deserted areas of the castle, where this mysterious killer could be hiding311Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjd2aBWCLew
Even if they were in no danger, the thought lingered in the air: "whoever isn't where they're supposed to be is up to no good."
The assassin, or perhaps a partner in crime.
Prince Astem sat in his room, through the hallway that connected the rooms belonging to his sisters and, formerly, his brothers.
The youngest of six siblings, four including him with the potential to rule. So far the killings had mostly been in order.
First, the King.
Everyone had thought it was natural at first. The man had been getting on in his years, but after the events of the past few weeks, no one believed any of these deaths had been an accident.
Next was the king's sister. Though she could not rule herself, rumor was that she had found something out about the killer.
Soon following was the king's brother and his wife, along with their son of forty. Astem's oldest brother followed soon after. Even with the entire castle on alert and tightening its defenses every day, the assassin killed seemingly without hindrance.
Now, of the twenty-one in his immediate family, ten were left, and only five with the potential to rule.
"No, right, four of them." Astem wiped the last of his brother's blood off his knife.
He didn't miss Shrard. Sure, their ages were fairly close, but Shrard had liked to remind Astem of who was older, or who was closer in line.
He examined his blade in the light. A simple tool, with a simple engraving on the handle of his family crest, the calligriphic for "King". Astem didn't want it to be dull for this moment, the defining moment of his conquest.
Though women could not rule in this kingdom, if it came down to it, the Queen would have the people behind her.
The former king's last remaining brother led a tribe of horse nomads in outer Rhoringdall. He had given up his claim to the throne years ago, and his son would likewise normally be eligible.
Still, he would be next in line simply based on his age.
But as much as he wanted to, Astem couldn't teleport out of the castle and slit their throats right this instant.
No, they would have to wait until...
Astem hopped off the bed, ignoring the bloody handprint left on the cover.
No one would dare enter his room, lest they be accused of assassination.
He took his time stretching, his muscles were a little sore from all the excercise he'd been getting. His thirteen-year old body was strong, but having trouble keeping up.
When he was satisfied, he dropped to the floor and slipped under the skirt of his bed, crawling to the wall. He then used his knife to pry open the trapdoor in the wall that rested directly beneath his headboard. The passage was small, certainly too small for an regular adult man, but someone with narrower shoulders and no claustrophobia could make it.
The passage eventually opened up into narrow room, a kind of crossroads for the castle's passageways. He chose a direction without hesitation, climbing straight up the rungs of an old ladder that entered another small passage.
The passage went forward, and he emerged high in the wall of a storage room where crates, old furniture, and chests lined the walls.
His destination was just down the hall. The enitre layout of the castle spread out in his head, he weighed his options. He could take the long way, the safest way, but he was not in his most patient state of mind.
Instead, he would cut through the queen's servant's quarters, which led directly into her room.
He shoved aside a crate with some effort to reveal a door leading to the quarters. Even a regular door coule be a secret passageway if it was never used.
He tried to calm his beating heart as he grasped the door's handle.
He pushed it slowly, listening for any sounds on the other side.
"Tch!" Someone was moving around on the other side. How many Someones?
He shut his eyes and listened. The swishing of a skirt, the patter of nervous feet moving one after the other. A drawer openend and closed, and a lady muttered something. No conversation, and no hint of another person in the room.
Good, this will be easy.
He released his breath and opened his eyes. Deliberately, he dropped his shoulders, raised his chin, brought out his innocent smile, and pushed open the door.
The maid's eyes widened in fear as he opened the door, but her expression changed to confusion when she recognized the prince.
"Your highness..?"
"Hello!" Astem continued advancing, barely holding up his smile. The bloodlust was practically leaking though his face. "I'm here to see my mother, and I was too scared to go though the halls."
Confusion and suspicion conflicted on her face. "Of- of course, your highness."
"Just though here, right? Will you go notify her I'm on my way?"
"Yes, your highness." The command brought her back from her surprise, and she moved towards the door. In that instant, Astem's knife flew out of its sheath. Blood shot from her neck as she fell, and Astem slipped behind her and covered her mouth, using his other hand to slow her fall.
He let down her body on the carpetless floor that now ran with her blood. He used the back of her skirt to clean his knife once more, and slid it back into its sheath.
His eyes went around the room as he listened for any signs of disturbance. He heard nothing. Once again, his killing remained unseen and unheard.
A rush traveled through his body as the thrill hit. He basked in the glow for a moment before taking a breath. He could almost feel the weight of the crown sitting on his head as he strolled towards the door to the adjoining room.
He listened at the door for a moment before carefully turning the handle and peering in. His eyes traveled the room, starting at one end with and extravagantly carved dresser, across colorful tapestries and carpets to a carved closet, matching the rest of the furniture in the room. His eyes snapped back to the middle back of the room where a massive four-poster bed sat, the curtains down, hiding the occupant.
As he opened the door further, the hinges squeaked, and he heard a rustle of fabrics from the bed.
He pushed the door closed, relaxed his shoulders, and spoke. "Mother? It's me, Astem."
Silence sat in the room for a moment. He was forcing himself to relax through the tension , when she responded, her voice still raspy from her illness. "Astem? What are you doing here?"
He approached the bed. "I came to see you." He pushed a slight tremble into his voice. "And I thought it would be safe here."
"Come here." He heard a rustle of sheets, and assumed she was pushing herself up.
Astem pulled back the curtain.
His mother managed to look regal even in her current state. It certainly wasn't in her looks, as right now her hair was a disheveled mess of grey and black, her clothes, though expensive, were wrinkled and unkempt, and her face looked older than ever, as her sickness seemed to have spend her aging by a few years. No, it was something else entirely, an aura of majesty that surrounded her, and it was that part of her that sent a pang of jealousy through him.
"But no matter." He thought. "I'll have it soon enough."
He smiled sweetly and hopped onto the side of the bed.
"Well mother, how are you feeling today?"
Her eyebrows furrowed slightly. "I'm fine, Astem."
"Hm. Never would have guessed." He thought, refusing to let the sarcasm reach his expression.
"Astem...why are you here?"
"Why, to see y-"
"Do you take me for a fool, boy?" She snapped.
His smile fell. His mother never snapped like that. Her pride didn't allow it.
"Kythra came to see me, you know."
He flinched at the name. He hadn't enjoyed killing her as much, his aunt had been good to him. She had, however, noticed the remnants of the Sickle leaves Astem had used to poison the former king.
"She said she knew it was a killer and not an accident, likely member of our own family. Right before she was killed. She was not even an heir, Astem. She was killed because of her intelect, and you come here, acting like a child! Like you aren't the only one left."
She collapsed back in to her pillow, as she struggled to catch her breath.
"I'm no fool, Astem." She rasped, between breaths. "You're here-" a fit of coughing interrupted her, but Astem's smile returned, this time without any false innocence in the expression.
"Kythra came to you huh? Guess she would. She could never do anything herself."
He leaned over her. "You knew it would happen, didn't you? Everyone knows madness runs in out family. But nobody but her ever suspected me! Those idiots, looking down on me. Now they're all six feet under, and who's the one on top? Me! Tiny Astem, bottom of the line for the throne."
He chucked, meeting her eyes.
So judgemental. If one of his older brothers had killed a successor or two, she might have even supported them.
Astem sighed. "No, mother, I don't take you for a fool. That's why I came to see you." His eyes widened as he maneuvered overtop of her and slid the knife from his sheath. "So I could slit your throat with your eyes wide open."
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Astem sat there for a moment, resting over his mother's corpse.
The fabric of the four-posted bed ran with her blood, and he felt its warm embrace all across his face. Why would he avoid it? The blood of your enemies is the ultimate power. He didn't know how that phrase had made its way into his head, but it had stuck.
He opened his eyes as he relaxed his shoulders and wiped the blood spray from his face.
They would find the body eventually. And when they did, he would finally be crowned King.
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