If everything went according to Asra’s plan, today would be the final birthday celebration of King Nolan of Windemere.
Unfortunately, nothing ever went according to Asra’s plans.
The thunder was the first sign something would go wrong. Summer in Windemere City was rarely marred by foul weather. However, dark clouds blanketed the sky, punctuated by flashes of lightning. The silver band on Asra’s wrist dulled her canine senses to nearly human, but each peal of thunder still rumbled in her bones.
She shoved her hands into the pockets of her leather duster, though it did little to calm their trembling. Memories of crushing rocks and thunderous landslides dominated her mind. She took a deep breath and reminded herself she couldn’t afford to lose her nerve now.
It had been three years since she’d killed the general, number one hundred and twenty-seven, but she had made no progress toward killing number one hundred and twenty-eight in that time. King Nolan still drew breath, and Asra could not rest until she ensured he would never cause harm to her people again.
The screaming and cheering of the crowds surrounding her on the sidewalk did not help her nerves. Normally congested streets had been roped off and cleared of horse-drawn carriages and pedestrians to make room for the vibrant parade floats that drifted down the streets in front of her. Asra felt the magic of the lodestones that powered the lights and displays on the floats like fingernails brushing against her skin.
The humans’ technology had enamored her when she’d come to the capital city for the first time as a young girl. Now it—along with the raucous noise—was just one of the many reasons she was eager to leave.
Sweat dripped down her back and beaded on her forehead as she pushed through the exuberant horde of people. She kept her head low to hide her amber eyes beneath the brim of her cow-herding hat, her sleeves pulled down to hide the sigils on her skin.
Her eyes flicked to each noble that she passed, terrified that she may be discovered before she even had a chance to strike. But if the surrounding nobles found Asra’s comparatively shabby clothing off-putting or suspect, they made no mention of it.
Asra should have expected no less. Windemerean nobles were perfectly content to ignore anyone with lower status than them.
She felt eyes on her and hastily scanned the crowds for the observer. She found him in the form of a young boy perched on his father’s shoulders. He was pale-skinned and sandy-haired, like his father, whose acrid cologne and well-worn shoes identified him as a commoner.
When Asra’s eyes met the boy’s, his face lit up with a wide grin and he waved to her. He must have noticed the glint of her yellow eyes. She held her finger to her lips, and the boy returned the gesture.
“Come on, Johnny,” the boy’s father said. “You dragged me down here and now you’re not even paying attention!”
“Sorry, Dad,” the boy said, and his head snapped back to the procession in front of him. “He’s just taking forever to get here!”
“Watch your tone,” the father said, casting anxious glances at the nobles surrounding him. “His Majesty will be here soon. Watch that corner there.”
Asra’s gaze shifted to the corner the man pointed to. There was a mural on the brick building, colorful depictions of Windemere’s national flowers and the ridgeback dogs the royal family were known for.
There was an alley behind Asra. With luck, she could dash into it quickly enough to avoid any casualties besides the king—if she made it there alive. She glanced back at the boy, now fully enraptured by the parade again, and she hoped something else would grab his attention when the time came.
The general’s words taunted her in her mind.
I know it’s pointless to run, but shouldn’t we do this somewhere away from people? We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.
Asra had no choice this time. Her repeated assassination attempts had, of course, only made Nolan more paranoid. The royal parade was the only day Nolan had left his palace for the past three years. Addresses to the public were done through court officials, and Nolan rarely made appearances even at private court events.
But his birthday celebration was always a spectacle, and the monarch wouldn’t miss the opportunity to bask in the adoration of his wealthy subjects in his annual parade. This would be Asra’s last opportunity to kill him until next year.
If he wanted a spectacle for his birthday, she would give him one.
A roar of renewed cheers brought her attention back to the parade. The king’s float was unmistakable as it rounded the corner. It had three tiers, each adorned with crystals and jewels that glittered even under the overcast skies.
The bottom tier bore sharply dressed, high-ranking nobles, the kind of people who clamored for the king’s favor like their pampered lap dogs begged for table scraps. The second tier held a small retinue of royal guards. In the center of them, Prince Ciaran stood and waved graciously at the crowds.
It was an uncommonly lucky break for Asra that he was here, considering Ciaran hadn’t shown his face at his older brother’s parade for several years now. Asra had never accounted for him in her assassination attempts because she’d frankly never felt it necessary. The man spent so much time in a sobering-up cell that they might as well move his throne there. The kingdom would likely crumble in a matter of months after Ciaran took over, and good riddance towards it.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
Ciaran also had nothing to do with the attack on her home, and he didn’t have the secrets of her people that made him dangerous to her. However, Asra didn’t trust anyone with the power the royal family carried, and she wouldn’t reject an opportunity to eliminate a potential threat when she was granted one.
Asra slid her gaze up to the top tier, where King Nolan sat atop an ornate gilded throne. She hadn’t seen him in person since she was ten years old. He had the same pale skin and chestnut brown hair as his brother, the same classically handsome looks, but he had an air of authority that his brother lacked. Ciaran’s crown made him look like a young boy playing dress-up. Nolan’s crown made him look like a ruler born and bred to conquer nations.
Asra had hoped that her adult perspective would make him seem smaller, weaker. But she still shivered as she remembered how Nolan had wheedled her for information the last time they’d met, dazzling her with his charisma and the splendor of the palace.
You know, your father and I are good friends, he’d said. I think we could do a lot to help each other, your people and mine. How far did you say your settlement was? I’m sure it won’t be any trouble to get there …
Asra had been too innocent, too naïve to understand his ulterior motives. By the time she realized she’d revealed too much, it was too late. Her town burned that night, and more than half of its inhabitants burned with it.
She slipped the silver band off her wrist and gripped it in her other hand. Another roar of thunder assaulted her ears, and she counted to ten in her head to steady her racing heart. The float was only a couple dozen yards away now. She took a deep, shuddering breath and rolled the silver bracelet into the street, making it look as much like an accident as possible.
As she lifted the rope and chased after it, several guards shouted warnings at her. The bracelet circled and dropped in the center of the street. Asra stooped, pretending to reach for it. Every sound was magnified tenfold now that the silver had left her skin. Concerned murmurs rippled through the onlookers. More warnings issued from the guards. Some of them reached for the revolvers at their sides and took aim, while others opted for the long rifles slung across their backs.
Asra inhaled deeply through her nose, savoring the wealth of scents the silver band had locked away from her. The odor of horse urine and manure was just as overpowering as it had been with the silver on, but now she could smell the traces of rats and cats in the alleys, the aromas of each ingredient in the street food sold in nearby stalls, and the nuances of the adrenals coursing through the bloodstreams of the apprehensive humans surrounding her. She had hoped to smell the fear in Nolan’s blood, but he was downwind.
Dozens of pistols cocked. She put her hands on the hot cobblestones, one foot placed slightly behind the other, like a runner at the start of a race, and launched herself into the air. Her shoes and clothing shredded and fell from her body as her feet and hands became paws, her skin cloaked itself in a fine brown pelt, and her face elongated into a long, sloped muzzle full of glittering teeth.
She was set on a perfect arc to land on the highest tier of the royal float. The surrounding guards fired on her, but her gazehound shape was too fast. One quick snap of her jaws would free Nolan’s head from his neck. Her heart pounded. A guttural snarl erupted from her throat.
And then the winds changed direction, and the scents of the people on board the float hit her like a brick wall. Nolan’s scent filled her wet nose, only it wasn’t Nolan’s scent.
The man sitting on the throne was an imposter.
Asra wasn’t sure if the uncanny resemblance resulted from impressive theater makeup or some sort of magic trickery, but he certainly wasn’t the king. She flailed her long legs in midair, desperately trying to alter her trajectory. She yelped as her bony ribs collided with the safety railing on the top tier. Nobles on the lower tier screamed and scrambled out of the way as she tumbled down to the street. Dazed, she only barely rolled out of the way of the float in time to avoid being crushed.
Pain ripped through her hind leg and shoulder as bullets tore through her flesh. She hauled herself up and raced for the alley. The surrounding crowds were already scattering in a panic. She had to keep the gunfire away from them.
She raced straight for the wall at the end of the alley. The adrenals coursing through her veins mercifully dulled the pain from her wounds as she ran up the side of the building. Bullets collided with the brick, sending chips of the masonry into the air. As she lost momentum, she gave one final push with her hind legs and hauled herself over the roof.
Asra leaped from rooftop to rooftop as alarm bells below her rang. She needed to lose the guards and find a place to hide. She wouldn’t be able to change back into her skin until her injuries healed, and the only place she could think of that would hide a horse-sized dog was the park about fourteen blocks to her right.
She headed toward the southern gate of the city, sprinting along the edges of the buildings so that the guards below could catch glimpses of her. The southern gate was small and not as well guarded as the others. If she could make the guards pursuing her below believe she was going to make a break for it, they would need to call reinforcements from around the city to fortify it. She could then double back and disappear into the city.
She skidded to a halt and pivoted towards the park. The sound of thudding hooves and shouting guards disappeared behind her. As she reached the last row of buildings before the park, she stopped and waited for the street below to clear of people, then she leaped down. Her muscles and tendons protested the hard landing, but she pushed through the pain and ran into the trees.
When she was certain she was far enough away from the nature trails and sidewalks that meandered through the park, she collapsed, chest heaving with her panting, tongue lolled out on the ground. She blinked back tears, partially from the rapidly returning pain in her leg and shoulder, but mostly from the humiliation of her failure.
Hindsight made it so obvious. Nolan sitting exposed at the top of the float. Ciaran deciding to make an appearance at the parade when he hadn’t in years. Nolan would of course be expecting her. He knew she wouldn’t be able to resist the opportunity to take them both out at once. She’d played right into his plan, though he’d probably intended for her to take significantly more bullets.
Slow down, Asra. Stop and think about what you’re doing before you do it.
She couldn’t put a name to the voice in her head because she’d heard it from so many. Mainly her mother, though not for a very long time. Her uncle. Sophie and Liam, her closest friends. Her siblings inevitably would have told her so, had they ever grown old enough.
It was one of the last things her father told her, the day before he chose to save her instead of the town. It was the only mistake Asra could remember him ever making.
As the thunder subsided and the dark clouds moved on, Asra’s tinnitus returned in full force, so loud that she swore someone standing next to her could hear the ringing in her ears, too. It was a lingering side effect from the explosion that had taken half her left ear—the same explosion that had taken her brother and sister during the attack on her home. It wasn’t fair, the way that Nolan had taken so much from her, yet remained untouchable.
Another year trapped in this city, waiting for her next opportunity. Her eyelids grew as heavy as her heart, and she succumbed to sleep.