A knock on the door to my chambers. I groaned and got up from my bed. I’d just returned from the market and had hoped to take a warm, pleasant bath. Apparently not. I open the wooden doors to find a young female servant. Gods, she looked scared to death, paler than milk. “My Lady,” she said in a timid voice, “His Grace, the Duke, has requested your presence in his study. Immediately.” She looked ready to bolt, so I simply nodded and closed the door.

I sighed. I suppose I had enough time to wash my face, but nothing else. I walked into the lavishly appointed bathing chamber and to the marble basin on the left side of the claw-foot bathtub large enough to fit three comfortably.

I paused to look in the mirror. My wide dark blue, almost purple, eyes were always a shock. I’d seen no one with the same eyes as mine. They stood out on my pale, freckled face and platinum blonde hair. I saw there were some flecks of blood on my neck, from when I’d killed the guy.

I rubbed my temples, trying to ward off the headache sure to come. Better to not dwell on who I killed. I quickly freshened up and rebraided my hair.

Walking down the hall to my father’s study, I found myself again admiring the paintings hanging from the walls. I don’t know why, but they always seemed to nag at something at the back of my mind.

The scenes depicted in most of them were macabre. Wars, spilt blood, people on the chopping block, stuff like that. But… it was almost as if I could taste the fear of those in those paintings, their bloodlust, panic, terror.

I paused at one of them. It depicted a battlefield, where hundreds, if not thousands, of people had been killed; impaled, beheaded, gutted. I reached one finger towards the painting, fascinated-

“There you are.” said a deep, disapproving voice. I jerked my finger back, clasped my hands behind my back and twirled to face my father.

I inclined my head, not deigning to respond or curtsy. He turned around and walked back into his study, not looking to see if I followed. I debated the merits of leaving and going back to my room to enjoy that bath, but in the end I decided to follow him.

The door shut behind me with a soft click. “Your progress?” asked the Duke, straight to the point. “No hello, good afternoon Ariessa, how are you? Father, you’ve grown distant.” I pouted, knowing he would be annoyed at my insolence.

The Duke and I looked almost nothing alike. He had straight dark brown hair and steely brown eyes to match. The only thing we had in common was the stubborn set of our jaws whenever we dug in our heels over petty things. Especially petty things.

I sometimes wondered who my real mother was. If we looked alike. But if she’d ‘fallen in love’ with a man like my father, I worried I wouldn’t like her if I ever met her. I suspected she was dead, however. Whenever I used to bring her up when I was younger, he would get sad, angry and violent in a matter of moments. It scared me then and it still does, how my calm, collected and neutral father could turn so aggressive at the mere mention of my mother.

I’d been told on more than one occassion by my stepmother, annoyed whenever I asked if she had known my mother, that she had merely been a passing fancy of my father’s. But judging by his reactions? Passing fancy, my ass.

“Your impertinence,” he said, not at all disturbed, “will get you in quite a bit of trouble one day. Or killed.” He said all of this with the same unperturbed calm as if he were talking about the weather. I had to suppress the shiver it sent down my back, unnerving me.

I rolled my eyes and walked to one of the comfy chairs in his study. In one fluid motion, I had my legs on one arm and my back resting on the other. The gown rode up my shins and to my knees, exposing the tan skin there. My father only sighed, taking a seat in the chair opposite the mahogany desk scattered with paper. Another thing my father and I had in common: we both kept documents or items of importance in perpetual chaos. I found the randomest things under my mattress, even now.

“If you can not kill the peasant turned lord, you know I can not pay you. Your stay here might be…compromised.” He said bluntly, reminding me of that night almost two years ago, when I’d been barely 15, and he’d said something similar, right here in this room.

I still remembered the confusion, the tangines of fear, burn of rage and sharp pain of betrayal.

“In this house, you must earn your keep, Ariessa. And to earn your keep, I must pay you for something I ask you to do. If you can not kill the Viscountess, I can not pay you. Your stay here would be compromised.” He said, ignoring the tears flowing freely down my face.

“B-but Father, I-I’ve never k-killed someone. I d-don’t w-want to!” I choked out through the sobbing.

“You must.” He’d said, turning around to face the window behind his chair, overlooking the gardens.

“Y-you don’t make Eliza and Kostan kill for you!” I’d shouted, fear and betrayal turning to something else: rage. Rage that made me see red, made me throw caution to the wind and speak up at the injustice.

“They are my real children. You, however,” He’d answered, delivering the final blow, “are not.”

“I’m your daughter!” I’d screamed, enraged, “Why did you even bring me to your estate when I was a baby if you were going to treat me so cruelly? I’d have been better off dead!”

I thought I’d imagined it, but he looked like he’d flinched. The next words he said eradicated thoses thoughts immediately. “You,” he’d seethed, “were a mistake.”

I’d been stunned speechless, my mouth agape. He’d walked out then, as if he couldn’t bear my presence any longer.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I snapped back into reality realizing my father had been talking and I’d zoned out. Again. Twice in a day, a new record for myself.

“-are you going to finish him off? Your deadlin-” I cut him off midsentence, “Yes, yes, I’ll kill him soon. By sunset tomorrow, if I’m successful.”

I don’t say anything more. I smoothly stood up and strode towards the door. “Ariessa?” He spoke, when I was just opening the door to exit. Pausing, I didn’t deign to turn around or address him. His voice softened just a fraction, “You’re doing well.”

A mixture of emotions erupted inside me. Pride, affection, fury, pain, sadness. My eyes welled with tears, which he thankfully couldn’t see. With happiness or sadness, I knew not.

I didn’t say anything, just left.

I couldn’t bear his presence or the ghost of his words haunting me any longer.

**********

It was morning already. I’d slept restlessly, my past kills haunting my dreams. Last night, that unflinching face embedded wIth bright turquoise eyes had especially haunted my dreams.

**********

I sharpened my obsidian dagger, the blade so glossy it reflected the light. Veins of ivory spread throughout the entirety of the obsidian, making it look ethereal. They crisscrossed here and there, making them look like delicate tree roots. It was the only gift I’d ever been given by my father. He’d given it to me to commemorate my first-ever kill. Thoughtful? Maybe. Was the occasion right? Hell no.

While I hated killing more than I did my father, I did like the dagger. It gave me comfort in any situation, be it when my stepmother and half siblings turned their noses up at me or I was ambushed on the streets by thugs and worse.

I dipped the blade in the poison I’d prepared from the Colchis. One scratch, and anyone would surely be dead.

Today, I wore a simple tunic and pants. For freedom of movement, convenience and so that I fit in. And in case I needed to run. Mostly if I needed to run.

I looked at the clock. An hour till the festival and two until sunset. I groaned, throwing my head back in frustration.

I’d found out that the peasant lord would be going to the festival held for the workers at the palace, as he always did before he’d been turned lord. But the bonus was he’d be going without any guards for security. Which left him completely vulnerable to attacks. Of course, there would be palace guards, but they were easy enough to get past. I’d managed it a couple of times already.

If I’m going to get to the palace, I’d better do it soon. I got up and called for a carriage. I wouldn’t get one of the ones His Grace and his real family used, but I’d still be getting a nondescript one. Better than walking.

Those that worked here knew to oblige with whatever I asked for. I suppose it must have been an order commissioned by my father, so that I might do his dirty work as quickly as possible. I snorted at the thought, not because of its absurdity, but because it was probably true.

Within minutes, I was on my way to the grand palace to pull off a murder.

**********

I exited in the middle of the square filled with people. They were all making their way to the great structure in the distance: Frost Palace.

From what I could see of it, it was a large alabaster structure set on the side of a mountain overlooking the sea, with multiple turrets and spires reaching towards the clouds. It looked majestic from afar, and even more beautiful up front.

I quickly made my way to the pearly white front gates, stopping only to make sure my dagger was secured in the sheath in my right boot, making sure it couldn’t scratch me.

Deep breath in. I strode in with the others streaming in, finding a crowd near an alcove on the left. Hold. I searched the crowd for anyone that looked different from the common peasants…

A flash of bright red and gold. Breathe out. I waited in another alcove with a clear view of the crowd, waiting for it to disperse. Some god must have taken pity on me, because the crowd dispersed within a few moments, with just a few stragglers left talking to him.

Now, I could clearly see my target: Ronald Garris, 26, formerly working as a miner, but turned lord when he’d saved one of the Royal Prince’s who’d come to see the precious stones and metals when a stalagmite had almost fallen on him.

Bright red hair, check. Tan, golden face, also check. Warm brown eyes, yup. I sighed then, my patience at its end. It didn’t seem like I’d be able to corner him alone any time soon. But then… no man could refuse a woman’s advances. Especially if that woman was unusually pretty. I didn’t like doing it, but if I had to… I knew how to use my wiles.

I forced myself to take the steps out of my alcove, heading towards him.

He noticed me just as I came into his line of sight. He paused his chat with another peasant. “And you are?” He asked in a husky voice. I tilted my head downwards and bit my lip. “My lord,” I started, timidly, unsure, “My name is Lilliana. I’ve heard many tales of your bravery and how you were rewarded.” I inclined my head just the tiniest bit. “I was hoping… you would illuminate for me how you possessed such bravery to save someone, forfeiting your own life.”

“Perhaps, Lilliana, I can illuminate for you the selflessness that entered me… in private?” He asked in an oily voice, a lusty glint in his eyes.

Disgusting.

I nodded, letting him excuse himself and lead the way. I found us in an empty corridor, right off the main entrance. It wasn’t being used by anyone. Perfect.

As he looked around to make sure no one saw us, I discreetly unsheathed my knife, careful to keep it away from my skin and hidden behind me.

Satisfied that no one was around to see us, he turned his attention to me. I walked him backwards, towards a pillar, leaning in for a kiss. As my lips met his, I carefully scratched him with the poisoned blade. I don’t think he felt it, since he was kissing me with full vigor now, uncaring that I didn’t return his affections. He’d be dead within minutes now.

I pulled away for a moment. His skin was already losing its color, turning almost the same alabaster as the palace. A few more moments, he’ll start hallucinating, and soon after, he’ll die.

“So that’s what you wanted the Colchis for. You could’ve just said as much, you know.” said a deep voice I never expected to hear again.

I whirled around, my dagger raised. I could almost feel my eyes widening to the size of saucers, my skin paling.

I stared into turquoise eyes sparkling with amusement. He leaned against a pillar right by the door, arms crossed.

And he had on a crown.

And not just a crown. The crown of the heir.

I think I squeaked. I wouldn’t have been surprised.

I’d just tried to kill one of the unkillable Royals. And not just any Royal.

Fucking Crown Prince Kyle Frost.