It was supposed to be the end. No more bloodshed, no more death. He was going to put all of that behind him. He’d promised.

It looked like Mark made that promise a bit too soon.

He turned on his heels and strolled away, trying to act casual. No witnesses, no screams. No one save for the occasional guard ever walked down the road connected to the alleyway it was in. He peered around the corner, and looked above him. There was no one around. Perfect.

He walked down the abandoned road until he reached the plaza. It bustled with merchants trying to sell their wares around the fountain in the middle and tourists looking around in wonder at everything. It would be a bit depressing when the knights locked down the plaza.

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Mark passed the plaza and entered a rougher crowd. The guards would be here, lolling around until something happened, such as a minor fistfight, or a murder. He scanned the crowd until he found one of them. A shiny helmet, bored look, a short spear and shield in hand. They stood out. He tugged on his hood. It would be inconvenient if someone saw his face. With that in mind, Mark approached the guard from behind and tapped him on his shoulder.

The guard turned around, annoyance showing. Mark paid no mind to it. He hurriedly shoved a note into the guard’s hand and slipped away into the crowd. He turned back once, to see the guard’s confusion turn into shock. He never looked back after that.

A few days later, far away from the royal capital, Mark impassively listened to the messenger crying out that the king had been killed.