It was near midnight when she sensed someone was following her, trailing her every move; hiding beneath the shadows. She could feel their eyes as they watched her, their gaze burning into the middle of her back. Invisible to her sight. She rubbed at the back of her neck and quickly glanced behind her. 

The street was empty, lit merely by candlelight in tall lamps, flickering. Her eyes narrowed. Many feet away, she saw it—a lick of shadow that had crawled into the alleyway. 

The corners of her lips curled. 

Yes, someone was following her, after all. She had herself a little stalker—and, admittedly, not a good one at that. Even she knew to hide her own shadow, as something as minimal as that was enough to give one away. A beginner’s mistake. Not to mention…

Her ears perked at the soft sound of footsteps. Her smile grew. The stalker was unable to silence their steps. How terribly sloppy they were. Did they really think she would not notice them? 

Roselyn started towards the alleyway, her own footsteps soundless. Silent. She would show them how to truly follow someone without them noticing.

As she inched down the alleyway side, she tore out a small dagger, gleaming in the moonlight. She held it at her chest as she flung herself around the corner. 

Her eyes were quick to register the royal blue cloak and broad shoulders underneath. A male. Before he could bolt, she grabbed him by his cloak and flung him against the brick wall. He choked out at the impact. She pressed the dagger to his neck. The hood he had been wearing fell to his shoulders, his face exposed. 

Her eyes widening for a quick moment before relaxing. 

“Prince Christian,” she purred. She lowered the dagger. His striking blue eyes, like ice, narrowed at her; jaw tight. “Who knew that I had such a royal admirer.”

“How did you know?” He choked out, his voice was tight and lips barely moving.

She flashed her teeth at him, and he flinched. “Any imbecile would be able to notice when you are following them. Your technique is sloppy, kid. Stick to being a spoiled brat, it works better for you.” 

“I’m not a kid,” he said with a tired smile. 

“Oh yeah?” She smiled with the tilt of her head. “How old are you, then?” 

“Seventeen.” 

She waved a hand of dismissal, releasing him. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re still a kid to me, kid. Prince. What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be cozy in your fancy castle, being fed fat by maids? With your mother’s hand stroking your head?” 

“Your sarcasm is irritating,” he stated flatly. The prince stood straight. He brushed the dirt off his clothes stiffly, the disgust evident in his face. Never have been dirty before, prince? Her lips went lopsided. He didn’t know what he was getting into. 

“You following me is irritating,” she said pointedly back. “But you don’t see me complaining about that, do you—besides right now, of course. So consider us now equal.” She smiled thickly, red lips spread. “So. What do you want? You are very much wasting my precious time here.” 

“I have a request for you,” he said in a low voice. 

“Oh?” Her eyebrows raised slightly. 

“You’re a demon hunter, are you not?” The prince asked. His blue eyes stared at her, waiting. Studying. 

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“That’s what they call me,” she answered with a smirk. She paused, raising a finger. “Although demon hunter is such a broad term. I much rather be considered a protector, a guard—that is a far more honorable-sounding title, don’t you think.” 

He ignored her. “I have a job for a demon hunter.” 

Roselyn’s deep green eyes narrowed. She stepped forward, observing his face. His chin was raised at her,  and his eyes were unwavering; his body was confident. A true prince. He did not need a crown or rich clothing. Royalty was in his blood.   

She took his chin and lifted it higher. She was merely a few inches taller than he was, yet he still was required to look up to meet her eyes. She grinned down at him. “What sort of job, prince?” 

His body shook slightly under her grasp. Fear. Yet…despite that, he held his ground well. Honorable, she thought. “You’re a demon hunter,” he started slowly, a drawl. His eyes were a lake without waves. “I need you to kill a demon.” 

“I’m going to need more than just that.” 

“My brother,” he started to say. His lips pursed. “I believe him to be possessed by a demon. And although it pains me to resort to such a terrible method, I don’t think there is any other way. You must kill him.” 

Prince Julien Greymark. The crowned prince. Sticky territory, if you asked her. Killing a prince, or any member of royalty was not an ideal task. It most certainly would result in being thrown in the Gray Dungeon for the rest of eternity—or execution. Neither of which, was exactly nice outcomes in her opinion. 

Instead, she asked, “Do you have any proof that he is possessed?” 

The prince’s eyes narrowed. “Do you take me for a liar, Roselyn Atwood?” 

So he knew her name, after all. Hearing it from his lips, in such a bitter tone, left her lips to curl. “Would you trust someone you sparsely met, prince?” He was silent. “Yes, I would not, either. I am simply being cautious. So I’ll spare your time and put this quite bluntly: I cannot accept your request.” 

“And why not.” She could sense the poison seeping into his voice. Frustration. A boiling anger, just about to spill over. 

“Call me selfish, prince, but I do not kill those of royalty, possessed or not. It is a territory I do not wish to explore—as it might result in a guillotine to my neck, and I prefer my head on my shoulders, thank you very much.” 

Prince Christian smiled bitterly. “Are you refusing me?” 

A prince. 

His lower jaw was twitching. The spoiled brat probably had never experienced rejection in his life. Well, better late than never. It would not be the first time that someone would be displeased with her. Nor would it be the last. 

“If you want to put it that way, yes. Yes, I am.” 

“How much would it take?” He tried to hide the desperation, but it was there—in his eyes. It was in the pleading in his voice. “How much would I have to pay you to change your mind?” 

Roselyn pressed her lips tightly. “How easily swayed do you think I am?” He did not answer. “No money, as far as I’m concerned. And let me tell you something, prince. I’m terribly greedy. When I reject money, I mean it. Okay.” 

Silence, radiating anger. 

“So go home to that disgustingly large castle of yours before your mother notices you’re gone. And sleep away this idea of killing your brother because he’s a demon, as murdering him is not the option here. You and I both know that. If he is truly possessed, you need him exorcised not killed—so go find a formidable priest to do the job, not a demon hunter.” She shrugged. “But, of course, that’s just a suggestion. You will do what you want despite what I say.” 

He said nothing more, so with a shrugged, she started away. Thought she was done.

“I could make you queen,” Christian suddenly said. She turned. “I could make you anything you’ve ever wanted to be.” 

Anything you’ve ever wanted to be. 

There was a time where those words would make her mouth water at just the thought. She would lick her lips in anticipation. Oh, how much she had longed to hear someone tell her that; for someone to give her anything she wanted. She would have thrown herself at them the moment the words left their lips.

But that time was no longer, and the man who had promised her that was long gone. All she could do was snort at how stupid and greedy she had once been. 

“What an awful mistake that’d be.” Roselyn smiled thinly, her head raised up, towards the darkening sky. “If I became Queen, there would be no kingdom left. I would burn it to the ground; ash would be all that remained.” 

The prince smiled. “So be it, then. Let’s burn the kingdom to the ground. Together.” 

Roselyn choked out a laugh. She thought he was kidding. 

He was not. 

The prince simply stared at her, serious, waiting for her response. There was a gleam of mischief in his blue eyes, sparkling like the light on a blue, blue ocean. She licked her lips, frowning. “Gods. You’re serious.”  

He shoved his hand into the cloak pockets, tilting his head to the side. A small stream of light caught in his hair, causing it to appear nearly silver. “What do you say, Roselyn Atwood,” There was that terrible smile again. “Will you join me?”