After that day, I did not hear from General Rowe again.

But I did receive a letter from my anonymous client. My mentor handed me the plain envelope the day after I got back. He never mentioned who the mystery person was, only that it came with generous pay. I hold it in my hand as I stare at the silhouette of the palace looming in the distance, thoughts consumed with curiosities on their identity and intentions. The secrecy surrounding this client evokes a sense of unease within me— like a subtle premonition, and warning, to brace myself for whatever lies ahead.

In truth, two people had asked me to get rid of Lucille. The first being an anonymous request sent through a plain, white envelope and the second, from the masked man who turned out to be the general. Not that I let either of them know. It was good business; the same target and twice the reward.

News of Lucille's death spread swiftly, carried by whispers and gasps of disbelief. They say Serevin awoke the morning after their wedding night to find her lifeless form beside him, the warmth of their shared vows replaced by the chilling cold of her corpse. People wondered how he emerged from the tragic scene unscathed while she was found in such a state. The question dwelled in the air until the courts of Haskova and Rhyrin finally rendered a verdict. With no other witnesses or people present during their wedding night, Serevin was deemed guilty for the murder of his bride. Just like my clients wanted.

But the answer to their question was simple: he did not die because no murder attempt occurred in the bedroom, Lucille simply succumbed to the poison festering within her. There was no murderer present to strike him down for fear that he had witnessed something. As for the poison I used, it was not contagious. Only I could have administered it so he was spared its effects when they touched, kissed, and consummated.

I was only able to poison Lucille because I became the poison myself.

The process is similar to how I can change the color of my hair and eyes; to how I can mimic a person’s voice. I need only drink the poison and I become it. I am gifted, what can I say— a gentle knock on the door breaks my train of thought.

“Come in,” I call out, crumpling the letter and throwing it away.

“Congratulations,” my mentor greets, walking into the room. His long, obsidian hair is swept up in a half-bun, with dark strands messily framing his face and creating a stark contrast from his porcelain skin and ruby irises. He is dressed in black, silken robes with golden, bejeweled chains loosely hanging from his neck.

“What did you expect? It’s me we’re talking about, Nieven,” I stand up, “Why are you here?”

He plops himself onto the bed, “All business, as usual. It truly wouldn’t hurt to be friendlier, little serpent.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Stop calling me that,” I hissed.

Nieven found me in the streets when I was just eight years old. Although found is a strong word for it; I attempted to steal from him, a desperate act that ended in failure. I bit him to escape, hence the endearment. Since then, I have worked under his care, honing my skills while working as a member of Chameleon, an infamous network of private operatives.

“Would you prefer your real name, Sigyn?”

…Sigyn.

Sigyn.

Please, Sigyn—

A sense of dread takes over me and I sigh in defeat, “It’s fine. Now, why are you here?”

“The Free People are leaving the capital. Our leaders do not want us getting caught up in the issues between Haskova and Rhyrin,” he says, allowing an unspoken question to hang in the air.

“I wouldn’t mind coming with you. It’s been boring here,” I answer.

“You should. The former crown prince’s loyal guards are still trying to find you in an attempt to prove his innocence,” his face contorts.

I know what Nieven wants to add. Although the general has not made contact, his men tried assassinating me a few days ago. Among them was a face I recognized immediately by the scars that marred his cheek. It was a failed attempt, to my dismay. They were weak against me and I also had fellow members of Chameleon accompanying me that night.

Not that I needed help from them.

“Death isn't as much of a touchy subject to me as it was before,” I say, a bitter smile playing at the corners of my lips. “So what if they find me again? I’m not afraid of dying, in fact, I wish for it. A noble, honorable end that people would tell tales of,” I wave my hand in the air, my gaze distant as I imagine being swept away from this cursed life.

“That’s why I’m so worried. I can’t have the breadwinner of Chameleon dead before I’m filthy rich,” he laughs.

“You’re such a greedy boss,” I stand up and walk to the door, “There are jewels in that cabinet from the mystery client. You can have five at most.”

“We travel at dawn,” he says as I shut the door.

Nieven’s attempts at friendliness are wasted on me. I have long given up on companionship. It would only lead to pain when we have to say goodbye.

An unsettling discomfort coils in my chest as I walk to the greenhouse. If I leave now, it is uncertain when, or if, I will return. A deep breath escapes my lips as I bundle up some freshly plucked flowers. An obligation, a promise gnaws at me, it is something I could never hope to escape.

I should visit their graves before I go.