The assassin lowered his hood.

He pressed his injured arm to his chest, trying to stifle his stuttered gasps. Every step was torture. But the pain was nothing compared to the reminder of the loss of his hand.

He dragged himself through the empty streets. The flames behind him had saved him. Whether it was fate or a lucky coincidence, he had taken advantage of the distracted guards and slipped away.

“Young man!”

The assassin’s eyes widened. He turned to face the person, only hesitating at the last second to draw his remaining blade.

The old woman stared at him with glassy eyes. She had a thin shawl draped over her bony shoulders. The woman tilted her head, taking in his bloody form. “My dear, are you all right?”

The assassin was silent.

She took a wobbly step forward.

From down the street came the sudden shouts of guards and horses.

The man’s eyes widened. He tensed, ready to kill the witness and try to run for it. He held his breath, bracing himself.

A weathered hand grasped his. Opening her door, the old woman pulled the assassin into her home. “Those guards are menaces, I tell you,” she muttered under her breath. “Come, you can use my son’s room to heal and rest. He is away on business and will not mind.”

Making up his mind, the assassin slipped into the house.

As the door closed, he could see the Lord of Feldgrau’s guards rushing down the street. Leading them was a familiar eye-patched man.

Once inside, the assassin couldn’t help but sigh in relief. He may have lost a hand, but he had kept his life.

—

Men stormed down the halls of the Prince’s Residence. The Lord of Feldgrau was at the lead. His two right-hand men followed beside him.

There was an irritated growl on the ice prince’s face. The dark circles under his eyes were mirrored on every person’s face.

They stopped in front of the charred room. Nikolai’s frown grew. It was rare to see him so openly furious.

The guards shifted nervously.

“How did an assassin and an arsonist get through our doors?” The lord’s voice was calm but rage simmered underneath. “I thought we got rid of all the rats.”

Cristin stepped forward. His voice was cautious despite the many years he had spent by the lord’s side. “They must have slipped through during the hirings.” He cleared his throat at the sharp look thrown his way. “I am to blame.”

“No,” interjected Darcy. His dark eyepatch only added to his somber expression. “We believe the assassin impersonated one of the servants. Using their pass, he entered the residence.” The man lowered himself to his knees. “I deserve to be punished, my liege. It was my oversight.”

“I should have realized it! Punish me, my lord” snapped Cristin. “The head chef alerted me of a suspicious person.” The attendant clenched his fists. If the assassin had succeeded, the Lord of Feldgrau would be dead now. Cristin looked away in shame. “I should have investigated it immediately.”

Darcy stepped forward, a protest ready on his lips.

Nikolai lifted a hand, cutting the apology contest short. He gestured for the guards behind him to enter the charred room.

The good news was that the flames had only spread to one room. The problem was whose room it was.

“Bring me anything salvageable,” commanded the ice prince.

Apparently forgiven, for the time being, Cristin wet his lips. “Where shall we deliver it to?”

“My rooms,” Nikolai’s tone was short.

A tense silence filled the air.

“Will the Raven General be amiable to this?” questioned Darcy. “Shall we not bring it somewhere she will not take offense?

“Perhaps the armory?” wondered Cristin.

Darcy turned to look at the guards. “Send the items to the armory.”

“No,” Nikolai’s eyes were glued to the charred fabric on the floor. It must have been one of the dresses he had gifted Faye. He turned to regard his friend. The eye-patched commander had a point, under normal circumstances.

Behind him, the charred remains of Faye’s old room was a stark background. Nikolai strode off. “Bring it to my rooms.”

—

Despite the early hour, the royal training yard was filled with the noise. A training sword hacked away at the post which trembled at the force.

Crown Prince Argan panted. He sliced at the training post viciously. His black eye was fully swollen shut, purplish in the morning light.

“What is this nonsense?” came a sharp voice.

The prince did not bother turning his head to greet his mother.

The queen frowned at the sight. Picking up her dress, she approached her son in case he had not heard her over the ruckus. When her ladies in waiting tried to follow, her dark eyes shot them a look halting them in place.

“Crown prince,” called Rewanna. “Crown prince!”

Argan yelled and kicked at the post before stabbing it with his sword, completely ignoring the woman. The post fell back, hitting the ground. The crown prince snarled. Groaning, he tried to heave his stuck sword out of the wood. A hand gripped at him tightly. Long nails pinched at him warningly.

“Crown Prince Argan,” said the queen. “You will look at me when I address you.”

Throwing his hands in the air, Argan finally turned. “Enough with the farce, mother. There is no one here.” He grumbled as he kicked at the post for good measure. “Call me by my name, woman.”

“You will address me as Your Higness,” Rewanna’s eyes narrowed. “I am the queen of this land. You will treat me with respect.”

Argan looked away but did not dare say any more to refute her.

A finger prodded at his injury. The crown prince winced.

“Will you finally tell me who has dared to injure you?” The queen’s dark eyes gleamed. “Are you certain it was not the Lord of Feldgrau’s men? Perhaps you did not see them clearly in the late hour.”

“I will not speak of this, Mother.” Argan only pursed his lips. “Drop the matter.”

“I will not!” screeched Rewanna, all of a sudden, furious. “Someone had dared to lay a hand against you! My son! That is a slight against the crown.”

“You mean it is a slight against you,” muttered the boy. He barely winced when his mother pulled him towards her, sharp nails digging into his flesh as she gripped his face. Dully, he wondered if it would draw blood.

“You are a stupid boy.” Rewanna glared at him hard. “My dear son, you know nothing of this world, or of the sacrifices I have made for you.”

She released him with a huff. “A slight against either of us is a slight against the crown. It is treason.” Rewanna worked her jaw. “You must set an example for your subjects. What will the people say if they saw their prince with a black eye?”

“They will think me brave for fighting,” the boy puffed up.

“Or they will see a fool who cannot control his violent impulses,” snapped the queen.

The sight of his black eye made the queen’s blood boil. But she did not know who to set her anger towards. As soon as her precious son had returned, he had gone to his chambers refusing to say a word about the injury. Childishly, he had forbidden the guards who had accompanied him to breathe a single word of the incident with the promise of horrible pain by the crown prince’s own blade.

“Put away your toy,” she started. “It is time for your lessons.”

“It is a sword!” glared the crown prince. “Not a toy. I am not a child!”

“Go to your lessons, now.” The queen’s tone brokered no room for arguments.

Argan grabbed his sword and turned back to the post. “Later,” he huffed. “I must practice.”

“No, you will not,” said the queen. She nodded towards the guards at the perimeter of the training yard. They straightened, ready to obey her orders. Rewanna relished in the feeling. Her son may not understand, but this was the power promised to him. It was Argan’s birthright, she thought viciously. She would do anything to protect it.

The guards would drag her son to his lessons if it came to it.

“Do you think yourself so intelligent that you can skip lessons? You are not your brother.” Rewanna stared at the destroyed post with distaste. “The Lord of Feldgrau was already leagues ahead of you when he was only half your age.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Argan froze, sword hanging midair.

“What good is your sword if your enemy is already ten steps ahead?” Rewanna’s tone was gentle. “Your fate is that of a king, not a guard. Next time you leave the fighting to the servants.” She sighed, “Or has Nikolai not embarrassed you enough?”

Her cruel words echoed in the training yard.

Argan dropped the training sword. It clattered noisily. The boy stalked off.

Rewanna watched him go.

Argan was simply too young. But Rewanna was not worried. She would guide him well.

—

Rufus ambled through the crowd, annoyed at the delay. Elody and the Lucky Charm awaited. He patted his pockets, feeling for the horse hair brushes.

“Did you hear! The Raven General set the Lord of Feldgrau’s house on fire!”

“Why would she do that?”

The ladies clucked like a flock of hens. “Well, don’t you know? Her husband was with the Lady Asinara last night. He even defended the Rose of Eburean against the Crown Prince!”

“She was jealous!” they realized.

Rufus’ eyes widened. A cold sweat broke out. Were things really that simple? Was the Raven General merely venting a jealous rage? Or was there a killing intent in the act? Faye now knew that she was living with her enemy.

“Ah,” grumbled an old man. “You gossiping fools! Fires break out all the time, it was merely an accident.”

A fire so perfectly timed.

His conscience twinged with guilt. As the young lord scurried away, he prayed that the old man was right. Let it please be an accident, Rufus prayed.

—

There was a looming presence spread over the Prince’s Residence.

The servants kept their heads down and not even the youngest of stable boys dared to laugh too loud or make a ruckus.

In his stalls, Viktor kicked at the doors, anxious and angry. Its bright coat was losing its shine and the animal refused to eat its meals. Despite the handlers’ attempts to calm him and the numerous times they led him out to the corrals, the animal was difficult. It reared and bit any that dared to stand near it. But when it was silent, the stable boys watched as the creature’s dark eyes searched for a missing female general.

Most of the other horses stared jealously at the stallion’s special treatment. With the recent lockdown, only the most trusted of servants and the head chef’s assistants were allowed to leave the Prince’s Residence, leaving the horses anxiously waiting in their stalls.

“I have not left the residence in two days!” complained one of the maids to her friend.

“My mother asks after me,” murmured her friend. “But I heard you need express permission from the lord to leave! I dare not ask.”

The Lord of Feldgrau appeared the same as usual, but these days there was a certain gloominess to him. Even those who knew him well were hesitant in their approach.

“I don’t think anyone dares to,” the maid admitted. “Perhaps it is best to wait it out.”

“Hush!” the young voice was sharp. “Lower your voices! You are disturbing the lady!”

The two startled and turn to meet the little girl’s glare.

Aimee, the brightest soul in the residence, glowered at the two maids. These days, her happy face was filled with fierce scowls and short tempers. Sometimes, in the comfort of her bed, she would cry, sniffling silently at night. But in the days, she dutifully attended to her mistress, refusing to leave Lady Feldgrau’s side unless physically dragged away to sleep and eat.

“If you have nothing to do here, then leave,” Aimee stared at them suspiciously. “Or I shall call the guards.”

The maids paled. They did not fear the little one, but she was fiercely protective and had called the guards more than a few times in the past days. To everyone’s surprise, the guards always responded, following the little girl’s orders. If there was anything even slightly off, the people would be taken away to be investigated.

“There is no need, Aimee,” comforted the first maid. She picked up her mop and shot her friend a look. “We were just finished.”

Aimee crossed her arms. The little girl watched as the two went. She bit on the side of her mouth. Maybe she should report those two to the lord. Her sharp eyes glanced at the dirty spot on the ground. They did seem suspicious.

As they hurried away, the two maids stared at each other in open awe and fear.

“We must be cautious of what we say,” whispered the second maid, elbowing her friend. They could no longer carelessly joke or speak too loudly.

The first maid sighed, clenching her mop tightly. “I hope the Raven General wakes soon.”

Maybe things would finally return to normal then.

—

The assassin stared at his bandaged hand. He still could not wrap his mind around the loss. He rubbed his head. At least his belly was full and he was able to rest on a soft bed.

No one would suspect the old woman and it seemed his stroke of luck really had saved him. The old woman lived by herself. Alone in the house, she brought him food and medicine without asking for any compensation. Although he had planned to get rid of her once she had gotten him his supplies, he realized the woman suffered from an illness of the mind.

She told him that her son was away, but he had overheard the neighbors pitying her as they dropped supplies on her doorstep. The woman’s son was dead, a soldier lost to the battlefield. But the woman resolutely held onto the hope that he still lived.

She also forgot things easily, always asking the assassin’s name and hometown repeatedly, simultaneously forgetting where they lived and the day of the week.

There had even been an incident on their second morning. When she had seen him in the bed, she had freaked, forgetting for a moment that she had led him there until he reminded her.

For the past few days, he had lived in peace. Once his injuries healed, he would head off. The old woman would likely forget him in a few hours, so there was no need to claim her life.

There was a knock on the door to his room. Without waiting for a response, the old woman bumbled in carrying medicine. “My son!” she called as she ambled in, trying to balance the tray.

The assassin looked up and played along. “Yes, mother?”

The old woman set the tray of food and the medicine on the table. “I asked for the most expensive tonic they had. He said this would ease you of the pain.” She showed him the bottles with great pride.

Her glassy eyes watered as they stared at his stump. She squeezed his shoulders. “Eat your medicine, my boy. I know you dislike the taste, but please do this for me.”

“Of course, mother.” The assassin reached over and downed the liquid in one go. “Anything for you.”

—

There was a silent creak as the door to Nikolai’s study opened. He glanced up.

Bian froze as a sword came to rest near his throat. He stared up at a solemn Darcy. Seeing the familiar face, the commander looked over at his lord. He seemed to relax but his weapon did not lower.

Nikolai studied the tray of tea in the boy’s hands. “Come in, Bian.”

With a flick of his wrist, Darcy sheathed his sword. He stepped back to let the boy pass.

Bian nodded his thanks.

“It is an honor to officially meet the Songbird,” commented Nikolai.

Bian stiffened slightly at his secret moniker. He nodded his head in acknowledgment. He tried to keep his form small as he passed Darcy. Despite his sheathed blade, the one-eyed man continued to regard him with a hard expression.

The boy approached the lord with the tray. Before he could reach the table, Darcy called out. “Not too close, Songbird.”

“It’s alright,” Nikolai regarded Bian and beckoned him forward. “I did not realize we were still doing this, Bian.” He picked up the steaming cup of tea. The steam curled in the air lazily.

The boy stared at the lord expectantly, but the man was silent.

Darcy stared at their quiet battle of wills as the silence dragged on.

He knew how stubborn his liege was. Despite the many times the lord had deliberately passed by his own chambers, he did not ask after the Raven General. He would only pause to stare at the closed doors before walking away.

For the past few days, his liege had been staying in Cristin and Darcy’s quarters. The ice prince slept on an old cot barely fit for a guest much less the lord of their household. But the lord met any protest with an annoyed glare and feigned ignorance.

It was quite frustrating.

Darcy sighed and shot the ice prince (a creative name he had to admit) an expectant look. As much as he respected his lord, the man could be stubborn to a fault once he made up his mind.

No one even truly knew what had transpired the night of the fire except that there was an assassin and now the Raven General had been unconscious for days.

Darcy shifted in his armor. “How fares the Raven General, boy?”

Bian shook his head. Despite their best efforts, the poison was spreading to the young woman’s vital points. Despite the general’s excellent constitution, if the antidote was not found, she would soon be in a difficult situation.

“Perhaps we should send for another healer?” asked Darcy, brows pinching. “What does Johnathan say?”

Nikolai looked back down at his notes. “It is no use. This is not a natural sickness, but something caused by poison.”

Darcy raised a curious brow. “Are we truly out of options then?”

Bian’s shoulders drooped. He picked up the tray and backed away. It had been days and still, there was no sign of the assassin. The man was probably out of the capital by now. It would take weeks if not months to track him in this unfamiliar territory. Not to mention, such an investigation would certainly raise the crown’s suspicions.

It was a gamble on all fronts.

The ice prince could be cruel when he believed he needed to be. Darcy tensed. But would the lord forfeit the general’s life?

Nikolai flipped a page of his documents.

Despite everything, Darcy had admittedly grown fond of the Raven General. His heart clenched at the thought of her passing.

“My lord,” started Darcy. “At least, let me send for a pharmacist, perhaps they can recommend-“

There was a loud bang. The heavy door slammed against the wall. Cristin rushed into the room. Behind him, a line of guards waited diligently outside. Panting, he approached the lord’s table, slapping it excitedly. “We got him!”

The lord disregarded his papers and burst up. The pages fluttered in the haste, flying all over the room.

Silently, the man left his desk. Nikolai went to the side of the room where a sword hung on the wall. It was the ancestral sword of the Feldgrau family, passed down to every heir of their house. It was said to be used in dealing the ancient Feldgrau trials of justice. In ancient history, it was the blade that began and ended wars.

“Forgive me, brother, but I must borrow this.” The lord picked the sword off the wall and attached it to his side. He turned to the others. “Let us go.”

Cristin straightened with a smirk.

Darcy and Bian shot each other a curious look. The commander stepped forward cautiously. “And where exactly are we going, my lord?”

“Where else?” smirked Cristin, he rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Our plan worked just like you said, my lord!”

Nikolai pressed a hand to Darcy’s shoulder giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Come along, Bian. Johnathan will watch over Faye.” The lord turned to face the boy. “We can have the antidote by tonight.”

Bian stared at the lord with wide eyes. Finally, he smiled, nodding. "Mhm.”

Nikolai headed for the door. “Cristin, Bian will follow your team-”

But before any of them could react, Bian headed for the window.

Pushing it open, the Songbird jumped out, as if forgetting that his moniker was only a name and that he did not actually have wings.

The three men stared in silent shock.

Darcy rushed forward and peered his head out.

“Is he…” Cristin’s voice trailed off, unsure if he wanted to know.

“He’s alive,” breathed Darcy, relief evident in his voice. “He… is really good at climbing.”

Nikolai and Cristin joined him by the window. They all peered down, watching in slight awe as the shadow of a form scaled down the building.

Nikolai could only sigh. No wonder Faye was so fond of the kid, he thought.