Fantasy ~ Blue Blooded ~ [CLOSED]

[peritwinkle]

Yasmin started at him in disbelief as he struggled to mend the words than had slipped his mouth. She did not believe his denials in the least, but could not help but to feel sorry for him. Had she had the chance, perhaps she would have tried to deny her own emotions, yet it had been far too sudden and obvious to hide it behind a poor excuse.

“No need to lie anymore,” she murmured softly, but did not urge him to say the truth. She had heard what she had wanted to hear. Alyssa had been right, and she had been blind and deaf to it all for too long. Yasmin pursed her lips as he deemed her merely confused, yet the spark poking her to dig deeper into his wounds had died out. Both fatigue and weakness had washed over her, enough to render her almost lifeless before the Prince, drained of all will to fight him.

Her blue eyes darkened as she furrowed her brows at him. “If it comes to life,” she corrected, although the shadow of doubt within her did not make it sound as believable as she would have wanted it to. “I know it’s hard not to think about it,” she said, slowly nearing him to reclaim her seat on the edge of the bed facing the window. “Be it the Gods’ warning or a stupid dream, we are only human, aren’t we? Ever paranoid. Ever fearing our deaths like our lives ever meant anything.” They did not, not in the bigger picture. Chaos came and went, and its mark faded more with each generation.

Ehren had not forgotten King Evander’s death, but as soon as they saw a new head beneath a Crown, forgetting might come more easily.

A bitter smile curled at the corner of her lips. “No, not a prisoner,” she sighed. “A measure of safety. I have the power over you now,” and many might come to believe the pretty whore that got to sleep with the future King of Ehren. She had no intention to speak, but the faint thought of having the upper hand did give her a sense of victory. She had not needed a vision to make his true nature surface.

They could only wait until the ceremony to find out; wait for the night to eat away at them as she wondered if her visions had been real, and he puzzled over the day of his betrayal. He would count guards to keep him safe as he strode through the crowd with an empty smile on his lips and a theatrical confidence etched on his face, but the inside of him would be ever rotting with dread and perturbation.

“Steel will not protect you,” she murmured, her blue eyes going to find him again. “It will be by the hand of one who cannot be touched by blades.” That, she was certain of, for she had seen him take the crown upon his head and bleed by the doing of the very hands that had placed it. Or, perhaps she was the one not reading into it well, and for that, she decided to shut her lips and no longer kindle his worries, lest he tried to make her do everything all over again.

“A pity, isn’t it? Truth.” She wished she could go back to the silence and solitude she had so much enjoyed while waiting for her royal client. “Had it not been for it, you would have enjoyed your last night as a Prince as any should... There would not have been pain. No wonder, just joy, and the wine would not have turned sour on your tongue.” There was nothing he could do then, but think and count the ways he could be betrayed on his day of glory.

With a quiet creak, Yasmin lifted herself from the bed and slowly started pacing towards the door again. “I will see myself gone if so you wish.” At least he could have that night to himself, “Unless you wanted to make the best out of it.” A bitter joke, but better than leaving resentment in the air. She had not forgiven him, and she knew that he had not forgiven her, but the least she could do was try to understand what it was like to think that her own life was worth praying for.

 

[insteadofthis]

Silas knew that his words were not entirely believable, but he was also unwilling to admit it. When she said there was no need to lie, Silas's expression darkened. "So what was it your mother told you about me, then?" he asked derisively. "That I am some sort of unhuman thing? You should know full well that is a lie, especially after what has happened tonight." She almost seemed sympathetic, but her quiet, almost disinterested tone only made him more infuriated. He wondered how she could be so calm, although to some degree he shared her exhaustion.

He scoffed when she voiced even a minor doubt that her vision would come to life. "Something will happen," Silas said. "There will be a betrayal. There is no if about that." Silas knew that she was only trying to ease him in some way, but it was hard not to direct his anger at her. After all, she was the only person around. He rarely got to confide in someone the way he was now.

Silas bit the inside of his cheek as she talked about fearing death. She was right, at least in some way, but the words didn't calm him. "There are fates worse than death," Silas pointed out. But both were worrisome to him in a way he doubted that she could ever understand. It was primal in a way that Silas hardly even understood.

He was grateful that she came to terms with staying at the palace, and didn't seem too uncooperative. When she said that she held power over him now, he furrowed his brow. "Don't forget it was mere moments ago you were begging for my forgiveness," he said. "And asking for my mercy." Silas still felt she must be afraid of him in some way, if she truly believed in the rumors that she heard about him. But still, she seemed calm and relaxed enough to make herself comfortable in his presence, and even go so far as to defy him and poke his temper.

Yasmin's warning nearly drove him to demand of her another try at a vision, but he already knew what her response would be. "How do you know that?" asked Silas desperately. "How am I to protect myself?" She had promised that she had told him everything about what she had seen. Perhaps the things she said made sense, but they only confused him, drove him closer to madness.

Silas did try not to blame her for ruining his evening. She was right; it was only the truth that had brought things to this. He almost wished that she had not seen what she had. Then, he could remain in blissful ignorance, even if things would still be hopeless.

Part of Silas did not want her to leave. The other part of him wanted to be alone just as she did, but he knew that the silence would only make things worse. He sighed, and he nodded. "It will be very busy here tomorrow," he said. "You will be taken care of, but you must not leave your room. That is what I will tell the guards." He had the feeling she would have some words about that, but he hoped she realized that there were no other options.

Silas walked over to her, his expression quite serious, and he put a hand on her shoulder to look her in the eyes. "If you breathe a word about anything, to anyone," he said, stressing these words as best he could. He didn't feel the need to finish the sentence; she knew perfectly well what he meant.

 

[peritwinkle]

The air in the room seemed to have grown warmer, and Yasmin no longer minded the absence of light. If anything, it only soothed her hiding the Prince’s expression, which allowed her to picture it as she desired. “I no longer want to argue with you, your Grace,” she said, her voice heavier than before. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally, but content in a way, for he had ceased to ask her for something the could no longer take.

It felt odd witnessing his compliance, when not long before he was ready to crush her bones if only to hear one suggestive word of his fate. That compliance, however, seemed to be quickly tallied by the desire for confrontation, which Yasmin was no longer willing to nurture. She had seen what she had wanted to see, and taken what she had wanted to get out of him. There was no need for war once the banner was nailed into the ground.

Begging. The word seemed to define that night, from his demands to hear his future to her pining for relief from her pain, and the most magical aspect of that evening seemed to have been the tranquility that had eventually taken over. As she saw him slowly come to his senses and back down, she knew she was the victor of that battle, but did not allow herself much time to cherish the futile win. As easily as he had softened, he could harden again, and this time for good.

His questions breathed a last resort despair, to which Yasmin could only shrug and shake her head. “I do not know anything. It is pure speculation. You were not brought down by steel or sword, but bled by the very hand that offered you glory,” beneath his most desired crown. It made her doubt that, if there was to be an attempt at his life, it would be frank and clear for the entirety of the capital to see.

Yet, at the same time, he was still at risk out in the open. The ceremony was always held within the Chapel among a refined crowd, but the perimeter of the building would be covered by waves of commoners, guards and beggars there to witness the naming of their new King and soon to be Queen. Breaching it would take a good fight, but it was likely not an impossible heist.

She lowered her head into a nod as he gave his next orders. She did not know her way around the temple and doubted anything would spark her interest enough to attempt to leave. “My Lady...” she jolted out of habit, but quickly quieted herself down. Lady Irma would be expecting her, but ultimately had nothing to negotiate with the King of Ehren and Lord Raine. After all, she was only happy she had gotten a good pay out of it all.

And if she was to be dragged into the ground with the fallen King of Ehren, then fretting over her life in the near future no longer carried the same weight. She might as well brace and expect to give her most dulcet greetings to her mother in the Heavens, and tickle her ears with her very own eerie stories of Seers and inhuman royals.

As he placed his hand on her shoulder, Yasmin stiffened and lifted her eyes back at him, almost defiantly. “Who would believe a whore?” she murmured. ‘Many would. But he will keep denying it, as he ever has, and all will be well.’ Her own last word sent a shiver to her heart. She wondered, briefly, if she would have to return to her life after it all ended, but managed to stifle that question before slipping from beneath his heavy grip and heading back towards the door.

“If I never see you again,” she thought to add, a bleak tone in her voice, “I promise to tell everyone you were good in bed.” It was more than a favour from the lips of a well paid whore, but if he was to die, none would ever be able to call her a liar for it. Curiosity still resided within her at the possibility of having witnessed it, had it not been for the misfortune befalling them that night, but she would have to sate herself with the thought that she had gotten away with insulting a King.

 

[insteadofthis]

Silas did fear that someone would believe her, whore or not. The way rumors spread about, he knew that people believed in some of the most nonsensical things. And besides, Silas knew that this particular whore could be very convincing. But Silas could cover that up. All he needed to do was say that she lied, that she was looking for attention. It would not be so easy to deny the hundreds of witnesses that would be present at the ceremony, when all eyes were to be on him in what would be the most important moment of his life, for good or worse.

Yasmin's last words to him made him laugh, a sound that felt strange after all that had happened. "And if you meet Lord Raine, tell him he made a very fine choice."

*

It had indeed been a sleepless night for Silas. The dread had not totally subsided, ever present behind the focus he had finally achieved on the events before him. Silas had to pay attention, for every detail in the ceremony had to be perfect. He stood still as tailors and hairdressers swarmed around him, perfecting each curl of his hair and each thread of his clothing, details that no longer interested him. For most other ceremonies and formal occasions he had been a part of, he had always been excited by the extra attention. Now, he wished only for things to be back the way they were, just a few weeks ago.

Over and over again, he had replayed Yasmin's words and warnings, trying to think of some detail or idea that would save him from this madness. By the time the sun came up and the ceremony was moments away, he had grown more numb to these thoughts. There was too much else to think about, and his mind latched onto the opportunity just to think about something else. He focused instead on remembering all the cues and words he had committed to memory, keeping a good posture and maintaining his dignified and most royal demeanor.

He admired himself in the mirror. Silas thought vaguely that he looked like a completely different man, decorated with such beautiful steel and a brilliant red and gold cape. He wanted desperately just to appreciate how good this should be making him feel, but the such elaborately laid occasion only felt like it was mocking him. He wondered what Yasmin was doing, locked up in her room beneath them, only to wait and hear how her vision would play out.

Finally, it was time for him to enter through the doors and before all the people. The temple was filled to its capacity, and it had been decorated elaborately and painstakingly. The stained glass windows cast a brilliant rainbow of colors all over the room in a way that made the whole thing look like a piece of artwork. Silas did not falter, standing tall and walking steady as he made his way slowly through the aisle. If there was one thing Silas was good at, it was upholding his confidence.

It was hard not to look at all the eyes that scrutinized him, but he felt them. Instead, he focused his vision upon the shrine at the center of the chapel. There was his golden crown, looking sinister to him for the first time. Silas had always envied it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see nobles with their constant and threatening gazes. He could almost make out who he thought was Lord Dinadan Raine, standing next to his mother.

Iohanna was also filled with a nervous energy. She stood tall, at the front of the room, in a brilliant blue dress with swooping sleeves. Her hair was pulled in a braid to one side, to highlight the more beautiful side of her face, and detailed with tiny bits of gold and jewels. She watched as her son walked to the shrine, and it seemed like the whole room had stopped breathing, the audience silent to witness the ceremony.

Silas now focused his gaze on Father Thomas, pretending that the world around him did not exist. All that mattered was continuing the ceremony as was rehearsed, and all he could do was accept the events as they turned out. Silas took his place before the pedestal, waiting for Lady Elyse to stand next to him.

 

[peritwinkle]

Light scattered through the stained glass windows and into the Great Hall of the Chapel ontop of the hill. Golden tridents and white eagles embellished the walls, either carefully painted on banners or etched on garlands hanging from one column to the other. The room was filled with voices, quiet but restless, all there to witness the marriage and crowning of the Prince of Ehren in their finest gowns and attires, as though the likes of them were ever something more than decorative trinkets.

On his side clung Elyse, as bright as ever beneath the white veil that covered her entirety. It cascaded down her back and rippled long behind her, but delicately fashioned so that it did not weigh heavily ontop of her small head. The dress she wore glimmered with gold around the rims and the bodice, picturing the rivers in the mountains of her home, or the waves that crashed against the sands of the capital.

That day, the entirety of Ibraen had gathered around the Chapel to witness the ceremony, or it had at least seemed like a good portion of the city. Commoners from whores to beggars now stained the steps outside the building, enough to almost pose a threat to the guards whose duty was to keep the doors closed at all times and the jewels behind carefully preserved. Thankfully, the walls of the Chapel were thick enough to blur any hint of the outside world, allowing for the gentle choir singing near the platform to resonate up to the ceiling and through the mass of nobles eagerly awaiting the start of the ceremony.

“You know how to behave,” Dinadan had said to Elyse that morning from behind the door of her apartment. She had been getting dressed and asked for the gown to be kept a secret from her father, despite him having chosen the design himself. She had only giggled in return, and promised to honour her husband as she should, although Dinadan did have his doubts concerning her methods.

“You know me, father,” he girl had said. “I will be as beautiful as the edelweiss, and he will be anxious to pick me.”

Despite his daughter’s efforts to soothe him, that morning had sent his heart afire. There was much on his mind that he attempted to stifle before it touched his poise, and so he forced himself to focus on the altar and imagine himself as one of the Lords and Ladies within the room who truly and candidly prayed for the King of Ehren and his wife to guide the Kingdom into a prosperous future.

As they neared the short flight of steps, Elyse flicked her wrist from around his arm excitedly, but Dinadan tightened his grip around it and straightened his back. “Your Grace,” he spoke, words well rehearsed for weeks prior, “I come to offer you the hand of my sweet, and see you take her under your wing.” Elyse pressed her lips together as to not make a sound whilst the Lord patiently waited for the words of the Prince. Once spoken, he would take his daughter’s hand and offer it to him, a pale petal in comparison to his own flesh, but nevertheless a beauty that would satisfy any King.

Elyse no longer managed to stifle a short giggle as her hand fell into the man’s. It was the first time she had seen him, Dinadan knew, and she was likely just as content with his appearance as he must have been with hers. With his duty fulfilled, he backed down and took his place next to Lady Iohanna, whose looks had been slightly improved by a braid draping over her shoulder to take the attention away from the less appealing side of her face.

“Blessed day,” he whispered in her ear, then slowly returned to his standing position; something within the woman’s eyes - or one of them - told him that his presence was not particularly desired. ‘A troubled woman,’ he thought to himself, despite knowing very well that, out of all the noble advisors surrounding her, she was the one who had truly seen the truth, mad or not.

His poise never left him as he watched the ceremony unfold before his eyes and the Priest bend to tie the hands of the two lovers together with a white ribbon. The man then returned to the pages in his open book to give the Hall a reading, his voice now echoing over the choir and the murmurs within the room. It was a beautiful but sour sight; he could almost remember each of the Priest’s words and see himself upon the platform, holding the hand of the unknown woman whose hand he had been given by her own father.

‘May the Gods keep her,’ he thought to himself, ‘and may the Gods forgive me for what I have to do.’

 

[insteadofthis]

Silas kept calm, and only smiled as his bride entered the temple, careful not to falter. It was difficult to see her face beneath the delicate white veil, but he was sure she was a beauty. Compared to her father, she looked almost unnaturally tiny and delicate. Perhaps it was just because of her long, elaborate dress and trailing veil. It was surreal to see his bride there in the decorated temple, the choir adding to the emotion in a way that he did not care for. He had thought less about the marriage aspect of the ceremony, having paid more attention to his coronation. Silas had never been confident about the idea of marriage.

He had been certain that he would never love his wife in the way that he should. Silas was worried that he would not even like her. To be left with a stranger to marry and start a family with was, to be frank, an intimidating thought. He was not entirely comforted with the idea that he might not even be blessed enough to make it that far. To go on to father a healthy prince would surely be pleasant to him after all the worries he had experienced the night before.

As the pair of them grew closer, he was able to admire her face a bit better. At his first impression, she did seem incredibly young, and he imagined her a sweet and innocent that had little of an idea what she was getting into. Silas did find her beautiful, but he was no less convinced that she could be a doll, rather than a living, breathing person. But he didn't lose face, knowing that each person in there would be carefully judging his every move. He did not want to seem as though he was not ready, regardless of what might happen.

Silas's dark eyes flickered back to Dinadan as he spoke the words, ready for the ceremony to go as quick as possible so that he could be released from his paranoia. "Lord Raine," said Silas, careful to enunciate as he had been dutifully practicing, "I am honored to take the hand of the Lady Elyse, to make her my wife." With this, he gripped the hand of Lady Elyse, hearing the girl giggle with excitement. Silas almost felt bad for her, for he knew that her wonderment would be stifled, surely soon.

Lady Iohanna gave a polite, albeit strained smile as Lord Raine approached her. The man was correct in thinking that she did not appreciate his closeness, but she forced an even brighter smile when she spoke. "Blessed day," she parroted back quietly, her voice just barely above a whisper.

Early that morning, Lady Iohanna had forced her way into room where her son was getting dressed. "Make us proud," she had told him. "Your first appearance as King will make a lasting impression. Things will change, now. You must be ready. There are no second chances." Silas had brushed her off as he usually did with her advice, although he knew those words were accurate. Silas couldn't help but wonder what would happen to her, after the events of the coronation.

Silas kept hold of Lady Elyse's hand with a gentle grip as they were tied together, and he focused on her eyes. He could not deny that it was a beautiful scene, their family crests decorating the walls, every noble dressed for this occasion. He could imagine the rowdy commoners outside, feeling less at ease with the knowledge that there were so many people who would be privy to the events as they unfolded. It was hard not to let his thoughts stray, in spite of everything around him.

He tuned his ears back to the Priest's reading, not taking his eyes off of his future Queen. Silas felt numb to the wedding vows, and it was hard to accept that this strange girl before him was either his wife or the future Queen of Ehren.

 

[peritwinkle]

‘And as the rain and storms and blizzards blow their wrath, may the Gods keep them standing, ever bound as one, until the end of their time.’

The chating echoed within the Great Hall, almost as lyrics to the gentle melody of the choir. The room seemed to have grown warmer, with colourful rays of sun cutting through the stained glass in hues of emerald, blue and crimson, yet despite the surroundings, Dinadan’s heart and stomach were tightened and ice cold, as though he were watching a burial rather than a wedding ceremony.

The woman by his side was ever solemn, and for a brief moment, he wished that it had been his wife whose hair he could feel upon his shoulder then. Even Elyse, his beautiful Elyse, was so far away from his touch that it felt as though he had been abandoned, left to be eaten by the wolves and prey birds locked within the hall of the chapel.

‘May your hands tie for eternity, and your souls love as one. Swear now, together, before the Gods, that you will take upon your vows whole heartedly.’

Lord Raine clenched his teeth as he watched the last moments of the wedding ceremony unfold. It felt as though something were lurking behind him, only awaiting the slightest shift or hesitation before it struck. It was almost pathetic how the sea of nobles within the room witnessed it all unfold with sickening resignation. They had all known the son of King Evander Dagen for long enough, yet stood blind before the foretelling of their sorry fates.

‘Idiots. Blind idiots, all of them.’ The sight of the Prince turned his stomach upside down, almost unbearable then than it had been the mere morning before. It did not baffle him how such a vile creature could darken one’s soul by simply breathing the same air. A slight curve popped at the edge of his mouth as he wondered what horrors the poor whore had gone through that night, locked in the same room with the unholy.

As the vows were spoken for the chapel to hear from the front to the very back, loud ovations filled the air, and as the choir struggled to surpass them, a round of applause quickly joined their trill, loud enough to be heard throughout the entirety of Ibraen and perhaps a good few miles surrounding its walls. Dinadan kept his poise, his eyes scrutinizing the scene like a master would be admiring his painting. He forced his gaze to lock on Elyse, and the girl quickly turned her head to him, as though seeking confirmation.

She seemed happy, and yet she was just as naive as she was young. With the bright light beaming behind the Prince, Dinadan could not tell what was etched on his face, yet he doubted his sly smile would have been of any use in that moment, and he was content with knowing whatever joy was gracing his lips, it would soon vanish as abruptly as his glory.

Whilst the pair remained standing on the platform, a dark silhouette quickly hopped behind the Priest to hand him the scarlet cushion ontop of which rested the golden crown of late King Evander. Dinadan closed his eyes for a brief moment, his fists clenching beneath his cape, waiting. The moments seemed to flow too slowly as the King and his Queen awaited their coronation; the choir grew louder and the crowd silent, almost breathless, hundreds of eyes frantically absorbing every detail of the painting before them.

‘May I be forgiven,’ Dinadan thought once again, and eventually found the strength to open his eyes yet again and look. This time, they did not linger on other faces but that of the son of Evander Dagen, as glowing and glorious as he would be crushed in mere moments, if those above him deemed him righteous in his actions. It was a matter of mere moments, yet he could wait a thousand if only to see the truth unveiled for himself.

 

[insteadofthis]

Lady Iohanna stood up a little straighter, finding her height to be something that drew her confidence. She felt some kind of fleeting sympathy for Lord Raine. They were both witnessing the marriage of their children, but they were alone in the crowd of nobles. Not counting the funeral service for King Evander, this would be her first public appearance standing alone, and it felt quite different. She was ill at ease, but all she had to do now was stand up straight and keep a tactful expression. Some part of her felt a relief, a new freedom, but she had not been able to relax.

Her son reminded her all too much of King Evander, in all his mannerisms. He was beautifully made up for the occasion, and she felt he looked naively confident at the center of the room. The girl looked frail in comparison, her exotic dress and veil almost seeming to overtake her. She remembered seeing King Evander for the very first time through the cloudy white veil she had worn, that giddy feeling she had felt in her heart. Then their hands had touched, and she had suddenly felt cold and nauseated, until she convinced herself that it was only nerves.

Lady Iohanna could vividly remember the first moment King Evander had lifted the veil. She had watched his smile fall just hardly, scrunch up his nose in disappointment for only her to see. She resisted the thoughts of Lady Elyse and her new husband's first few days together. It was hard to believe that these two before the temple were going to be the new King and Queen of Ehren.

Silas gripped Lady Elyse's hands slightly tighter as they said their vows. It was an effort to have his keep his voice strong and steady, a skill that had previously come naturally to him. He had rehearsed the vows, but actually speaking these promises before the temple made Silas's heart beat faster. The hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at him suddenly felt to penetrate him more deeply. Iit was as if their judgement was palpable. That alone was enough to make him feel an odd sense of insecurity, but even worse was knowing that there was a mass of commoners just outside the temple, ready to spread the word about the new King and Queen of Ehren.

The joy heard from the crowd lifted his spirits some, an almost deafening celebration. For a brief moment, he felt as though the worst of it was over. That warm feeling was quickly snuffed out when he saw the beautiful gold crown sat upon its cushion. The temple fell eerily quiet again, as he was faced with his first time wearing the King's crown.

He cast his dark eyes towards the Priest as he and Lady Elyse were christened husband and wife and the crown was prepared to be bestowed upon them. He hated the smell of the holy oils, and how the scent seemed to linger on his skin. Silas took a quick look over to the crowd, seeing many people that he recognized, and Silas couldn't help but wonder what everyone must be secretly thinking of him at that moment.

Silas did not look away from the Priest and the Crown for long. He made a more solemn expression, not wanting to seem too eager or too childishly excited. He had to be careful about how he held himself, for he knew that even the littlest of things could stand out to all these prying eyes who were anxious to make judgments.

It felt so silent and cold when the crown was finally presented to him. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and knelt solemnly in front of the priest as it was to be placed upon his head. A prayer and blessing were said in the name of the new King, and the priest gently brought the crown to rest on Silas's head.

The moment the priest's hands released, the heavy gold crown brought a sharp pain slicing down Silas's forehead, pressing into him. His eyes burst open and he cried out, shock overcoming him as he jolted to ease the weight on his head and the throbbing pain. He could hear the crowd's mixed expressions of shock and horror, and Silas scrambled to think of what to do.

Blood poured down his forehead, more as he moved the crown, though Silas attempted vainly to hide it. He only smeared more on his brow, and he saw it drip onto his intricately sewn sleeve. Silas felt his heart stop, knowing that there was nothing he could do to control the situation. There would be no convincing them, no silencing all the hundreds of people present in the temple.

Lady Iohanna swayed on her feet as she realized what was happening, a hand raised to her heart. She was overcome with a sudden pallor. Certainly they would kill her son, possibly her, too. It was all she could do to keep from sobbing in misery, and she stayed hushed in shock, the only noise she made a hitch in her breath. She broke her eyes away from the blood, forcing herself instead to see the reactions of those around them.

 

[peritwinkle]

Lord Dinadan Raine could feel the tension within the chapel to the root and stem of his being, as though threatening to snap his bones. It was the moment he had been expecting for a good while, and yet, as he looked upon it then, awaiting its resolution, he could not feel but wonder if the time he had spent fashioning his scheme had been wasted on the wrong choice.

‘For Elyse,’ he thought, for she was the only living soul in his life that he truly cared about, enough to bring an entire Kingdom into chaos for the sake of protecting her. It was, at least, what he told himself, although he did make an effort to believe it from time to time. The human being was a mysterious machinery driven by sometimes unreadable and often pathetic emotions. It was the hollow that he dreaded falling into, yet aware of the impossibility of overcoming his nature.

His eyes, dark as his embellished coat, watched as the King of Ehren kneeled before the Priest to receive the crown. The crowd was silenced, seemingly no longer breathing as they so attentively and fervently absorbed the moments presented before them. A gentle melody played in the close distance, slowly quieting down itself to allow for the eyes and ears within the hall to focus on the glorious ceremony.

Seconds seemed to pass like days, yet as soon as the shout of King Silas echoed through the crowd, the entirety of the hall was at once shaken into reality. Dinadan watched as threads of blood trickled down the boy’s forehead, as blue as sapphire, staining his now pale temple as he attempted to shield himself from the shocked gazes of the guests. The Priest jolted back, shaken by the sight, and many swarmed through the sea of nobles to get a better view of the kindled fire.

“Guards!” Lord Raine shouted then, taking a step out and pointing to the altar, “Seize the Priest and surround the King,” the latter spoken almost bitterly, although masked by other gasps and whispers in his vicinity. “Find the one who crafted the crown and take him to the dungeons!” His efforts to bring reasoning into the pile of chaos seemed futile, yet he was thankful for the few guards that answered his commands and did as instructed, whilst others watched in fear, likely wondering what they were looking at.

It was only natural for them all to doubt their eyes, for they had been blind for so long, that they had forgotten what the truth truly looked like. Even Lady Iohanna seemed shaken to the core, although the sight she witnessed was not one unknown to her, he knew. She had given birth to the demon that had come to steal the crown of Ehren, had nurtured his darkness and brought him up to be an almost perfectly mirrored image of his father. Thankfully, he had been given the power to cleanse the world of the latter, leaving it only stained by his offspring, who did not lack his vile nature, it seemed.

Dinadan took a moment to himself as the crowd spread and closed his eyes to take in the scent of his victory. He heard Elyse’s screams and shouts as she hurried to her husband, then seemed to falter at the sight of his blue blood. As he eventually opened his eyes to look at her, he saw her cheeks grow pale and her knees buckle beneath her wedding gown, caught only a moment before crushing her head against the marble floor. Dinadan refused the urge to run over, and instead watched as the scene developed before him, the guards removing the spiked jewel from the crown atop his head to reveal glistening blue scratches.

One seized him by his arm, pulling him up from his knees as another wavered in fear of disrespecting his commander. Dinadan clenched his jaw; he could almost hear the split thoughts and questions arising, and before the fire of the news extended into the crowd outside, he strode to the middle of the hall and turned to address its occupants. “We have witnessed an attempt at possibly our King’s life,” he shouted over the crowd, “by the hand of a traitor to the Kingdom of Ehren,” one whom, with the Gods’ blessing, they might never truly uncover. “And here, we have witnessed the King’s attempt at cheating the trust of his people by shielding his vile magic from our eyes.”

The concept of it was not foreign to the people of Ehren, but neither was it embraced as a piece of its integrity. As he turned his gaze to King Silas, he felt the same contentment as perhaps those who had died swearing they knew the noble line of House Dagen to be impure, as they looked down from the heavens and watched as what they knew to be their truth came to light. There was no doubt within him then that his motives had been in the name the greater good. He was a militant of the Faith, and had fought for its sake, and for the sake of keeping his daughter from the hands of evil.

 

[insteadofthis]

Silas looked from face to face as people swarmed around him, faltering with the crown. He opened his mouth to speak, but was almost relieved when someone else's voice broke through the commotion. He was fleetingly shocked that it was Lord Raine who spoke up, but he was promptly distracted by the guards who followed his orders and surrounded him. There was no hiding the truth from them, and although he wanted to speak up, to say that things were not as they seemed, he had the feeling that it would help his case. Yasmin hadn't even seen his blood, and she had been fully convinced of truth.

All he could do was watch in wide-eyed shock as Lady Elyse fainted, and the crown was sharply yanked from his head. He gasped in pain, but kept his back to the crowd, as though there was any use in it. Silas was shocked as a guard yanked him up by the arm, and Silas violently pulled against him, stumbling on his feet. "Stop," he said, mustering all the authority that he could. There were still some guards that seemed reluctant to defy him.

Silas's attention was turned to lord Raine, and his expression darkened as the man condemned him. "No," said Silas loudly, with an air of defiance. "This is not magic. It is not my magic. The crown..." Try as he might to think of a good excuse, a good explanation, there was nothing he could come up with. He no longer tried to cover or wipe away the blood from his brow, knowing that would only make things worse. He glanced from person to person, judging each of their expressions. They couldn't trust him, they barely trusted what they were seeing with their own eyes.

Lady Iohanna stood in a silent horror as the chaos progressed, but after Lord Dinadan's accusations, she followed him to the center of the room, finding her voice again. "Stop this," she shouted, standing to face him. "You must not be so quick to make judgments. This was an act meant to cast doubt, to disarm your wits. We will not see kingdom of Ehren fall into chaos and division."

Her voice was as fierce as it often was, but she could not hide a tinge of desperation as the nervous energy in the room grew. Lady Iohanna's feelings for her son were complicated, but she could not bear to see this happen. But perhaps it was futile; she knew most nobles were devout to the faith. Seeing such a bizarre display would only provoke their fear.

"This was clearly a planned attack," Lady Iohanna carried on, looking between each guard with an imploring gaze. "We must keep the King and Queen safe until we find answers." Under King Evander's rule, she had been some kind of a fearsome figure, so she hoped that it would carry on through the confusion. There would be no evidence against Lord Raine's claims, but there was enough uncertainty that some people could be left too confused.

Silas looked past the guards at all the people, afraid to make too much of a fight and damn himself. "It was poisoned," said Silas, with a surprising amount of conviction. Those words might not be enough to discount the long spread rumors about the Dagen family secret, but he could not stay silent. "The crown was poisoned with dark magic."

 

[peritwinkle]

Fighting the evidence was futile in the face of a raging sea of eyes watching fervently as chaos unfolded before them. Dinadan was not surprised when Iohanna stood up for her son, whilst the boy flustered in confusion and terror. Despite shifting his body in an attempt to hide it from the crowd, the light cutting through the stained glass windows of the chapel made the blood glistening on his forehead even more obvious. Even from where he stood, Dinadan could see it clearly, just as he could read the dread in King Silas's glare.

It did not take too long before a good portion of the guards mobilized themselves and made a circle around their King, both as a measure of protection, and to keep him from trying to run off, whilst others keeping the Priest in their grasp. Whether they saw it as a ludicrous farce or as a threatening attempt at his life, their eyes and ears now belonged to the only man whose voice still resonated above the crowd, and for that, Dinadan was more than thankful. It would have been a tragedy if he had been dragged into the storm along with its victims.

He saw a couple others hurry over to Elyse's help, who had slowly began to stir herself awake, although still weak from the sudden rush of adrenaline. He forced himself not to look, but to stand his ground and keep his poise. It was vital to him then, vital to his integrity if he proved to the closest attendees that he had taken no part in the tragic show, but was merely trying to help those caught in the crossfire.

As Silas's mother spoke, Lord Raine only turned his gaze towards her almost menacingly, whilst his figure remained turned towards the people. "I never denied the immediate danger, Lady Dagen," the man said, "but nor should we disregard the possible consequences. We cannot come to a conclusion without proof and, momentarily, the proof is as much against your son as it is against the one who fashioned this plan."

He took a deep breath, theatrically pretending to fall into thought, before turning to address the guards. "See your King safely to his chambers and the Priest locked in the dungeons," he ordered. "Swim your way through the crowd outside. Cut the way open if needed." He doubted that the peace would last for long as soon as Silas Dagen stepped through the doors of the chapel, but something told him that the common people would be much more frightened to touch him than the guards who had so reluctantly come to surround him.

The indignation in Iohanna's eyes was apparent, but Dinadan chose to ignore it for the time being. He only followed the glimmering silver silhouettes of the guards almost aggressively pushing the victim of the attack across the hall, whilst the guests made room for them to move through, watching just as attentively. Then, instead of following, he simply turned towards the altar where the crown had been set back on its cushion, now stained by the strange hue of blood that had dripped from the sides of the jewel.

"Your son was safe for long enough, it seemed," he addressed Iohanna then, before she got the chance to follow along. "I can only suggest you wait it out." His hand came to trace the rim as his eyes brushed over the poisoned spikes that had been embedded into its inner side. It was the first time that he truly saw it up close. 'Make it no more painful than it needs to be,' he had ordered, and the blacksmith had hesitantly agreed. And Dinadan had trusted him, for while no amount of money could truly keep a man's mouth shut for too long, he had made sure he would get no other chance to speak following that day.

He knew the woman had her wits about her. The death of her husband had clicked something in her brain - she was mad, but when it came to protecting her son, she was at least half lucid. Fierce. After all, the secret of her family threatened to bring her doom as much as his. It had only been a matter of time, and now the time had come.

"We will get to the bottom of this," he promised her before turning back around to face her. "Until tomorrow, it is best if King Silas remains contained." He would make sure that none would have access to his quarters but his guards, and that only if he proved to be as mad as the woman who had given birth to him. "You should do the same." It was best if they did not hear the rumours and curses of the commoners awaiting resolution. The fire would not die out soon and tension would only push them deeper into despair.

Was that what he truly wanted? More pain, more suffering? Perhaps, for the right people. So long as he saw Ehren cleansed, he did not mind dirtying his hands with blue blood.

 

[insteadofthis]

Lady Iohanna looked between them all, desperate to find just one person that looked as though she was convincing them. "This is a dark magic," she exclaimed, her voice shaking towards the end in spite of her great efforts. The people were already siding with Lord Raine, she did not want to give them any more reason to doubt her or Silas. "This could be the same thing that killed King Evander."

"I know my son," she went on, looking again to Lord Raine. Her voice was still not perfectly steady. "To say that this is his fault... to say that he has cheated the kingdom is a great disrespect and a certain lie." She had trouble coming up with the right words. If she said something wrong, it would only incriminate the boy further. "The kingdom of Ehren does not need more despair, Lord Raine. How can you be so quick to come to this?" She stared him down, doing her best to emulate the same menacing stare that he directed at her.

As the guards began to forcefully pull Silas away, she felt tears well up in her eyes. "Stop," she said, hysterical, although she knew it was no use. They would parade him past all those hundreds of commoners who had gathered to celebrate the coronation, and the rumors would spread through the whole kingdom for years to come.

Silas fought against the guards' harsh grasps for a moment, but it became evident that it was no use. He could not even free his hands to ease the flow of blood that was slowly dripping down his face. All he could do was try to maintain some sense of dignity as he was shoved past the crowd of nobles watching from the pews with their expressions of disgust, disbelief and horror. It was a nightmare come to life.

Lady Iohanna could not hide her own expression of disgust when Lord Raine suggested that she wait it out. She was insulted and infuriated by his behavior. "You are making a mistake," she said to him, struggling to keep her poise. "I implore you to see reason. After what has happened to King Evander, an attempt on the King's life must be investigated exhaustively." She did not know what else to do. She knew her words did not matter; they would all draw their own conclusions, and the evidence was overwhelming.

She scoffed when she said King Silas must remained contained. "And then what will happen tomorrow?" Lady Iohanna demanded incredulously. "The kingdom will be in chaos." She was certain that Silas would be killed, just as King Evander had been. Whatever investigation they planned or explanation they came to, Silas would surely be damned.

Silas couldn't hold back a grimace as the doors to the temple burst open. Bright light shone onto his face, presenting his strangely bloodstained face for the eagerly awaiting commoners. The noise was painful to his ears, but the guards still pushed forward against the thick mass of people. He bit the inside of his cheek and forced a more neutral expression, watching as the people closest to the doors began to realize that something was wrong. Reactions changed quickly, and he heard the tone in the crowd shift for the worse.

The march to his chambers was painfully slow, but steady. The guards did not let go of his arms, and so his shame was on display for most everyone. He could see children on the shoulders of parents, and shaken expressions, even angry ones. His ears were filled with loud questions and judgments. Silas kept his mouth shut, careful not to meet anyone's eyes as he was forced past them.

After what felt like an eternity, Silas was brought to his chamber. He felt drained by the time they reached the top of the stairs, and he remained silent in defiance as he was roughly pushed into his room. He did not look at the guards as they closed the door, but was grateful that he was alone, given relief for at least some time. He fell onto the bed, a feeling of hopelessness washing over him.

 

[peritwinkle]

Pain resonated within Iohanna's voice, sharp and harrowing, as though he ha driven a sword through her heart himself. But Dinadan was not heartless, for he understood the lengths a parent would go for the sake of their children. It was, essentially, what he had done that day. He told himself it was not power that he desired, but only made his sacrifices to provide a better life, a better world to live in for his daughter and her family to come. For the people who bowed to the wrong King whilst bild to the horrors that resided within his mind and at the tips of his fingers.

It was endearing how close their mannerisms were; it was clear how Silas had taken after his both parents equally; their madness was only now showing, for the whole of Ehren to see it, no matter how fervently the boy fought to seem unbothered. Those who had witnessed it first hand would be present during his trial as well, and then Lady Iohanna's begging for reason would be as empty as their lies.

He shook his head as the woman did not cease begging for mercy. "As I have said, my Lady, that is not to be denied. Someone... somewhere, wants your son, the King, to be reunited with his father. Someone with power and ties to the court." He paused, letting his hands fall on either side of his form as he stepped down from the pedestal and came towards her. "Which is why, for both reasons, King Silas ought to be kept... under watchful eyes."

It was, rather, a more gentle way of explaining he had been incarcerated within his own apartment. He could not allow himself to make hasty decisions, not in such situation. The King would be brought before justice and the remainder of the scheme will roll by itself, without the need of him dirtying his hands again. By now, the world had already seen what it had wanted to see. The speculations could no longer be kept contained, no longer hidden behind seemingly pure lies. Ibraen was raging already - he could hear the howls and shouts of the commoners outside as they fought for a better view of the bleeding King.

A sigh left his lips as he passed by her side and only turned his head to look back at her. "It will." There was no need to fill her head with empty promises and reassurance. "I wanted my daughter to prosper by the side of the King as much as any other, my Lady. A part of the truth has been unveiled... The purpose of the attacker is known to us now. What is left for us to hear is the will of the elders," and he was certain that a band of Priests would not be kind towards a King whose blood derived from the depths of the darkest magic.

*

The night had been empty and cold within the walls of the temple. Yasmin had spent a good portion of it looking out the narrow stained glass window overlooking the sea. The rooms and halls of the temple itself had been carved within the very rock of the tor on which the castle resided, safe and quiet, as if cut away from the vivid reality outside.

In perspective, it was not much different from her own place at the brothel, and in certain aspects, it felt like a dungeon cell, albeit better decorated than such. The room she had been assigned could hold five other women comfortably, in canopy beds with blue hues, similar to those of the sigil of House Dagen. They were not nearly as embellished as that within Prince Silas's room, but did not lack delicately sculpted patterns in the wood of the bedstead. Her room was pleasantly warm, and had the thoughts of the previous night not plagued her as fiercely, perhaps she could have dozed off for a few turns of the clock before the bells of the chapel rung to gather the city to its doors.

Morning came slowly, pale rose hues peeking through the window as the sun made its way up from the sea, but not strong enough to overshadow the candles burning on the sides of each bed. Yasmin could already hear rustling about the halls near her chamber, small footsteps belonging to the maidens and the women of the temple who hurried about to complete their daily morning tasks. Briefly, she wondered if they were ever allowed to leave the temple, for at least one morning to witness the coronation ceremony. She knew that Lady Irma had allowed the girls go, likely accompanied by the request for them to be back in time so those that had celebrated the new King could come pursue their glorious morning further.

When the bells rang in the tallest tower of he chapel, Yasmin closed her eyes and pressed her back against the wall to wait it out. It bothered her, echoing in her ears like the clink of swords and making her blood vibrate within her veins. It was all she could hear over the waves - no voices and shouts of joy from the commoners, no horses whining as they pulled their nobles' litters towards the center of the city, no children laughing about their successful heists whilst passing through the distracted crowds.

For a few turns of the clock, the entire temple turned quiet, and Yasmin was only left in the company of the birds stoutly playing and singing by her window. Enough time passed for the pink sky to turn blue and, soon, be shrouded by thick grey clouds in the far distance, threatening Ibraen with a storm that evening. 'A storm is already here,' Yasmin thought to herself as she pressed her hand to her heart. Strangely enough, it was still drumming wildly against her chest, just as it had as the bell had rung that morning. Fear and anxiety was slowly washing over her, with every beat she felt in her veins and every second of silence that drove her closer to insanity.

A knock on the door stirred Yasmin from her trance; she had been resting on the very edge of the bed since earlier that afternoon, but as the door opened in the darkness, she quickly sprung from her place and sat up to greed the maid. This time, it was an older woman than that who had guided her into her room, holding a silver plate filled with steaming bread over which dripped golden honey, a wooden cup of cold water and a few slices of an apple, although already browned at the edges. She carefully set it on the edge of her bed, not daring to lift her eyes to meet hers, and Yasmin quickly placed her hand on her shoulder to force her in place.

"The ceremony," she said hastily. "The King... How did it go?"

The woman did not reply, but her gaze did eventually meet her, strangely cold and almost seeming shaken to the core. Yasmin froze, before speaking again. "Tell me," she urged, this time louder, and her own gaze only briefly flickered to the knife on the plate menacingly.

"There was an attempt," she murmured and shook her head. "They locked him in his chambers... I heard..."

"You know," Yasmin corrected, to which the woman quickly turned her eye, flustered. "You ought to let me out," she begged then, despair slipping into her voice. "You ought to."

The maid shook her head. "The King's orders," she said quickly, before yanking herself from beneath Yasmin's grip and almost leaping towards the door. Mindless, Yasmin hurtled from her seat and her fingers first reached for somewhere behind her nape, before pressing against the woman's neck briefly and pulling. The blue ribbon tightened around the pale skin, unbothered by the hand that desperately fought to undo the knot as stifled breaths erupted from the woman's throat. Another breath, a tighter pull, and her knees buckled beneath her, dragging her to the stone floor.

Once the tightness eased around the woman's neck, her mouth relaxed but her lids remained shut. "I am sorry," she murmured and began to pull the laces of her own gown undone so she could don that of the servant.

 

[insteadofthis]

Iohanna suppressed her tears with some difficulty. There was no reversing the effects of what had just happened. She glanced over the mass of confused people, and thought about the entire kingdom outside. How long would it take for the news to spread across the whole kingdom? Dagen would be a hated name for years to come.

When she heard the shouts of the people outside, Lady Iohanna felt her heart drop. The nobles inside the temple had been civilized and rather mannerly, but she was sure that they were thinking the same things as the droves of commoners outside. It was almost surprising that Silas was granted the formality of being locked in his bedroom rather than the dungeon, for Lady Iohanna was certain that they would kill him. She wondered what would become of her, but forced the thought out of her head.

As Lord Raine said that the decision would be left to the elders, Iohanna paused in thought. "They have known Silas since he was a child," she said, assuring herself more than Lord Raine. "Some of them have known him since he was born. They will know." It was barely any help to them, but she had nothing else to hope for.

As though expecting a reassurance, she turned to look at some of the elders. Not surprisingly, they all looked appalled by the unnatural things they had seen, and she doubted that any of them would be quick to come to Silas's defense.

Lady Iohanna knew that the lies would only become more unraveled when the elders began to investigate. Too many people had been murdered for the sake of keeping the secret. She had always been haunted by the knowledge, but buried it time and time again. Now, she knew that she would never be allowed to forget. It was only a matter of time before people started asking her questions, and for that reason, she knew that Lord Raine was right. She would have to contain herself, if only to avoid that. She could not keep up her lies for so long, and the idea of having to relive the truth was overwhelming to her. Even if the truth was undeniable, she didn't think she could bring herself to speak it.

The idea of facing the shouting and humiliation of the people outside was almost too much for Iohanna to stand, but perhaps it was better than facing the questions and judgmental stared of the people surrounding her, people that she knew. She decided that she would have to brave the crowd so that she could isolate herself in her room until she was forced to face her new, overwhelming reality. "I hope that we will all see justice," said Lady Iohanna, gathering herself as she left with her guards.

Silas was resentful for his humiliating parade past the commoners. It was impossible to ignore the barrage of questions and accusations coming from all around him. They did not keep so mannerly as the nobles inside the temple had. The blood continued to steadily drip down his face, as though to make sure that there was no question as to what they were seeing. Some fought hard against the guards to get a closer look. Try as he might to tune it all out, Silas heard each passing remark about what a monster King Evander had been, what stories had been told, and what the future for the Crown would be. Some of them struck a nerve, but Silas was fairly good at keeping face until he was alone.

It was all ringing in his ears by the time Silas reached his bedroom. He could still hear the muffled noise outside even after the heavy wooden doors had closed, but he was grateful that the walls were so thick that he could not hear much more. He dreaded the next time he would have to face a person, whether it be a guard come to drag him to the dungeon, or a timid maid come to bring him his dinner.

He remembered the harlot's reassurances from the night before. She had not foreseen his death, but that did not mean it wouldn't come. If they truly believed that he was a demon, then he would surely be executed in view of a crowd of hundreds. Perhaps they would go through the formality of a trial, and he would be forced to come up with something to say in his defense. Try as he might, Silas could think of nothing. He had never thought of himself as such a monster as his father had clearly been, but still, he could not prove that he did not have magic in his blood.

Silas took a glance towards the window, but he dared not to stand in view of it. After some time, he sat up, and undressed some of his heavy lavish garments and attempted to clean himself up of the blood as best he could.

 

[peritwinkle]

It was a struggle to fight the shivers that tingled Yasmin's limbs as she quickly strode through the strange corridors of the keep. Albeit young, the night had sent a good portion of the castle to sleep, leaving only steady guards and languished maids to wander the halls for the last tasks of the day. The pale blue dress Yasmin wore made her easily pass as one, the ribbon in her hair now absent, making her look considerably less sumptuous than her true nature. The disheveled braid was not much out of the ordinary, either, and she felt more than thankful for the lack of intrigued glances from those that she passed by.

She had not been there to witness the ceremony, yet she could only assume what turmoil and chaos had erupted in the streets. The castle was almost irritatingly quiet. There was not much she could assume from what the bashful old maid had told her, but could only hope that her vision had not come to be true, at least not in its entirety. If the King had been brought into his chambers, then there was a chance that she had been wrong.

The leather boots were too large for her feet and made loud sounds as they hit against the marble floor. Yasmin followed the turns and corners of the pathways leading through the imposing building in the hope of bumping into something that rung familiar. She still remembered details from the night before as she had been taken to the King's chambers, could picture the stairs she had been lead up to and the embellishments on the doors she had passed.

Now, as she struggled to analyse each nook, they all seemed to be the same. It was only when she reached a flight of stairs that she was able to make a confident decision of turning left and following the empty corridor she knew would lead to the King's chambers. The look of confusion and subtle hesitation painted on her was easily masked by the darkness as she passed by armoured soldiers guarding each larger door and entrance into another wing or area of the castle. It was not often that she felt bothered by glances; after all, it was what all men who could not afford to pay for more did, and a good few of the guards and soldiers of the Crown had come through the doors of Lady Irma's brothel. Not many could afford her price or Alyssa's, but might easily come to recognise a harlot with red hair in the dark solitude of the castle's halls.

After what seemed like whole turns of the clock, Yasmin found herself before the same door she had been lead to the other night. Two men stood straight by either sides, their heads only turning slightly to peek at her through the opening in their helmets. "The King is not to be disturbed," the man said, his eyes flickering to her empty hands for a moment, before returning to her figure. The maid lowered her head.

"Lord Raine ordered me to tend to the King before he is to be seen come morning," she said, her voice steady as she straightened herself again. She was uncertain what misfortune had sent the crowning ceremony crashing into the ground, but if her vision had carried at least a smidge of truth, the following day would be as restless for him as his sleep had been. "The Lord is resting," she quickly added in the silence. "He has asked for discretion."

The man closest to her side wavered for a moment, his gaze now narrowed as he looked upon her. "I see no swathe for the wounds," he said bitterly.

"I was told they have already begun to heal on their own," Yasmin returned, her heart clenching as she wondered what could have made the King bleed. "I am merely here for a bath, Ser. Our King deserves as much, hm?" Her voice was on the edge of solemn and giddy, a strange concoction for the reason of her visit, but humility often signalled a flustered liar.

Silence forestalled the scene as the guards seemed to tally her words, before one stepped to the side and, knocking softly against the wood, slightly cracked the door open and gestured for her to step in. "Maid, your Grace," the man shouted, loud enough to reach into the farthest depths of his apartments. Yasmin stifled a breath of relief and eschewed the armoured mountain on her way through the small opening. Her hair danced in the slight current as she closed the door behind her and, clenching her fists in tension, turned to meet the King whom she knew resided within that very room.

 

[insteadofthis]

Silas had been grateful for the near silence that his bedroom had held. He had been tempted to look outside, for his window showed a magnificent view of the temple. He wondered how many people were still packed outside, and what the nobles were doing now that they had no wedding and coronation to celebrate. Perhaps they would all stick around to see what became of him. He could picture them eagerly awaiting the execution of a real-life monster, so that they could watch his blood spill until there was nothing left.

If it was to be left to the elders, he did not think they would be merciful. Most of them were close to the Dagen family, close enough to know more than the average citizen. They had been forced to turn a blind eye to some of the people that had gone missing, and some of the awful things that the king had done. It would be easy for them to come to the right conclusion, and the blood was all they needed to confirm that it was truly magic, and not simply evil in the blood of Dagen.

He had managed to clean up most of the blood from his face with the help of a small, ornate hand mirror. The small cut on his forehead had since stopped bleeding, and he admired it with great bitterness. He had been fortunate enough in his life that he had hardly ever bled before. Certainly, a prince was not put into harm's way too often. It looked like such a tiny cut in his skin, but it had been deep enough that the blood had been trickling for some time, as though to add insult to injury.

As he remained isolated in his room, Silas had tried to get some rest, knowing that there was little else he could do until the elders reached their decision. But it felt impossible to close his eyes. Every time he did, all he could see was the crowd of people, the eyes all locked onto him. He remembered all of the words he had heard, comparing him to his father, to all unholy things that they could think of.

When he heard the heavy wooden door open, Silas shot upright. He did not want to see anyone, for he expected that on the other side of the door was someone come to tell him that it was time to face the elders. He heard the voice shout that it was only a maiden, perhaps come to tidy the room and bring him some food and a change of clothes. He relaxed, but he turned away from the door, not wanting to face anyone. At least a maid was unlikely to speak to him, or ask questions that he did not want to answer.

Silas kept silent for a moment, slumping in his bed, but he turned back to look at the maid so that he could see what she had brought for him. He furrowed his brow upon realizing that she had come empty handed; Silas was rather disappointed, for he was thirsty, after all that had happened. He opened his mouth to order some water be brought to him, but stopped short when he saw the brilliant red hair. He had kept the room dark, but with some effort, he recognized the face from the night before. "...You?..."

He was shocked by her presence, stunned speechless for a moment. Silas sat up better, not sure what to say to her. He had not wanted company, but his night with the harlot had been a strange one to say the least. He was not entirely unhappy to see her. But he was sure that she didn't bring good news, and that there was nothing they could do to change things for the better. Silas felt all things were truly hopeless for him, but he was grateful that someone was there that he was not so worried about.

"What are you doing here?" Silas asked. It was strange to think that she might have come there of her own free will, sneaking past all the guests and guards just to see him. "Did something happen? How did you...?" He trailed off, feeling rather drained of energy. Silas had ordered for her to be locked in the room, but perhaps with the pandemonium that had spread across the palace it would have been easy for her to sneak past.

 

[peritwinkle]

Within Yasmin’s mind, there was a raging storm that sent tendrils of cold and fire trickling through her flesh and bones. As she looked upon the barely contoured face in the darkness, the amalgam of emotions from the night before seemed to return only to torment her. Despite remaining lucid, she felt her knees almost buckle and her limbs turn flask, but the fast drumming of her heart steadied her one more time.

The light from the dying candles scattered around the chamber only lightly fell upon the King’s face, enough for her to see a glistening stream of blue blood that had dried on his forehead and temples. Above it, his hair was messy and stuck in places to his skin, where the rim of the crown had likely gripped around his head. It was a strange image that it painted, so close to what she had been dreading, but the blue had missed from her vision.

However, it had not come as a suprise, had his lips not spilled a fragment of the truth the night before. She had known there was something inhuman about him, and knew then that it had been the spark that had instigated the chaos that morning. Despite that, Yasmin could only look upon him in awe as she made a pathetic attempt to piece the information together.

“Be silent,” she murmured softly, her voice barely enough to reach his ears. Taking a step away from the door to ensure privacy, she slowly lifted her and as if to touch his wound, before lowering it again and letting out a soft breath. “What happened to you? What happened at the ceremony?” The questions were meaningless, but a part of her pined for the confirmation or denial of her assumptions.

Looking over her shoulder to ensure that the door was well closed, Yasmin skipped over to his side and lowered her head. “I sneaked out,” she said as she looked down to her hands as if expecting to see blood. There was a fragment of hope in her heart that she had not had the strength to truly choke the woman to death, but she already had another’s life on her mind that kept her sane for the time being. “They have seen it, haven’t they?” she whispered then. “Whatever it is that resides within you... They have seen it, and it will never be forgotten.”

They had not forgotten it when threatening her mother after the discovery of her practices. The healers had not forgotten it when denying to help her when she had fallen ill. Only mercy had kept them from letting her offspring perish without a fight, although perhaps it would have been better if she had never recovered from her illness. The dead often lived better than the living.

For brief second, she felt the urge to touch his stained skin but knew better than to get closer to him in that moment and state. He looked weakened and exhausted; she had not had a good night’s sleep either and it only made her wonder when would be the next time she would close her eyes and fall into a peaceful slumber. Turning away from him, she began to slowly pace around the room as if seeking something, her arms tightly clutching her middle.

“If what I have seen is true, then someone of power is at the root of this,” she murmured. “I warned you... You should have been more precautious... It does not matter. Unless you want to admire your head on a spike from the hells above, you should be more prudent than your father and think of a way to get the two of us out while you can.”

There was a pause, in which Yasmin closed her eyes and pressed her lips, thinking. Why was she trying to help him? What was it that had sent her spiralling into fear for the life of a man who would not care to lift a finger in her name? The emptiness in her stomach tightened and she felt her throat clench painfully. She had never truly been one to fear the Gods or the almighty hands of the Crown; laws often did not reach the deepest and darkest nooks of a dirty brothel. It was often times what made her life so miserable, all because of men like him who could afford the luxury of causing pain.

With another breath, Yasmin turned to face the man once again and let her hands drop by her sides. She felt frail and meaningless before him, just as weak as she had been the night before, when begging for his mercy to cease her suffering. It was pathetic and it sickened her. “If you fall,” she said then, “your family falls with you, your House, your name. Whatever it is you are... Whatever it is you have digged out of me, you need to fight while you still have a reason to fight for.”

Just as Marigold had, and failed, but all in the name of protecting her daughter.

 

[insteadofthis]

Silas followed her orders, and kept silent. The walls were of thick stone, but that did not mean that no one could hear him. After what had happened, he was sure the guards outside would be listening carefully. And if they heard something strange between him and the girl they thought was a simple maid, then it would only lead to more trouble. He wanted to ask a hundred questions, questions that she surely could not answer. He wondered what she had heard from the ceremony.

When she asked him what happened at the ceremony, Silas hesitated. He did not want to relive it. He was surprised that the word had not spread to her already, for he was sure that all who had personally witnessed it were eager to recall. "The crown had a sharp... gem, to make me bleed," he explained. "The crown was heavy that the small cut would be deep enough. So I am to be kept in containment until the elders make their decision." He was careful about his words. It was instinct for him to downplay magic, and it was deep-rooted instinct to lie.

He watched her carefully as she walked over to him, still suspicious of her presence. Silas had not expected anyone to be so kind and calm around him, but she had already known his secret. So why would she risk her life to come to him? Silas looked her over. "Why did you come here?" he asked. "How did you get those clothes?" It must have been a clever plan, more clever than he would have expected a harlot to be.

Silas frowned when she said that the kingdom would not forget what they had seen. He hung his head shamefully, looking away from her. "I know this," he said plainly. He could not hide a small bit of anger, even though he knew that he should not take it out on Yasmin.

As she said that he should have been more cautious, Silas narrowed his eyes. "There are certain things I cannot hide," he said bitterly, struggling to keep his voice low. "If there was anything I could have done... If I could have changed myself, do you not think I would?" She had warned him that no amount of steel would protect him from her vision, but then how could he have predicted that the crown itself would have been the setup? As she said that they would need to find a way for both of them to escape, Silas did a double take. The thought of escape had been a fantasy, but he had never thought he could do it on his own.

With the thought in his mind, more solid now, Silas considered it. If he could escape, what would be left for him? A miserable life, poor, alone. He had to consider whether it was preferable to death, but it was, indeed, preferable to facing the questions that the elders would have for him and the judgement of the kingdom that would hate him.

Silas took a deep breath. "Perhaps I could..." he said. "How many men were outside the room?" It would be a challenge, and he did not often attempt magic of such difficulty, but he knew that he had no other choice.

Her words rang true to him, although he shot her a resentful glare as she used the words what he was, the connotations having always struck a nerve with him. But Silas knew better than to direct his anger at her. For whatever strange motivations she had, she was the only one that would help him. "If there are not too many guards, I may be able to use magic to get past them," he said. It felt odd and foreign to freely admit that he would use magic. "I will need to find new clothes... then perhaps we can sneak our way to the grounds. There are many guests come to witness the ceremony and surely some of them will be hurrying to leave. If we are lucky, we will find a horse."

Silas stood, reluctant to face the world outside of his safe, warm, comfortable bedroom. He looked to Yasmin, and reached out a hand to her. "Please, try to see something," he said. The night before, it had been an order. Now, it was a more humble request. "If you could see anything, it would be of great use to us."

 

[peritwinkle]

Yasmin pursed her lips as she listened to him, with one foot in the pools of thought as she tried to tie his descriptions to what she had seen in her vision. She would not have thought to take it was it had been shown to her, and yet it seemed that the crown itself had indeed made him bleed. She had no doubt, then, that it was someone close to his side that had managed to trick his way into his graces enough to have the means of completing such scheme. She was no stranger to the rumours of King Evander having been assassinated, which no longer rung unimaginable after what had gone down that morning.

It was clear that the attacker's intention had not been to dirty his hands with Prince Silas's blood, but to bring his true nature to light for the entirety of Ibraen and eventually Ehren to see. Be it cowardice or wit, she could not tell, but it had been successful enough that the elders had been summoned to weigh on his fate.

As he inquired her on her escape, Yasmin lowered her head and turned her gaze away. Murdering a woman was not something to be proud of, but she warmed herself with the thought that it had been for the greater good, which, for one reason or another, she believed resided in him. Silence took over for a good moment as Yasmin fiddled with her fingers; she could almost feel the silk digging into her palms again as she had tightened the ribbon around the servant's throat. "I stole it," she said plainly. "I have my ways," ways that she did not wish to have to make use of again.

She decided not to press on old wounds then; even in the darkness, Yasmin could tell that Silas was bothered, and she could not condemn him for it. So much for desiring death when life was unbearable, that when the time came, one finally turned to the Gods begging for his lack of gratitude to be forgiven. She had been condemned a long time before, but still had not come to fell the suffering. The wrath. The fear. And yet, she could see it burning in his eyes and trembling in his voice.

The sliver of hope that rung as he spoke next stirred Aiyda back to reality. Letting out a soft breath, she turned to look towards the door one more time, before her gaze remained embedded into him. "There are two men at your doors, more at each corner of the corridors and the bigger entrances towards the Great Hall." She had not passed it, but had caught a glimpse of the entrance to it the night before. "We might... We might be able to take them down. If you don one's armour, perhaps we could find our way out unbothered."

He had been raised in that castle and likely knew every nook and hallway accessible to them, perchance even a door or two that could provide a safe exit into the city. The walls of Ibraen would be harder to penetrate, but she did not want to cumber her mind with such worries before they even saw themselves out of his apartment. What truly mattered was leaving the castle without causing a stir amongst the guards. As large as Ibraen was, it would be easier to slip away unseen through the hundreds of streets and alleys that crossed it.

His hand reached out to her in the darkness as he asked for yet another favour, this once more humble than imperative. Yasmin bit her lip, wavering for a moment, before taking a step closer to him and, instead of taking his hand, gently ran her fingers over his blood stained forehead. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to focus in the heavy silence, his breathing and the dumming of her heart the only noise that tickled her ears.

For seconds to come, her mind felt empty in her struggle to see beyond the black. Candlelight still slipped from underneath her lashes, flickering peacefully for a while, until the warm hue faded as if the flame had been stifled, and in the darkness, she saw the pale shape of a woman red of hair, whose ashen lips barely moved beneath her messy locks covering her face. Yasmin's heart skipped a beat, now beating louder in her ears as she traced over the features of the wraith with the face of her mother. She had been walking, and only briefly stopped in her tracks to look behind, a hand extending as an unspoken call for her to follow.

When she opened her eyes, the room seemed brighter and shrouded in a pale fog. Yasmin blinked quickly, lowering her hands to rest against Silas's shoulders as she steadied herself. "My mother," she murmured softly. "She wants me to follow her." It was likely not what he had wanted to hear, but the thought that they were being watched over soothed her. "I suppose, then, that this is the only way."

Two other lives taken, for the sake of saving one. It was not a pleasing thought, but it was the price they had to pay for a safe passage through the castle gates.

 

[insteadofthis]

Silas frowned when she avoided his question about why she had come. Even if it did not truly matter, he wanted to know why she had gone through so much trouble just to help him. But perhaps it was not entirely her intention to help him; it would make sense that she was just too curious about the strange things that happened when the two of them were together. He decided not to press her as to why she had come, at least for the time being.

He noticed her change in tone as he asked her how she had done it. Silas did not suspect that she had gone so far as murder, and although he was curious to hear how far she had gone, he doubted that she would admit to her secrets. "And what did you tell the guards outside?" he asked. She hadn't brought a tray of food, or a change of clothes or anything for him. He suspected that Lord Raine (or perhaps one of the many nobles sure to hate him) had given the guards outside his room strict instructions so as not to give the demon king a chance to escape.

It was a relief to hear that there were only two guards directly at the door. It would still be difficult to get past all of them, but at least it was doable. With Yasmin, it would be even easier. It felt so strange to Silas to blindly trust someone. Yet, it seemed like Yasmin was sharing that blind trust, and that was enough to convince him that she was not about to kill him the moment he turned his back to her.

He was confident that he could sneak their way around the palace grounds with relative ease. Silas did know the secrets and shortcuts and hideaways better than most guards even did, and with the stir of all the guests being hosted there, they would all be distracted. The ones in closer proximity would be the real trouble. "We will have to be quiet," he said. "But... I think we can do it."

Silas was much less confident in what they would do once they escaped into the streets. He had hardly ever been without the lavish treatments of a Prince his whole life, and while he considered himself a very tough and clever individual, there would surely be some obstacles that he was completely unprepared for. He would have to rely on Yasmin, and that thought scared him, try as he might to stifle those feelings.

As she silently agreed to work her magic again, Silas was grateful. He was mildly perturbed that she made to touch his forehead rather than the hand he had offered her, but he kept his mouth shut, happy that she was at least willing to try. He bent down just slightly to accommodate her, watching with an enamored light in his eyes. He prepared to hold her, in case she grew faint again, but she seemed better prepared to handle it. He was still and silent in anticipation, but when she spoke about what she had seen, he could not hold back a look of mild disappointment.

"Your mother?" he asked. Silas paused, trying to fit the pieces together, and remembered something that she had said to him the night before. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then reconsidered his words. "You told me your mother believed the rumors about the Dagen family. If you believe me to be unholy, or of dark magic, then why are you doing this? Why would you see your mother in a vision?" Yasmin was convincing enough for him to trust her, at least for the most part, but he felt he needed to know the answer to that question. Perhaps she would not have a satisfying answer, but he couldn't resist the urge to ask.

Silas cast his dark eyes towards the door again, lost in thought. It was difficult to put so much trust into a person that he hardly knew, let alone the vision of someone that he had ever met. Even if it was magic, magic had not always helped him. He knew that he had no other choice but to follow whatever little direction that he had. "Where are we following?"

 

[peritwinkle]

Attempting to ease into the depths of her own mind had seemed to come more easily to Yasmin then than the night before, yet she could still feel it taking its toll on her. Silas’s turmoil of questions did not aid her state, either, but she forced herself to regain her strength against her knees weakened and buckling beneath her weight. She could tell he was not willing to wait, although time was against the both of them right then.

Dropping her hands from the blood stained temple of the King, Yasmin’s fingers came to rest atop his shoulder as she took in his words. Frankly, she was unsure of her own motives, particularly what had driven her to steal the breath out of an innocent maid, only to escape and come to his aid, yet upon seeing her mother in her short reverie, the questions floating about her own mind came closer to their resolution.

“My mother did not shy away from the mysteries of magic.” She let a heavy breath leave her nose and lowered her eyes, as if to avoid his gaze. “It is why my father’s side of the family rejected her. We lived on our own after my father’s death.” Even if she made an effort to recall the days of living by her father’s side, it seemed like it had all been surreal. A vivid dream, but nothing more than such. She had barely been old enough to play on her own outside. “You have seen it with your own eyes... Witchcraft, magic... Dark magic... The entirety of Ehren condemns it.”

She did not wish to imagine what would have happened to her mother if her nighttime occupations had come to light. It was only when Yasmin had grown older that she had understood, truly, that the strange plants and herbs her mother brought home were not tinder for the fire. “Ever since the death of my father, she used to chant to herself every night,” she continued. “She stood there, stood before the flickering hearth and spoke words that my small mind could not comprehend at the time. I did not know them to be evil or ungodly, but they unsettled me as much as they made me wonder.”

Closing her eyes for a brief moment, Yasmin pressed her hands against Silas’s chest to pull herself away, and twirled to pace around her room, scouring her surroundings in the darkness. “Perhaps she was like you,” she offered. “But regardless of your liking, we are tied, in a way.” She turned her head back towards him, her gaze heavy, longing. “You made me see, Silas. Something within you has opened my eyes, something dark, unholy... But which resides within the both of us.”

She did not care for addressing him by his title then, and she doubted he was infatuated enough with his glory that he would mind the momentary lack of respect in the favour of intimacy. She wanted to trust him, and wanted him to trust her in return. After all, if they were to die that night, they would die together, and the titles before their names would not matter before whatever deities decided their path in the afterlife.

In the silence of the evening, she could hear nightingales trill outside the walls of the castle, their songs fading into the lullaby of the sea. It would have been a pretty scenery, one worthy of taking in and falling asleep to, but Yasmin knew that they would not be resting for a long time. Not unless their daring heist was reduced to ashes. “We have to go. My mother is watching over us... I know it,” she said then. “I will try to see again, after we have escaped the castle.”

She could tell there were many other questions residing in his mind, curiosities that he needed to have quenched, but there was no time for tales of childhood then. The sooner they fled Ibraen, the more time they had to buy themselves some good distance between the guards’ search party and their own horse, given they left without a trace. Her stomach clenched at the thought of leaving the safety of his chambers and throwing himself into a wilderness of silver armoured beasts.

Glancing towards the door, Yasmin bit her lip and tightened her fists. “Change into clean, plain clothes and take as much gold on you as you can,” she almost ordered him. A pin, a jewel, anything that they could trade for a horse if need be, or food and shelter when their own lost its vigilance. “Once you are ready...” Her eyes flickered to the panel of his bed, embellished with sharp wooden poles on each side, then back to him. It was their only hope - a pathetic try at a blade, but better than nothing. They could not afford to be indulgent to the guards outside his doors and risk them stirring others.

He had proven to be smart enough to understand, and Yasmin doubted that he would be as reluctant about murdering a man to save his own life if need be. She did not wish to speak it, but the dark glimmer in her eyes said plenty.

 

[insteadofthis]

Silas could not deny that he felt connected to her. Perhaps it was foolish to waste their time questioning her beliefs, but her answers did satisfy his curiosity. He listened to her speak about her mother, pulling apart her every word. He wondered how much the girl knew about magic, what a unique point of view she must have. She seemed to take it on naturally, and he even believed that she was ready for whatever would come to them. He had hardly ever met anyone with magic in their blood.

"I hope you are not one to shy away from magic," he said. It was the only advantage they had, if one could even call it an advantage. She seemed like she would take after her mother, in that regard, but she had only just scratched the surface of her true potential, and they had begun their journey. Magic had unsettled him when he was younger, too, but for him it had been more real, more visible.

Silas paused, lost in thoughtfulness as she said that they were tied. He knew that she was right, although he did not want to admit it. He was eager to see what magical achievements they could make together, as bleak as the situation seemed then. Her last visions had not been as convenient as he would have hoped for, but this vision seemed more solid, and he was more confident that it was leading them on a better path.

He took a few slow steps around the room, looking over at it and taking in its every detail, certain that he would not see it again. The realization made him awash with sudden bitterness. Silas thought about what tense conversations must be going on inside the temple walls, what the Elders planned for the future of the kingdom. He wondered fleetingly what would happen to his mother, especially after it came to light that he had escaped the palace.

Silas nodded and escaped from his trance when she began to make her orders, and although he was a bit flustered, he followed. He pulled off his heavy, uncomfortable robes, dumping them onto the floor. He had been wearing some of the finest jewels he ever had for what had been the most important day of his life. Silas had some valuables stashed about his room in the places where most servants would not think to look. He had little grasp of the value of money, but he assumed that any of the jewelry there would be substantial. He left some for Yasmin to keep on her person.

He furrowed his brow as she hinted towards the sharp wooden accents on the bed. He wondered just how far she was willing to go for this, but she seemed just as committed to their escape as he was. "You must be careful," he said to her, meeting her eye so that he could gauge her seriousness. "And ready to fight." Surely, she understood that her life would be the cost if she were caught helping him at a time like this. It was just as she said, the entirety of Ehren condemned magic. She did not seem so physically strong, at least to him, but he had to admit that she seemed clever enough to think on her feet.

He took a firm hold of one of the sharp wooden spires, and tore it off with some force, muffling the crack as best he could. Silas then did the same to the other side, handing the makeshift weapon to her. He was disappointed by how flimsy and weak it felt in his hands, but there was not much else that would make a better weapon inside the room. "Noise echoes easily in these hallways," Silas warned her. "Be as quiet as you can. Don't hesitate. Are you ready?" He hoped desperately that she would have the strength it took to take a life. Silas did not have extensive experience, but he was not totally innocent, either.

Silas took a moment to regain steadiness, readying himself and looking for her approval before he made for the door. It swung open with ease, and Silas did not take any time to wait as he threw the sharp wooden piece into throat of the guard around the side with all the strength he had. The guard sputtered for air, fighting hard against him. They struggled for what felt like ages, but the guard make a sickening gurgling sound, and finally slacked against the wall.

 

[peritwinkle]

Despite only having been in that room once before, Yasmin could not brush away the sudden tension she felt at the thought of likely never seeing it again. It was not the room itself as it was the Capital; Ibraen had been her home for so long, that she could not picture herself surviving outside the safety of its walls. Even the streets of the Capital were strange to her, after being locked in Lady Irma's brothel for the years after her mother's death. Being self sufficient seemed more like incomprehensible magic than her visions themselves.

She tried not to linger too much on Silas's form as he removed his heavier garments. The abrupt shift of his integrity bothered her. Instead, she forced herself to scour the room with her eyes, searching for perhaps a better option for a weapon than a broken splint, which would leave something far from a clean cut. As layers came off of the King, however, her attention immediately shifted to the valuables, and without thinking, she began stuffing as many as she could into the two deep pockets of her handmaid's dress, jeweled buttons adorning his coat and chains and brooches of gold attached to his collar.

For a moment, she felt her mouth fill with bitterness as the riches that men like him so easily brushed off as modest items. The memory of Gina's own brooch came to her mind then, one that she had bought with a week's worth of sleepless work nights. The ease with which Silas discarded them in that moment would have seemed egoistical another time, had they not been forced to part with their lives that very night.

Once the weight of his embellished attire was lifted and Silas addressed her, Yasmin's first instinct was to waver. The tightness in her stomach and throat only intensified at the thought of what she had to do, moreso knowing that it was their only chance. He could not risk being seen fleeing the Capital, which made silencing personal guards mandatory. Those guarding the main gates of the courtyard and those leading outside the city walls were another story, but one Yasmin did not wish to muddle her mind with, at least not until she saw the two of them safely out of Silas's chambers and outside of the keep.

The snapping of wood was enough to shake her out of her trance, enough to hear his following question. "I am ready," a voice murmured, and Yasmin was unsure whether it was her own. Her heart no longer beat, but instead seemed to vibrate against her chest, so loudly that even her vision began to subdue. Her pale fingers reached to seize the makeshift blade and, wrapping them tightly around the thicker side, she made her way towards the door and waited for his call. Her wrist was tense, trembling at the stringency of her grip, but she forced her attention on the knob and gave him a nod, fearful that if she did look in his eyes, she would be faced with the same unrest that she now fought to stifle within herself.

Once the doors parted open, Yasmin hurtled from her place and almost blindly dug the sharp point of the splint into the first corner of flesh she sighted. Blood purled down the piece of wood and over her knuckles, staining the pale flesh and the rim of her sleeve as the guard gasped for air through the thick pool of crimson bubbling at the base of his tongue. Yasmin tightened her grip and twisted, sending streams of blood pouring from the corners of his mouth as he coughed, before his eyes rolled behind their sockets and his knees buckled beneath him, pulling him down flask against the marble floor.

Yasmin let go of the splint as the body fell from her reach, and she took a step back as if to admire her work. She felt her gut twist and her throat clench closed; canting her head, she took a glance at her blood stained hand, tracing over the fine lines of her palm now filled with glistening blood. It no longer felt like her own limb, but a stranger's, now numb to touch but still trembling fervently. It was not her first. It could not have been. That woman had died as well by her hand, and she now knew that she had heard her neck snap beneath the twist of the knotted ribbon.

The eerie silence that took over the hallway once again assured her that Silas had done his duty as well. As she turned, here eyes flickered from the other body to the man now standing above him. "We do not have much time," she whispered, her voice hollow. She bent down and seized one of the guards' ankle before starting to pull him over the threshold and into the chamber, the effort burning into her weakened muscles, but the pain was meaningless to her then. She only wished for the sight to fade, and to rest her eyes on something clean instead of bubbling blood and gushing wounds.

She knew she would not need to remind Silas of what he had to do. After all, it seemed like their thoughts aligned that day. She could only hope that he had it within him to pull through with the cruel task of stealing a dead man's armour, or at least blind and deafen himself to it for as long as they were still in immediate danger. Her ears were ringing by the time time they managed to drag the two guards inside, but she forced herself steady on her feet once again, and briefly glanced towards the pools of blood left on either side of the opened doors. "Silent, but far from clean," she murmured. "They will know come morning... Or before."