Reality {2}

The next day brought the typical wave of whisper and gossip of the latest murder. A man aged 25, an ex-convict, released from prison for his sentence of 5 years for a crime, that in her eyes, was even worse than murder. She dared not think of the word, being a woman herself and only 19 sent shivers down her spine if that were to ever happen to her.

Anger always flushed most wasteful emotions away however, making the fright not linger for long; and the taste for bitter revenge to remain burning on her tongue.

The village whisperings of her sightings echoed every corner, every home and tavern of Caswor, wondering who will be next? Where and when? Those secrets lied only with her. She worked alone.

~

He'd heard of her of course, who hadn't? Tales of her history on becoming The Shadow, the most feared assassin in all of Caswor was told to all. From a king, to a peasant. Everyone knew her name and dared speak it aloud. This was her world and she knew it.

Though being so famous, led to having enemies. Enemies who were relentless and vicious. Hunting her with bestial avidity as she does to others. They all attempted to kill her, to steal her crown and claim the title for themselves, becoming obsessed and animalistic in their methods; but none could ever get close enough. She made sure of that.

He shuddered but remained intrigued as he scoured from the collection of books chaotically arranged on his bed, the one he was reading from being 'An Assassin's History'.

It was a strange book, written to bring awareness to the rising murders happening over all kingdoms, and noting all the discriminately infamous assassins to advise caution. The Shadow being the most dangerous...

It was not complete however.

An air of aberration surrounded her tale and fascinated him further. He had to know more, being a man of his tier. A prince, he could actually do something rather than muse about it... if he caught her for his kingdom, he could rest happily.

Finally become re-assured that the moment he sat upon that throne, his people would live freely and without the fear or her presence. The Kingdoms had a crazed obsession with her, an infatuation that could never be supressed.

She was a weapon, a double edged blade; by studying her murders, he found that she targeted those with a record or a certain reputation that would upturn a crinkled nose. It was admirable, but there were countless reports of her killing without justification. It was striking to think about....

Wanted in every kingdom for murder beyond belief, people murmured that her hands have spilled more blood than water flowing down streams; how she has painted the skies red with each venomous massacre. Her ice cold veins sung in a melody of death.

She became noticed years ago; and he wanted to bring it to an end.

Stopping excess blood from being spilled in his home, that was needed. He smiled, reaching his ears; mind already tasked with formulating a way to achieve his hearts desire for his mothers kingdom.

He was a prince after all, Prince of the Southern Kingdom. He was widely recognisable by his distinctive features, a warming smile, and a voice so soothing he could qualm a crying baby. Or so they said... 

Oh how he hated it.

Hated how easily he could have people eating out of his calloused hands, brandished that way not by a weapon, but literature.

He wished for people to notice his intelligence instead of his appearance.

Sighing, he closed the dust covered book, ignoring the others and placed it back into its slot. It crammed in an ancient bookcase that grew heavy with age, the impressions of the books prominent in the wood. 

Gradually, he sunk himself into his bed, still ignoring the littered open books.

Its soft silk caressed his lean body. It rubbed against his clothing, consisting of a white shirt with a brown overcoat, embedded with initials of the royal family. TS. His trousers were made of fine cloth, tailored precisely for him. He always dressed as such, unless a special occasion bloomed over the horizon.

"Your highness?" A rough voice appearing from the oak wood door caught his attention. The man wore a uniform of a servant; shabby, pale tunic with loose fitting trousers that were too short for him in length, revealing his thin ankles.

The mans face appeared aged from service, being with the royals from a scrawny adolescent- taken in when found on the streets out of good will. It was a shame the past could hold such an effect on the man now.

The prince rose up, slouching informally against his bedpost at his entrance.

"You called?" The servant asked as he moved into a low bow.

"Yes, I did, I want you to saddle my horse immediately, I will depart within the next few minutes"

The servant cautiously arose, dangerous curiosity lining his face.

"Will you be riding alone, your highness?"

The Prince hesitated, fumbling with his palms.

"Yes"

The servant's brow rose, "No guards?"

His tone raised in concern, genuine compassion shining brightly in his dulled eyes.

"No guards", the prince replied, "It is nothing dangerous"

That was a lie.

He sighed, the servant not buying an ounce of his acting, "Please do not worry, I just wish to get this done quickly, before my mother gets involved"

The servant received the 'subtle' hint and bowed deeply; already aware of the Princes' fanatics and secrets, yet never bothered to question them or speak a word of protest.

"Of course, your highness, it shall be done", and with that he exited the stone room peevishly, as he had always done.

The prince's chamber was bare, decorated to a minimum for the sole purpose for him to forget his title. It was the same as his future step-sister's room as well, princess of the Northern Kingdom by birth right, and soon to be Princess of the Southern Kingdom by her father marrying his mother.

The Queen.

He hated the arrangement, not based on love or solace, but ammunition and alliances. It made him sick.

He knew his mother had only agreed to such an ordeal because she could no longer stomach truly loving another man that wasn't his father. So she would only do this to benefit the kingdom he adored and left behind.

Liam groaned, pushing himself off the bed with his rough yet delicate hands and stood on the cold hard floor surveying his room. It consisted of an oak table in its centre with high back chairs. A fine white cloth covered the dark table with an antique plant as it's centre piece. The floor was made up of smooth concrete, freezing to the touch of flesh; and at the back stood a door to his bathing quarters.

The prince stood tall, reaching for his overflowing bag hanging off a chair that contained everything he needed to survive in one of the villages.

He had been thinking about it for a while; it being the only way for his plan of 'scoping out the streets of each village for her' would ever be carried out.

It was senile. He knew that. But he needed to get a better understanding, and practically, this was the most effective way of doing just that.

He was aware that The Shadow was in the Southern kingdom as the last kill was a in a small village named Rackler on the border of the Kingdom's boundaries. She was moving closer in with each kill.

He would start further in. A prediction of sorts. Plus less travel.

With a smile fuelled of excitement, he strolled toward the door and passed the guards posted outside his room. They wore blue armour; holding in their firm grasp, a staff with a pointed tip so sharp it could shatter glass at a single touch.

The frozen guards sprang to life as His Highness exited his room.

Glancing towards them as they marched in unison down the marble corridor behind him, he spoke clearly, "The servant who came only moments ago requested me to see my mother, something has come up, and therefore I do not need to be escorted"

The bag around his hip fidgeted, it was very much out of place for a 'meeting'.

A guard moved forward in protest, held back by another stationed to the side of him; face softening as they gave a slight nod in unison.

Liam was loved by all, his compassion and care spoke to those who couldn't even hear, whisking people into a dream of happiness as he was anticipated to become a better king than his father was.

Eyes gleaming with thanks but lingering a moment longer than he would like on the bowing guards, he turned, one foot traipsing at a time down the maze that was his castle.

He took an alternate route, one where fewer guards stood out-posted by the doors.

His heart was racing as was his legs, churning the bones and muscles to walk faster without running.

Once out of sight, he turned sharply, b-lining past marble walls with torches to light his path, headed down, down to the stables.

The castle itself was raised on a platform, only the outer rooms lying on the castle's outskirts were lowered to level the rich grass outside.

He only ran, wanting no one to know of his agenda; for they could get suspicious or advise against it for his safety.

He wasn't stupid, he knew it was 1 in a million, but he needed information on how she ticked- that sadly- no amount of books could supply.

Liam mentally applauded himself, no one could compete with the Princes' knowledge of the castle; reading it like a map, imprinted on the back of his mind as his eyes caught glimpse of the entrance down a set of wooden stairs.

As asked, he found the very same servant applying last minute preparations as he hurdled through the entrance; the double oak doors creaking open.

They were quite old.

The horse he wished for was one of a multitude of royal horses. This specific beautiful-being, had been by his side since she was born a young foal.

She was his indeed favourite, equipped with food, water and a sword... just in case.

Grabbing a cloak hung from the stable door, he wrapped its furry warmth around himself and mounted his horse, strapping the supplies from his room on the opposite side to balance the weight.

Grasping the reins tightly, he surveyed the door, readying to leap away if people came storming through.

The servant stepped back, bowed and bore no expression. No slightest hint of emotion, as he raised the stable door.

Cold wind rushed in, as the exit gates opened. Small bustles of hay swept into the air, the icy current carrying it kissing his cheeks. It caressed his exposed skin and sunk deep into his bones. It was drop dead freezing.

That was expected being in the peak of winter so early into the season.

"Will that be all, your highness?" He asked, politeness shining through and through.

"Yes, thank you"

Re-adjusting himself to sit straight, he tried desperately not to shiver; wrapping himself with his arms while still clasping the reins.

His breathing puffed out in ice as he spoke, "If any guards, or anyone asks where I am, you are not to say a word"

His tone was serious with a hint of do not disobey lathered all over.

"Whatever your majesty requires" He bowed deeply again before exiting the room with calm contempt.

The Prince watched him leave, wondering how he could remain that composed.

Bracing his face for the flurry of cold, and snapping his mind into gear for the road ahead, he trod out into the strong sunlight blinding him.

Even with the sun's beams of natural heat, the wind was quick to sought it, replacing the heat with frostbite; pinching away at his fingertips.