HIRAETH

Chapter 1- Bones

He knew he'd have to kill another. He knew from the look on that poor servant's face when they told him he needed to see the queen, that it was a matter of urgency.

It came as no surprise to him that she wants another man dead, his assumption being it's just one more of her short lived affairs that she fears will forget to hold his tongue. Death isn't a necessity, he knows that, but he isn't paid for necessities, he's paid for insurance.

"Don't claim him as your victim. I don't want any questions asked." The queen lets out in a hurried panic the second his dark leather boots meet the marble floor of the throne room.

Her tone took him back slightly. He's used to a cold face, turned shoulder, barely even a crease in her brow and yet there she stands, almost breathless, letting the panic take over.

"Questions about what exactly? What could that scared little man ever have against you to have you pacing around the room like a lost puppy?" In return for his sarcastic tone, she sends him a look of pure desperation, trying to tell him now isn't the time for his humour to show.

He ignores her pleading eyes, just as he always does.

In times like this, he wonders how many people have seen her in this state, so desperate for help, yet so useless without him. None. The royals never need help, or so the kingdom believes, and still, he stands in front of the defenceless, ageing queen with a small smirk playing on his lips, knowing she needs him as much as she needs the air filling her lungs.

"The last inter-dimensional crossing was 18 years ago." She stills, unsure of how he will react.

He doesn't move, even when questioning her meaning of the sudden words she spoke.

"My mother?" His voice lacks all humour it had carried moments before, it now being cold and distant.

"Yes, your mother" The queen confirms as she looks up to meet his eyes, expecting there to be some kind of pain, a boy who needs comfort. Though, there is no surprise showing through her features when she looks up to see the expressionless face she had grown so used to.

"She left something there for me, though she never could hold her tongue. The knowledge of what stirs in the modern needs to die with him. No claims. No questions."

"No questions." He repeats in a mocking tone while a small smirk plays on his lips once again, despite the humour not quite reaching his eyes.

It isn't much but it doesn't need to be, the subtle hints of a plan on display for the woman and her snide comments about his mother leaves her wide eyed with fear. Not another word is spoken between the two as he turns his back on the queen, not bothering to bow as one should. His footfall is inaudible while he strides out of the half empty throne room past frightened guards who bow before him as though he were the king, whom he hates just as much as the memory of his father.

His left foot leading, he turns the corner, entering the darkened hallway which stands hidden from the light of day and the sight of the innocent. Here, even he could be heard, his breathing fills the empty sounds of the hall, hitting the walls and slamming into him one after another.

The screaming stairway. That's what the servants call it, a place where the halls stay silent until the heavy oak door opens and the screams of the guilty are unleashed into the echoing hallways ready to make blood pour from any ear they can find.

The cold reaches around his body as he approaches the door and wraps his scarred hand around the delicately melded door handle before letting it go, his anger building. He can hear her running to catch up with him and turns to see an overly excited princess approaching him with a smile, which he doesn't plan on returning, not until he visits her chambers after the long hours of day.