Novelette {Oneshots}

Different ✧ 𝙶𝚎𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎

𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 (suggestive)

𝚃𝚆𝚜: knife, mentions of blood

𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚌: George is an assassin hired by a wealthy kingdom to threaten information out of the rivalling kingdom's prince (Dream), or if he refuses, to kill him.
However, things don't go as planned...

Yeah, I like writing assassins too much. Not sure I like how this one turned out though, I put off uploading it for a while.
Something different, I guess.
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"I'd suggest you start talking."

"Now."

I watch the eyes of the boy before me drift to the dagger in my hand, following it to the blade's edge, barely an inch from his throat. The look in his eyes is one of unamusement, as if I'm interrupting his evening for no good reason, merely an irritation to him.

"What would you like to know?" he asks, dryly, rolling his eyes. They're duller than before, bored almost senseless.

This is ridiculous. He should be scared, terrified by my presence, just like every other victim of mine is before I slit their throat. Yet he doesn't seem bothered at all, no hint of fear on his features.

"Why aren't you scared of me?" I ask, jabbing the dagger towards him in an attempt to provoke some sense of fear. The blade's edge grazes his neck, leaves a thin trail of blood snaking towards his collarbone. His eyes widen for barely a second, but I catch his gaze before he can hide it.

"Why would I be?" he shrugs back casually, gloved hand ghosting the mark on his neck. I watch the blood drip in satisfaction, glad that I've at least stunned him with the sudden action.

"You're feisty, aren't you..." he mutters, smudging bloody fingerprints across his otherwise pristine dress shirt. His outfit must cost thousands, but is no more than spare change to royalty like his father. "Strange. Of all the assassins that have been sent after me, I've never seen one like you before."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I scoff, gritting my teeth to bite back any further ridicules. He should be dead by now, I should've killed him when I had the chance. And yet he's still here, nothing more than a cut in his neck evident that any attack happened at all.

"Calm yourself, sweetheart." He rolls his eyes, moving his hands above his head in mock surrender. "It was meant to be a compliment, actually. You look more like a court member than a murderer."

"I'm an assassin, thank you," I grit out, infuriated by the smirk still on his lips. "You're supposed to fear me! I have you against a wall, trapped, helpless-"

I'm cut off mid sentence, suddenly defensive when his hands move away from the wall. He grabs hold of the dagger in mine, pulling it from my grip and switching our positions. In barely three seconds, I'm the one trapped against the wall instead.

"You didn't really think I wouldn't be prepared after all this time?" he drawls, spinning the handle of the weapon between his fingers with ease. "I've seen enough of you to know what you're like by this point. Attacking methods are all the same, it gets boring after a while."

I discreetly reach for my second weapon, focused on keeping my victim's eyes away from it. They're a dark yellow, I'd guess green by logic, filled with a confident glow that would terrify anyone inexperienced.

"So tell me, princess, what did you need answering?"

"Don't call me that," I spit, kicking my leg out towards him in hopes of knocking his balance. My leg collided with his shin, but he doesn't so much as wobble. "You never gave me another name," he quips, and I shoot him a glare before responding reluctantly.

"George."

"George.." he wonders aloud, testing the way my name sounds on his lips. There's a sweetness behind it that I despise, hating the way it sounds nicer from his mouth than anyone else's. "You can call me Clay, George, " he smirks, emphasising every letter ridiculously.

"I already knew your name. Everyone does." His hand stills at my words, not bothering to get a firmer grip on the weapon I could so easily reach. And almost try to, until he pulls it away. "Well, what a shame they don't know yours. It's pretty, I like the way it sounds when I say it.

"But let's stick with princess. It fits you better."

The smirk he offers is sickly sweet, the level of deception behind it making it clearly that of a prince. They weren't wrong when they said that royalty could be convincing assassins too, their court etiquette training enough to make them compulsive liars by nature.

I roll my eyes, not wanting to spend any more time here than necessary. "About the war, and the plans scheduled for two weeks time." His eyes widen slightly, glittering with amusement at the sudden question. "You knew it was going to be that, didn't you?"

"Of course it would be," he shrugs. "But that's rather dull, don't you think? To hire an assassin in hopes they could scare my father's rumoured plans out of me is ridiculous."

He throws the dagger between his hands, catching it effortlessly, like it's a toy. "So what, I answer your questions or you kill me? No offence princess, but I don't think you'd manage."

"I am a trained assassin!" I yell furiously as loud as I dare to, enraged that this prince thinks I'm incapable. "I could kill you if I wanted to. You'd be dead in seconds."

"So you don't want to kill me?" he smirks, and I think back through the angry words that split from my mouth, realising what I just said. "I'm flattered, hun."

"Flattered that I went easy on you?" I quip back immediately, badly wanting to restore my confidence. This boy is breaking me down with words, and I can't let him have the upper hand.

"No," he deadpans absentmindedly, dragging his finger along the dagger's edge. He smudges more of his own blood from earlier, rubbing the crimson between his fingers in wonder.

"Flattered that you let me admire your pretty little face for a while longer. You know, I wouldn't be too mad if it was the last thing I ever saw."

"You're sick in the head," I growl, pushing off of the wall behind me suddenly. I try to catch him off-guard, grasping hold of the dagger in his hand and tugging it away successfully.

His hands land either side of my head, trapping me back against the wall but making no move to grab hold of the dagger. I aim the blade at his throat, grip unusually weak as I will myself to plunge it into him.

"What's taking you so long?" he asks, eyes locking with mine, unbothered by the dagger. "I thought you specified your options. I answer the questions, or you kill me. Well, I refuse to explain..." The smirk fades from his lips, leaving his features cold and unreadable.

"So kill me. If I'm that sick of a person, rid this world of me."

And I want to. So badly, I want to. To plunge the blade through his chest, watch more of that crimson blood spill out across the expensive marble floorboards. Watch it splatter against the wall I've been stuck against for so long now, forced to listen to every degrading word he's thrown at me.

I'm sick of this, I'm sick of all of this.

So why can't I kill him?!

My grip falters, and the blade clatters to the floor between us. I watch him kick it away, sending it way too far out of my reach. My hollow eyes drift back to the face of the man who made me do this, the first victim to escape me.

His gaze follows mine, cold eyes assessing the situation at hand. He leans in to the wall, letting himself relax as his lips rest next to my ear.

"Good boy," he whispers, sending chills up my spine. I hate those words, hate the way they echo in my head and make my stomach turn over even after he's pulled away.

"Better luck next time, hun." He offers me a stiff, prince's wave in goodbye, straightening his shirt collar as if nothing happened.

"I'll look forward to seeing you again."

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 1328