Evening Tales: Dark Academia Short Stories

The King and The Assassin

The assassin's feet carried her swiftly from shadow to shadow; silent as death and as deadly as a serpent. 

Her twin blades made from pure gold flickered gently in the faint glow of the moon: the only indication of her presence. She slipped into the secret passageway that she knew to be unguarded during this hour, due to her careful assessment of the guard rotations around the stone-walled palace in the days, weeks, leading up to this final night. 

She climbed through the overgrown brush in the tunnels, cringing at the mice and various other rodents that scuttled over her feet. After what had felt like hours, she finally reached that small crevice in the wall, and the steep, musty incline which would lead to her destination. 

She made the ascent with careful grace, not daring to make a sound. Finally, she came to the peep-hole through which she had been spying him, her target, each night for a fortnight. There he was, bent as he always was, over a daunting stack of papers, his brown hair mussed and his shirt slightly unbuttoned.  

Through her nightly visits, she hated to admit, she had almost begun to admire the young man: he pored over books and papers for hours on end, yet his movements were rigged with power and lethal grace. He held a position so high that none should question him, yet he treated all who passed through that rather cramped office with such respect and kindness, that the young assassin did not know what to think of him.

She breathed in tightly. Her client had given her only a fortnight to make the kill, and tonight was her deadline. He client needed this man's head before the sun came up, or it would be her own head on the block. 

Just one more look, she told herself, crouching closer to the peephole from where she could make out the deep brown of his eyes. He ruffled some papers and sighed deeply, placing his head between his thumb and forefinger. 

The young assassin sat in the pit of silence just behind the wall, her mind barking at her to move, to fulfill her client's wishes, but something in her held her back. 

The man stood, making for a cabinet just behind his desk, and she seized the opportunity to scramble from behind the painting near the peephole, and to slink into the room. It would be over before he felt a thing. 

As her feet hit the floor, the man's back tensed, his movements stopping. She had not made a noise, so what had stopped him?

"I was wondering," the man started in that calm, deep voice she had found so soothing, "when you would decide to strike." He turned ever so slowly to face her, a glass of auburn liquid sloshing in his hands. 

The young assassin spared a feral grin, "I have to give you credit, Your Majesty. You have impeccable senses." 

A sad smile. "I knew someone was watching me two nights ago, after I felt the draft from the tunnels, and later found the passage." He ruffled a hand through his messed hair, "I'm only sorry I hadn't noticed sooner."

Her twin blades gleamed in answer, and his gaze fell on them, his throat bobbing. She had the boy-king cornered now. 

"No begging?" She said, clucking her tongue in annoyance. "No offerings of gold, or property, or my wildest dreams to be fulfilled?" He only shook his head slightly, bringing the glass to his full lips and sipping. She stuck out her lip in an exaggerated pout, "I'm disappointed."

Before she could think better of it, because wow his eyes were even more spectacular up close, she launched at him, twin blades coming down in an arc through the air. Her blades sang as they crashed with steel: a blade now held in his hands. He smirked and pushed back hard against her.