A Royal Ruse

Prologue

"Do not make a sound."

Zita was ripped from her sleep by a masked figure looming over her. A dagger hung inches away from her throat like a metallic fang. Her eyes locked with the tip of the blade. 

Fear clamped around her body.

"Get up." The voice scraped against the silence of the small hours. Zita complied, gingerly peeling her blanket back. Shivers ran through her body despite the flushing heat of the Arnoan summer filling her room.

Slowly, she placed her feet down onto the woolen rug that surrounded her canopied bed like a plush white moat. A ragged gasp escaped Zita's mouth as the dark figure dipped his covered head down to meet hers.

"Don't make any sudden movements. If you scream or try to run, I will slit your throat."

From that close, Zita could see his eyes peeking through his mask. They were shiny and black; unblinking like a fish's. She breathed in the hot vapor of his breath. It made her feel nauseous.

The dark figure retreated. He tossed a robe at her.
"Put this on."

The masked man skulked next to her as she put the robe on. Zita squinted at him, trying to use the small slivers of moonlight bleeding through her curtains to uncover his identity. But the only thing illuminated, other than his hulking silhouette, was the glinting silver of the weapon he wielded like an extension of his arm.

"Hurry up." He growled, grabbing Zita. She yelped as soon as the cold grip of his gloved hand clung to the nape of her neck. He pushed her towards her chamber door. His blade shot straight back up to her throat as soon as they passed the threshold.

Out of the corner of her eye, Zita could make out the lumpy outline of a body; a palace guard lying lifeless on the hallway floor. The dark figure teased the dagger close against her throat, swiftly strangling out any scream for help that may have tried to escape.

The masked brute kept his steps brisk. His bulky hand steered Zita through the hallway. She could feel his fingers wiggling beneath his gloves, alternating in pressure against the sides of her neck. A strained whimper escaped Zita's lips as they approached the inky corridor that led to her parents' chambers.

Zita started to squirm. A knot fastened tightly in her stomach as she cast a desperate glance towards the dark passage. The masked man could sense rebellion swelling. His clutch tightened.

"Keep moving." His gruff voice snapped her back into submission. Hot panicky tears started stinging her eyeballs. He pushed her past the corridor and towards the palace steps without further protest.

Zita felt woozy. She thought she might tumble down the grand marble staircase that led to the palace's main foyer. But before she could lose balance, the masked brute moved his hand from her neck to her arm so he could prop her up with more force. They grounded from the steps and he shoved her in the direction of the service corridors — a hidden passage that led to the kitchen. Zita watched in grim realization as he dragged her through the complicated warrens of the palace with swift ease. 

He knew these passages as well as she did.

As much as Zita couldn't fathom one of her servants orchestrating her kidnapping, she couldn't deny that times had gotten turbulent in the kingdom of Arnoa. The rising taxes coupled with the king's corrupt and decadent tendencies sent discontent surging through the land. She was forced to reckon with the brutal reality that any number of them would benefit greatly from the healthy sum her ransom would no doubt supply.

As they rounded the corner into the kitchen, Zita heard a violently loud thud in the distance. It boomed from the main entrance of the palace and sent seismic ripples through the ground. A monstrous wave of bloodthirsty cries ripped through the palace. Zita could feel a thrashing in her chest; her heartbeat had turned violent.

The masked brute maintained his sure-footed pace, forcefully dragging Zita through the kitchen. They reached the servants' entrance door; their portal to the outside world. He kicked the door open and the cool, crisp night breeze whipped against Zita's skin. She heard the faint toll of a bell permeating the air.

Her captor sprinted for the stables, with Zita in a bruising grip. Under the cover of night, she could make out a horse-drawn cart standing in wait for them. When they reached the cart, he reached into it for a rope and promptly began to coil it around Zita's hands, tugging it into a sturdy knot behind her back.

A fresh wave of horror enveloped Zita as she craned her neck back to look at the horror behind her. The bright glow of fire waved like a banner from the roof of the palace, blazing fiercely against the dark canvas of the night. The masked man hoisted her up and chucked her body into a covered cart, before latching the door closed— steeping her world in complete darkness.