Flame of the Huntress

The Bloody Dance

There's powder in my eyes, and all over my face. I have only been to a handful of balls. They were each only for missions of course. Dress in the finest clothes, seduce the prince, and when he leasts expects it, take the kill. Same routine over and over.

However, I have yet to kill a High Lord.

My subject, Rhysand, is known to be the most powerful out of all seven. However, no worry infects my blood, only excitement curses through my veins.

I must keep reminding myself to keep my flames in check today. Cannot let the excitement cause a scene.

                                                                                        ~~~~~~~

Dressed in my finest red gown, the ends flowing through the winds of the night, I made my way to the entrance of the hall.

The castle was extravagant, which is to be expected considering his fine wealth. Striding along with the rest of the crowd, of Courtesans and other beings of high rank, the main gates soon approached.

A plethora of guards are stationed along the perimeter, scouting the crowds. Right before the entrance, two guards are personally inspecting each guest—encase any intruders decide to make an appearance or unwanted assassins. Better head to the wall on the right. 

With a casual stride, I drifted from the crowd to the only area not crawling with guards— probably from there being no entrance to the ball. I took a few moments to scan the area around me, making sure there was no one to see me. The sounds of the crowds now far and faint, only a slight glow behind the corner remained. With only hay bins and darkness as my witnesses, I reached my hand to the cold cobblestone brick, and scaled the castle wall with feline stealth.

After a brisk climb, with the only hinderance being this dam dress. I finally made it to the top balcony—stationed just above the main hall. Knee bent, dress scrunched with one hand, so it does not become stained with dirt, I crouch. Through the small window in front of me, I assess the scene below. The hall, to some, would be breathtaking with its white pillars, golden accents and large chandelier. But to me, it's just another battle field. I make sure to note the positioning of each guard, each entrance and exit, and my target—The High Lord. Amongst the bright dresses and shining armor—He is pure darkness. Hair like the flowing night, pale skin like the moon. If I didn't know any better I would think he is quite handsome. However, I do know better, he is nothing but my next kill. Fire burned through my veins at the thought, itching to come out. I took a deep breath, storing it deep, deep down. You'll get your chance to play, but for now we must stay among the shadows.

One of the back entrance's I noticed was probably for the maids— so they can go in and out without drawing too much attention. Conveniently, It also leads straight to the ball. Scaling back down the wall, using the shadows as my hiding, I made my way to my new entrance route.

There was only one guard—too busy being distracted by the women dancing to his left. Fool. To notice the assassin slipping by.

The room was roaring with chatter and laughter. An orchestra was planning a celebratory song on the left to the dancing couples on the floor. Blue velvet drapes flowed down from the ceiling's on all sides with the same golden symbol-the Night court emblem. Three mountains each adorning their own star above. I heard of the middle mountain in particular. Stories spilled from mouths of gossiping warriors along my travels. Apparently, scaling the beast of a mountain is for some initiation to become an a true Illyrian warrior. Only a few have ever survived the treacherous climb, the High Lord being one of them.

I made my way to the bar as it seemed to be the most practical option. I am able to keep a close enough eye on the High Lord without drawing too much attention, it's near the exit in case I need to flee, and—I can have a small drink when I'm at it.

My walk was elegant, precise, calculated. I knew I was beautiful. I did not think of it like most would though; it is only a tool to use to my advantage—nothing more. Now sitting on the stool, my dress flowing around me, I took in the high lord once more—who he was taking to, where he spent his mo-

"Wowy,"A brute of a voice said, words slurring, "aren't you something to behold".

A drunk. How typical. He is of well build—definitely some sort of warrior. I was trained to notice these certain attributes on people: the way they handled themselves, their build, etc. All so I can accurately access my victims. To know their weakness and strengths.

Wait, a minute.

I turned my stool to fully face him. His eyes gleamed with surprise and lust. Probably has been getting rejected all night. I have seen him before while surveying up on the balcony. He and another man were stationed on each side of the High Lord. By the way he gave the High Lord a rather aggressive embrace, I could tell they were very close.

How Interesting.

I gave him a small grin—causing his face to turn into a stupid looking smile. He may want my insides to want to die a bit—But, he might be the key to getting me close to the High Lord. So I'll play his little game and keep pretending to be interested.

"Care to dance?" The voice that came out was not my usual sounding, this one was laced with invitation.

His eyes beamed, and with a slight stumble he quickly got up reaching for my hand. I distinguished the flame that so badly wanted to burn his hand, and walked to the dance floor keeping one eye on the High Lord~