royal thieves | ni-ki

ONE

From the depths of darkness.

THEYA

The night brought news of Keener's demise: the mortal guard, sworn to protect me until his death, has been cruelly and brutally slain, found dead in the Sea of Ruin. Rumored to have been stabbed with his own sword, a piercing blade through the heart that left a gaping wound, a hole where it was supposed to beat.

Keener was no stranger to violence and death, but he did not know defeat at his own hands. At nobody's hands, really, since he had a habit of not daring to fight at all.

His moral code was merely greed and corruption, and his skills were questionable, at best. And so was his determination towards his job. Even as a guardian of the royal palace, of the princess, he was more concerned about his own mortal ambitions than about the protection of the kingdom.

The story spread like wildfire, depicting that the man, who had a heart as black as his soul, was slain by a mortal of Noteria. One of his own kind. What a great betrayal.

This crime was shocking to the Tenebris, folk of the darkness, leading them to truly doubt Keener's abilities—not that they had not done that before already, given that he was human, unlike them.

Those who knew of Keener and what he did, however, were less surprised by his passing than by the fact that his death at the hands of a mortal could not be prevented by the swords forged for him personally, the weapons designed so his hands would be the ones to wield them best.

Folk who knew that he liked to commit disgraceful acts of violence—such as abusing little girls and make them bleed black—knew that The Darkness would get him, sooner or later. Because it always came.

The pretty brunet with eyes of rich brown, that were near red in appearance, bloodshot like a vampire, would have been a far superior choice as my guard. My father's poor decision left me sulking for three months about his terrible choice, unable to pick a guardian that I would actually enjoy being protected by.

Maybe that is why the King decided against him.

Now, with my current guard dead, murdered by the hands of the most sinister plague, a new successor will need to be chosen. However, I have no authority to make such a decision, as that power lies with my father alone.

King of Prythia, Keire Ashborn is both barbarous and cold-blooded, with a heart of a beast that feeds upon both maniacs and innocents, who drinks their blood as a form to relieve.

His true nature is difficult to hide on the battlefield, where he looks down on his soldiers and subjects with a fierce disdain, so vicious I am surprised they have not ran away. His monstrous tendencies can make even the strongest wish to leave his side, and they should.

My father, despite his evil deeds, is still my father, the man who has never raised his hand nor his voice at me, and who has made sure to get rid of every foolish soul who dared to do so. Yet behind his facade of innocence lies a deception that no one in this kingdom wishes to discover.

It is a cloudless day and I have not slept. It is about four in the morning, and I find it unlikely that anyone has. The Darkness likes to stay up until late night and go to sleep once the sun has risen. Not even the death of the Princess' guard seems to show any effect on their celebrations.

Likely it is exactly what they are celebrating. The death of another human is something festive. They do not sleep much. We are not in need of much sleep—not when we have this power coursing through our veins that keeps us awake.