A Life for a Life | A Fantasy Short Story

Lions

Kingdom of Amaryah

New Year's Day

First day of Spring, 2760 DP

Outside Neir's window, the sun slept. The sky bled into a visage of blood, darkening into the ever-black of a moonless night.

Wordlessly, Neirnis̈hënon crept out of bed. His bare feet collided with deathly cold stone, and he pitter-pattered to Ruishë's enclosure, blanket in tow. He grabbed the cheesecloth bundle of berries, gathered Ruishë into his arms, and creaked open his bedroom door. The two guards outside stood as still as stone.

He could feel their gaze on him as he silently trekked the corridor. Straight ahead lay the arched doorway out of the Royal Quarters. Instead, Neir turned left and made his way deeper into his family's home. He passed through the dining area. Yet again, his father had skipped dinner in favor of sequestering himself in his study. So Neir slipped past the couch, padded over the ancient embroidered rug, and avoided the bust with the watchful eyes. Eventually, he rounded a corner marked by flowers and halted in front of two dark wooden doors.

The knobs were gold and molded into the shape of a rearing lion. The wood itself had been engraved with scenes upon scenes of lions. Lions hunting, standing proudly, lapping up water... killing.

Orange candlelight filtered through the gap under the door. The light gave him the strength to wrap himself and Ruishë in his blanket and settle on the cold floor. The hulking doors loomed above him, like great big standing stones threatening to fall on him.

In the absence of his padding gait, silence descended. On occasion, he heard his father sigh. Sometimes he heard the king pacing. Other times, Neir heard the soft clink of a metal quill on the edge of an inkwell bottle.

But they were only slight disturbances in an ocean of oppressing silence. With each rise of his chest, Neir expected a dark-clad monster to round the corner.

Neirnis̈hënon threw the blanket over his head. The dark space quickly became stifling with the heat of his breath. Ruishë licked her foot and dragged it over her ear.

"Don't worry, Ruishë. It'll be okay." His whisper boomed in his ears.

Thump-thawp, thump-thawp.

Neir froze. He's here. Fear gripped his throat, cold as ice. The soft footsteps came ever closer.

Thump-thwap, thump-thwap.

"I see you there." The man's voice—smooth as still water. Deep as a lake's floor. It reminded him of his father's voice.

Neirnis̈hënon peeked out from under the blanket. The assassin's leather boots were a worn brown, the leather thread connecting the toe piece to the ankle piece was a shade darker. He recognized them as military-grade. A soldier!

He flipped back the blanket—

The man was not a soldier.

He wore the garb of a Royal Elite Amaryan Guard, but only a handful of soldiers carried the esteemed title... and Neir did not recognize the man. The square jaw, the hawkish nose, and the mop of black hair were utterly unfamiliar. Nor did he recognize the striking gray eyes.

The breath was stolen from Neir's lungs.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost," the man chuckled and held out a hand to the prince. Neir stared at the calloused, pale hand. None of the Elite Guard were pale.