𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 !? ♡ [BL]

⟢ 02 . *

( warnings! 💬 ) attempted su!c!de , very light gore .

* this chapter has been revised.

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When you awoke, it was morning.

Despite the chill biting at your skin, you lay covered in a thin sheen of sweat, tangled in unfamiliar, silky white bedsheets. As a hired killer, more or less a wanderer, you weren't accustomed to such luxury. Clinging to the cool cloth, limbs as heavy as lead as you just barely hauled yourself upright, subconsciously running your fingers through your hair. The very clothes you wore radiated the term expensive, light-colored fabric hopelessly soft under your fingers, yet remaining breathable and well-fitted.

"Ah."

... Had you changed clothes before heading to sleep? No, nono, wait, that... this wasn't your bed, nor were the multitude of hidden daggers you'd sewn into the pockets of your undergarments anywhere to be found.

Unfamiliar territory.

The memories came flooding back all at once. That damn prince's fox-like smile, his dead eyes, and his leering insanity as his gaze locked onto yours, fingers digging into the flesh of your neck and observing you slowly lose your consciousness, eyes tentatively fluttering shut as your senses spiraled away into nothingness.

"What... the hell?" Your voice was hoarse, your throat sore, like someone had crushed it. Scratch that, someone had. Nikolai... had he brought you here? Your vision was blurry, scattered. and the extensively decorated surroundings spun and distorted every time you blinked. Nikolai's depraved little "you're mine" rattled around in your skull, persistent.

Quickly, you rolled out of bed, taking account and observing your surroundings. Ornate walls, fireplace, bed, nightstand... there was nothing of much use. Your best bet, a nearby candelabra, was the one you settled on. Blunt weapons had never been your forte, but a solid hit to the rear skull or just behind and below the ear would be enough.

Footsteps.

A good three hundred meters away, growing only nearer. Pulling the blankets upon two vertically positioned pillows, you stood behind the doorway, makeshift weapon raised.

Shit, was this operation still retrievable? 

If not... suicide would be the only way to go. No compromises — an assassin must not fall alive into enemy hands. Given that you'd already failed once, if you were to once more-

"Sir Assassin, you sleepyhead! It's time to wake up already~"

The door swung open, and you brought the weapon down, feeling the blunt contact of metal hitting bone thrum through your fingers.

Silence, and then-

"Wow, you almost scared me there!"

Nikolai stood in the doorway, eyeing the dead maid before him. Her corpse had fallen onto the ground, a pool of blood forming beneath her still body, trickling from the wound on her head. Skull fractured, no doubt, with bits of reddish matter leaking out.