Assassin (Book 1)

ONE

I bent low at the balcony, slipping out my bow. It was the dead of night. A cool breeze swept through my hair, and I fought the urge to shiver. I kept my eyes open for any signs of movement, staying hidden in the shadows, a bow in my hands. One slip-up could cost me my life.

The king couldn't afford to ruin his reputation by letting out the fact that he had a secret weapon. The secret weapon, I must say, was a brilliant one. A master of disguise, beautiful, stunning, dramatic—you got the point. Right now, the secret weapon was in use and in action. 

I waited for the target, bored out of my mind. He was supposed to meet someone out here. Slowly, I nocked an arrowonto the bowstring and exhaled, crouching.

Suddenly, I saw the slightest movement out of the corner of my eye.

A tiny shadow.

The barest twitch.

I rolled to my right as fast as I could and cursed under my breath as an arrow pierced the place my head had been just a few moments ago. There was no time to move.

I heard a loud laugh as someone approached me, their shoes clicking on the floor.

"I knew you were coming," the man said, amusement coloring his voice.

I shrugged, slowly getting to my feet. As I did, I slid a small knife out of my boot, hiding it up my sleeve. 

"Don't get too excited—this will probably be the last time something like that happens to you."

"Drop it," he ordered. I tossed the bow in front of his boots, holding up my hands. "Don't tell me you're the one the king sent," the man laughed humorlessly again, his voice echoing against walls of silence. "His 'weapon of destruction'? That's right," he said as he took in my surprised expression, "I know about you." Well, that was a first.

"What does it matter to you? Are you afraid of a little girl?" I pouted, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I exposed the knife, the silver blade glinting in the moonlight, causing him to take a step back. He eyed it warily.

"Give it to me," he ordered. "You're not the only one with dangerous instruments here." He pulled out his pistol. I calculated the chance of my blade hitting his heart before he could pull the trigger, but even I couldn't perform miracles. I slowly put my hands up, irritated. "Drop the knife." I gripped it tighter.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"What do I want?" He burst out laughing, slapping his knee as if it were the funniest thing in the world. "The real question is; why are you here?"

My face fell. Tears began to well up in my eyes as I dropped the knife. It clattered to the floor. "He'll kill my family if I don't do as he says. He's holding them captive."

He lowered his pistol just slightly, his eyes softening. His lips were still set in a hard line. I could see him struggling with himself internally, trying to make a decision.

"You can run. Run now, but don't kill me. I'm doing this for my family. Wouldn't you do the same if you had to save your mother?" I whispered.

"I suppose," he sighed, lowering his pistol altogether. "I won't shoot you now, but you have to get out of here," he scowled. "You—"

"I'll leave," I promised. He was unguarded. Plans calculated in my head. "Your pistol . . . What kind is it? I've never seen that one in my life," I suddenly asked, interested. Of course I knew what it was. It was a flintlock pistol, a rare weapon.

"Why the hell do you care?"

"I need one to protect myself if I'm going to be on the run."

He scratched the back of his neck with the end of the gun's barrel. "It's a—"

In a quick flash, I leaned down and grabbed the knife. Gripping the blade between my fingers, I aimed it the arm he was holding the pistol with, and threw it.

The pistol was knocked out of his hand as he screamed in pain. The man shouted curses at the top of his lungs, attracting too much attention.

"Shut up!" I hissed, walking towards him as he bent over his arm, protecting it from any further damage. I raised my boot, giving him a push. He fell to the ground with a thud, blood dripping from his wound and pooling on the floor. 

Suddenly, he lashed out with his leg and hit me in the back of the knees. I bent forward, balanced myself, and rolled my eyes. 

"You're too gullible." I leaned over him and grabbed the pistol. "Take it," I offered. He snatched at it, but I pulled the weapon away just in time. "This was too easy. You should be ashamed of yourself."

His eyes were glinting in the moonlight, full of rage, his teeth bared. I sat on my haunches, grinning, and flicked his forehead.

"He doesn't really have your family, does he?" the man groaned, sweat shining on his forehead.

"You don't say?" I scorned. He moaned, clutching the knife protruding from his bleeding arm, and yanked it out.

I got up and walked a few feet away, then turned to face him. I aimed the pistol at his head. The last look on his face was begging me to let him go, to give him another chance.

I wondered why the king wanted him dead.

"It's not your place to know," the king had said on my first day, and I'd never asked again. It wasn't my job to wonder.

As I pulled the trigger, I made up a random excuse in my mind that made it easier to get the job over with. This time, the story I came up with was that he murdered children and women for the fun of it. There. Now I had a reason to take his life.

As the loud bang rang out, I nodded to myself.

Job well done.

I was merciless. Unwelcome. I never thought, only acted. Action was what I was bred for.

I tore my gaze away from the limp body and grabbed my bow before anyone could see me.

I swung over the edge of the balcony, jumping onto another roof and sprinting. I leaped from roof to roof towards the

castle where the king was waiting for my report.

I imagined him pacing.

All he did was pace.

He paced after he lost his wife. He paced when he heard about a rebel movement. He paced when his guests were late for dinner.

As I sprinted, I pushed the dark hair out of my eyes and leaped again, making no sound as I disappeared into the night, one with the shadows.