Stydia One Shots

Blood of the Virgo

Lydia was tackled into an embrace. His hands snaked around her, and she was knocked onto her creaky bed by the force of him hugging her. He squeezed her like he never would again before pulling away, resting his hands on her cheeks and propping himself up with his elbows.

"Please, tell me it's not true." He rambled, breathlessly looking at her beautiful face- the most beautiful he had ever seen.

"Stiles, what are you talking about?" Lydia brought up her hands and held his own.

"Scott, one of the kingdoms guards. He told me you were being transferred, said you were going to work for the Baron Whittmore."

Lydia had a face of confusion. "No, I'm staying here, at the palace. I was born here, I've been working here for as long as I can remember. They wouldn't transfer me." He exhaled, hugging her again and burying his face in her neck.

"I thought I would never seen you again. You're the best thing that's happened to me, Lydia. I was scared."

Lydia couldn't believe what she was hearing. Stiles Stilinski, the ruthless assassin of the king, was scared for her sake.

She knew he loved her, she's known this for a long time. They'd grown up in the palace together, always sneaking around after he'd finished his training and she'd finished her duties as a maid. They had fallen in love before either of them even knew what love was.

"I love you, Stiles. I'm not going to leave you." He placed a gentle kiss on her lips, her hands circling around his neck and pulling him closer.

As they parted, she was about to ask him where he had disappeared to for hours, but bit the question back. She learned not to ask about his work, and knew it was only for her safety. He didn't want a common maiden to get mixed up in the killings, and wished to keep her safe.

"I love you too, Lydia." He whispered in her ear. She was the only person, in all eighteen years of his life, that he had said that to. Those words were reserved for her, and her only.

-

"Do you remember your first kill, boy?" The King's voice echoed off of the walls and floors. He let the words roll off his tongue like they were nothing.

"Yes, your majesty. I was eight years old." Stiles, kneeling in front of the throne, spoke. The king looked at his assassin, a particular admiration on his features. The boy was born in his kingdom, raised from birth to eliminate whom he demanded.

"Tell me, how did it feel, that first kill." The assassin furrowed his eyebrows, remembering back to the day. The knife felt foreign in his hands. When he took the person's life, he didn't feel anything. He was only a young boy, and was told since birth that to hear someone's pulse dull to nothing in his ears was normal.

"I didn't feel anything. I'm not supposed to feel anything."

The king smiled, sitting back in his throne. A hand ran over his rough face.

"What did you hear, Stiles? What was your victim's last words?" Stiles' mouth dropped open. The king had never questioned him like this about his work, only slapped a paper with the name of who would soon be dead on the table and dismissed him.

"I remember her crying. It was the first time I had ever heard or seen an adult cry. It was such a strange experience that I almost hesitated. All of my training told me not to hesitate." Stiles looked to the ground, reminiscence of his first kill flashing before him.

"Please, don't kill me. I have a daughter. She'll miss me." The woman cried, moving up her hands as Stiles walked to her.

"The woman, she begged me not to kill her. She said she had a daughter to care for."