Cutting through the layers of his clothing felt more cumbersome than the any average blade; sharpest at the tip, and little more than blunt on the sides. It was meant to kill, though, and had nearly dome just that. With the grandeur of its jeweled hilt and the shine of its finish dulled with blood, the dagger could do nothing but emitt a rasp voice into the back of Mateo's mind, urging him to finish off the other in a dead, foreign language.
Leonan's hand, sated in the blood of his wound, was able to escape, and gently wipe its palm across the face of the man hovering above him.
"There... are so many of you," his voice was tinged with the grogginess of blood loss; so strangely casual for their dire circumstances in 'battle'. Even a smirk flickered onto the corner of his lip, as his hand dropped back down to his side. "I didn't think I was alone," he muttered more solemnly, before clenching his teeth and recoiling tensely out of pain.
Outside, the weather was calming, but the harsh winds would probably soon return. The palace, as colossal and magnificent as it was, could not house an army. With their dispersed and efficient command however, they could swiftly enter the city and find shelter in its barracks. There, they could be unburdened by armor, and find the warmth of a fire, while Leonan could be tended to here.
By scouting the palace, the soldiers encountered a vast network of halls and courtyards. Eventually, a room sealed by two wooden, ornately carved doors was discovered, inside of which was a lavish bedroom. Connected to it was an office, walls lined with bookshelves, a desk, and an easel. His family, certainly his mother, had drowned him in luxury and anything to make the life that they had assumed would be short as happy as they could provide. Yet amidst the artwork and finery, a glass-doored cabinet stored that which was necessary - folded crutches, a stand that held bags of fluid, and a case of syringes filled with an ominous green liquid.
Leonan sank down upon the floor, his head drooping down to the side while his eyelashes battered. "I don't understand," he muttered, still visibly tense and in pain, but clearly losing consciousness. Fortunately, his life was no longer in jeopardy, and the soldiers of Mateo's army were free to search the palace and city with no threat of resistance.
YOU ARE READING
Personal Duties
General FictionThere is a curse, a curse on a royal family, this curse has led to many deaths and sickly minds. Leonan is the last of this line of royalty, a King with a sickly body that, like all of predecessors, is characterized by pale skin, white hair, and red...
