The dignitary stood at the balcony, just inside my line of fire. She was playing a flute.
I always hated the flute. So sharp and piercing, it only helped to deepen the boundaries between classes. No common peasant was allowed to play such a noble instrument. The royals thought they were above the rest of the world. That's why they were so easy to kill: If they think they are invulnerable, they don't try to defend themselves. No bodyguards, no weapons nearby, this one would be a piece of cake. I slowly nocked an arrow and drew my bow. I took pleasure in each muscle that tightened in response. I smiled. She would never know what hit her. I aimed and-
I paused.
I knew this song.
It was a song of sadness.
A song of fear.
A song of anger.
A song of regret.
A song of love.
A song of revenge.
It was the song of the royal family Ievre. This was my Queen.
I never asked questions. It wasn't my job. As long as the money came in and the targets were rich, I didn't care. If they were rich, then odds were they deserved what they got. I've taken out many nobles without so much as a thought to the humanity of my actions.
But never would I kill my own Queen.
YOU ARE READING
The Plop Tart War
FantasyEveryone believes they are living, until they start dying. At what point do you change? Alita was my rock in a raging river. If I held on tightly enough, I would never drown. Then my fingers started slipping and my rock started to break. My sister...
