drunk fantasies ; one shot book

black rose (e. blunt)

victorian age au 

"Your next job," your employer stated blandly, "might be more difficult than you're used to." 

"Tell me about it," you barely even glanced up as you agreed, instead choosing to straighten out your coat that hung slightly above your knees. "You've been tasked to assassinate the crown princess."

A shocked look crossed your face, unable to process what he had just said, "Pardon?"

"You heard me right. There's a ball tomorrow night, it's a masquerade, where she will be looking for a suitor, but you must kill her before midnight, otherwise you've failed, and all the terms of the contract are void, and she is to be queen."

"And why would that be such a bad thing?"

"That's not your concern. It's a job. It's already paid for, but the condition is if you fail, you're turning yourself in to the police, which basically means you're dead."

"So it's either me or her," you muttered, twisting the silver ring that sat on your middle finger, "Death is the only option."

"Yes, it is. Now get ready, here are the details, you'll be picked up at nine tomorrow night," your boss ordered, folder in his hand, "Don't mess up."

You nodded solemnly, the folder now clutched in your shaky hands. With that, you stepped out of his office, out into the busy street, contemplating your choices. You barely knew anything about the princess, all you were aware of was that both of you were the same age, but there was still that lingering hesitancy that had never showed up before when it came to your job.

Being an assassin meant detaching yourself emotionally from anything and everything, killing anyone who needed to be killed. It had always come easy for you, which is what had earned you the title 'The Black Rose'. The sweet-smelling flower, innocent-looking enough, possessed the scent that was considered an omen of death, which is why you used it as your perfume, and as the signature on the dead body you always left behind.

There was still no explanation as to why you were feeling this way about the job. You had killed more royalty than you'd care to mention, more people with familial ties, more strangers, so why were you squeamish about ending the life of a single princess?

Still deep in thought, you walked down your usual route and back to your house, where your cousin Lucas was making tea in the kitchen. "How did it go?"

"Not so bad?" you replied tentatively, "It's nothing I haven't done before, but I'm hesitant about this."

"Then don't take the job, Y/N," he replied, sliding you a cup of tea, "If it goes against your morals, then it isn't worth it."

"I am an assassin. Everything about my job goes against whatever morals I have. Something about this job just doesn't feel right to me."

You opened the folder as you took a sip of your tea, staring at the photograph of the royal you were tasked to kill. Trying to analyze what exactly about her had drawn you into this mess. She looked pretty enough, regal as the crown princess should be, and she looked worthy to rule. Why would anyone want to kill her?

"You're murdering the crown princess?" Lucas asked, "She's under such heavy guard, how do you plan to get to her?"

Tucking the photograph back into the now-closed folder, you gulped down some warm tea before replying, "I'm infiltrating the masquerade ball tomorrow night. She'll be looking for a suitor, all I have to do is ask her to dance with me, engage in some conversation, and get her alone."

"What weapon do you plan to bring?"

"Something concealable and inconspicuous. Maybe a knife. It makes for the most convenient kill, but absolutely the most dreadful to clean up after."