Rogue agents 1: The prima ballerina (Completed)

King Farid

*Sebastian*

The air in the king’s private study is thick and kinda suffocating, it is a mix of the tension, the heat and the rich scent of incense wafting through the room. Holly and I sit across from King Farid, our eyes locked onto his as he studies us from behind a polished desk, its surface cluttered with documents and ornate trinkets that speak to a life of privilege and power.

“Your Majesty,” I begin, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “We need to address the soldiers we encountered in Venice. They bore your royal sigil, yet their intent was decidedly hostile.” The gravity of our situation hangs in the air like a storm cloud, and I lean forward slightly, gauging his reaction. “I can’t imagine they were following your commands.”

King Farid’s dark eyes narrow, but he doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, he gestures dismissively, as if swatting away an annoyance. “Ah, the soldiers,” he finally says, his tone nonchalant. “I sent a contingent to retrieve Ryan, so that the wedding could take place. It seems they may have taken matters into their own hands, maybe gotten a bit to exited. But I assure you, they are loyal to the crown.”

“Your Majesty,” Holly interjects, her voice firm yet diplomatic. “These soldiers attempted to kill him. We need to understand why they were there, who orchestrated this attack.”

The king leans back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. “You misunderstand. Ryan’s safety is of utmost importance to me. The wedding must proceed as planned.” His words come out almost like a mantra, an echo of political rhetoric that feels hollow to me. “It is a matter of my daughter's reputation.”

I catch Holly's eye, the concern mirrored in her expression. “But if there are factions within your own forces willing to act against Ryan, how can you ensure his safety?” I push, trying to peel back the layers of his facade. “This isn’t just about a wedding; it’s about power dynamics that could threaten the very stability of your kingdom.”

King Farid’s expression hardens, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something dangerous in his gaze. “You are MI6 agents, not diplomats. Do not presume to lecture me on my kingdom's affairs. My soldiers are loyal, and I will deal with this matter.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but the tension in the room is palpable.

The door creaks open, and an unusually tall woman enters, her headscarf obscuring most of her face. She carries a tray laden with delicate teacups, and as she approaches the king, I can’t shake the feeling that something is off. But right now I would love for her to hurry up, so I can continue pressuring the king.

She places a cup in front of King Farid, who instantly reaches for it, lifting it to his lips. As he sips, I notice the woman’s movements… slow, deliberate… like she is dragging out time as she continues to serve us. She places a cup in front of me, then Holly, her attention unwavering.

I can feel the unease settle in my gut as I watch the king drink, the sound of porcelain clinking against porcelain ringing in my ears. The king sets the cup down, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “Ah, a fine blend,” he remarks, a hint of indulgence in his voice.

Just as Holly reaches for her cup, the woman knocks it from her hand with a swift motion, the delicate porcelain shattering against the floor. “What the…” Holly exclaims, startled, but her words die in her throat as the woman takes a step back, revealing a flicker of familiarity in her eyes. “Ryan?”

My pulse quickens, and a sense of dread washes over me as I piece together the puzzle. Beneath the disguise, it’s Ryan. The transformation is not just alarming; it’s alarming in its implications. I open my mouth to shout a warning, but before I can utter his name, the atmosphere in the room shifts violently.

The king suddenly falters, clutching his chest. A shocked expression flits across his face, and he gasps, struggling for breath. I instinctively rise, the world around me blurring as I try to comprehend what’s happening.

“Your Majesty!” I call out, but my voice is swallowed by my own rising panic. King Farid’s eyes widen, they are full of confusion and betrayal, anger etched across his features. He collapses forward, the teacup falling from his hand and shattering against the floor, the rich tea spilling like blood across the ornate carpet.

Silence envelops the room, thick and suffocating. My heart pounds in my chest as I stare at the king’s lifeless body sprawled across the desk, the reality of the moment crashing down on me like a tidal wave.

King Farid is dead.