The Royal Affair

Chapter 29

As dusk settled over the town, casting long shadows and cloaking the streets in a veil of secrecy, Lord Jasper made his way to a secluded alley. The alley was narrow and winding, its cobblestones slick with dampness and its air thick with the stench of refuse. It was a place where shadows danced and secrets thrived, a fitting location for a clandestine meeting.

Jasper, his face hidden beneath the shadow of his hood, paced impatiently. He glanced around, ensuring that he was unobserved. His usual arrogance was replaced by a nervous agitation, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow.

His impatience grew until, finally, a dark, hooded figure emerged from the darkness, their movements silent and fluid. The figure's face was entirely obscured, their features hidden beneath the deep cowl. They moved with an unsettling grace, their presence radiating an aura of danger and mystery.

Jasper, despite his own ruthless nature, felt a shiver of apprehension as the figure approached. He forced a semblance of composure and spoke, his voice low and urgent.

"She is proving to be… problematic," he hissed, his words barely audible above the rustling of the wind. "The new Queen. She is far too intelligent, far too perceptive. She refuses to be easily swayed."

The hooded figure remained silent for a moment, their head tilting slightly as if in consideration. Then, they spoke, their voice a low, raspy whisper that seemed to slither from the shadows. "And she has interfered with our plans?"

Jasper nodded, his agitation growing. "She has convinced the King to pursue a diplomatic approach with the East. She speaks of peace and negotiation, of avoiding war. She is diverting him from the path we have set."

The hooded figure shook their head, a slow, deliberate movement that conveyed their displeasure. "War is necessary," they hissed, their voice laced with a chilling intensity. "We need the King to make the first move, to strike the first blow. It is the only way to achieve our goals."

A moment of silence hung between them, the air thick with unspoken malice. Then, the hooded figure spoke again, their voice a low, suggestive murmur. "Perhaps… a change of tactics is in order. If the Queen is the obstacle, then… we remove the Queen."

Jasper's eyes widened, a flicker of cruel excitement igniting within him. "An… assassination?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

The hooded figure nodded, their movements decisive. "An unfortunate accident. A tragic turn of events. And the blame… it will fall upon the East. We will frame them for the deed. The King will be consumed by vengeance. He will have no choice but to go to war."

A cruel smile twisted the corners of Jasper's lips. "A brilliant plan," he hissed, his voice filled with dark anticipation. "Whether she lives or dies, it will serve our purpose. If she survives, the King's fury will be unleashed. If she perishes, his grief will drive him to war."

The hooded figure nodded, their agreement a silent pact sealed in the shadows. "See to it that it is done quickly and discreetly," they hissed. "The Queen's life… hangs by a thread."

Jasper nodded, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. "It will be done," he vowed, his voice a chilling whisper. "I will set the wheels in motion immediately."

The hooded figure turned and melted back into the darkness, their presence vanishing as quickly and silently as it had appeared. Jasper, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and exhilaration, turned and hurried away, his mind already plotting the Queen's demise. The shadows of the alley seemed to close in around him, embracing him in their conspiracy.

Alexa, exhausted from the day's events, prepared for bed. Her chambermaids, their faces etched with concern, helped her into a simple nightgown and extinguished the candles, leaving her in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window.

She lay in the massive bed, its silken sheets cool against her skin, but sleep eluded her. She tossed and turned, her senses on high alert, her heart pounding with a premonition of danger.

Finally, exhaustion overcame her, and she drifted into a fitful slumber. But her sleep was short-lived.

She awoke with a start, a sense of wrongness prickling at her skin. Her eyes fluttered open, and a strangled gasp escaped her lips.

A hooded figure stood over her bed, their silhouette a dark and menacing presence against the pale moonlight. A glint of steel flashed in their hand – a dagger, poised to strike.

Alexa screamed, her voice a piercing cry that shattered the silence of the night. She scrambled back, her heart pounding in her chest, her mind racing with terror.

The assassin lunged, their movements swift and deadly. Alexa, fueled by adrenaline and a desperate will to survive, fought back with a ferocity she didn't know she possessed. She kicked and shoved, her nails scratching at the assassin's face, her voice a continuous scream for help.

But the assassin was strong and relentless. They overpowered her, pulling her from the bed and throwing her to the floor. They straddled her, their weight pinning her down, their hand clamping around her throat, cutting off her air.

Alexa clawed at their hand, her vision blurring, her lungs burning. The room began to spin, the moonlight fading into darkness. Just as she thought she was about to lose consciousness, the crushing pressure around her throat suddenly lifted.

She gasped, coughing and choking, sucking in air as if she were drowning. She scrambled away from the assassin, crawling towards the wall, her body trembling uncontrollably.

Through her blurred vision, she saw Derek. He was a whirlwind of fury and motion, his bare hands a blur as he fought the assassin in brutal, hand-to-hand combat. He moved with a speed and ferocity she had never witnessed, his strength fueled by a primal rage.

He dodged the assassin's desperate attacks, his movements precise and deadly. He countered each blow with a swift and powerful strike, his fists connecting with bone and muscle. The fight was a brutal ballet of violence, a desperate struggle for survival.

Then, with a swift and decisive move, Derek maneuvered behind the assassin, his arm encircling their throat in a chokehold. With a sickening snap, he twisted, and the assassin's body went limp, their form thudding to the floor with a dull thud.

Derek stood there for a moment, his chest heaving, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The silence that followed the violence was deafening.

Then, he whirled around and knelt before Alexa, his face etched with concern. "Your Grace! Are you alright? Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice rough with urgency, his hands gently cupping her face, his touch searching for any sign of injury.

Alexa couldn't speak. Her body trembled, her breath shaky and uneven. She could only stare at Derek, her eyes wide with shock and gratitude.

And then, without thinking, without any conscious decision, she launched herself forward, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck, her face burying itself in the crook of his neck under his chin. She clung to him, her body shaking with uncontrollable sobs.

Derek froze, his muscles tensing. He knew he should pull back, create distance, maintain the boundaries of their roles. But he didn't. Instead, his arms instinctively wrapped around her, one arm wrapped around her back, while his other hand cradling her head stroking her hair in a soothing rhythm.

Her scent, the familiar bamboo and hibiscus, assaulted his senses, intoxicating and overwhelming. Her trembling body against his ignited a fierce protectiveness within him, a primal urge to shield her from all harm. His pulse quickened, his heart pounding in his chest.

He held her tightly, offering silent comfort, his body a solid anchor in the storm of her emotions. He held her until her breathing evened out, until her sobs subsided, until the trembling in her body began to ease.

Slowly, Alexa pulled back slightly, her face just inches from Derek's. Their eyes met, and a moment of intense, unspoken connection passed between them. Derek, fighting the overwhelming urge to close the distance between them, suddenly heard the King's voice approaching.

He quickly pulled away, creating a more appropriate distance, his expression becoming carefully neutral. He and Alexa stood as the King burst into the room, his face etched with panic.

"Alexa! What happened? What is going on?" he demanded, his gaze sweeping over the scene.

Derek cleared his throat, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. "An assassination attempt, Your Majesty," he explained, his voice calm and controlled. "On the Queen."

Francis rushed to Alexa's side, his arms wrapping around her in a possessive embrace. "Alexa! Are you hurt? Are you alright?" he demanded, his voice laced with concern.

Alexa, her composure slowly returning, pulled herself together. "I am unharmed, Your Majesty," she assured him, her voice steady. "Thanks to Sir Derek."

Then, the guards, who had arrived in the wake of the King, approached the dead assassin. They examined the body, their expressions grim. One of them pointed to a symbol etched on the assassin's weapon.

"The sigil of King Xander, Your Majesty," he announced, his voice filled with grim certainty. "He sent this assassin from the East."