The King's Assassin

The Assignment

1,442 miles South of the Capital, Porto Halesi

I woke up unsurprised by the news that the Duke of Benley, who was visiting the Capital for the coronation of the King, was found dead in the castle.

The rumor going around is that his mouth and the inside of his throat had shriveled up and blackened like soot due to a poison that 'reacted' specifically to noble blood. Once again, I am astounded by how the people of Porto Halesi so revere their royals. Poison specifically engineered for their blood? How different were they, really, when they merely became nobles of the land upon their self-proclamation to subdue the masses?

Further down the whispers regarding the Duke of Benley’s death, it was said that when the maids assigned to him entered to wake him for the day, they had run off screaming to the other side of the castle. And every guard who’d heard the cries fell into attention, looking for intruders, only to find whoever killed the Duke was already long gone.

Another speculation going around thought it was an attempt to kill the King or threaten the crown, but me and my sisters knew better. We knew exactly what poison had killed the Duke. It was one of our specialties after all.

At breakfast, an affair in which everyone in my adopted family appeared at without makeup or disguises, Olivia, who was apparently responsible for the commotion rocking the entire island, could not help but spill the details of her recent kill as if murder was a normal thing. But maybe that's the thing; in the House of Silvers, murder was normal. Death was our trade. Dear Olivia was just riding the high of k*lling her highest official yet.

I shake my head at their lack of humanity and instantly feel how much of a hypocrite I was being. There was a time I also relished doing the jobs given to me. My handler had always told me that I had a taste for blood and a knack for reaping. It was why he had called me his little Ripper.

But I had been lessening the number of clients I was accepting. One morning, I just woke up and finally had enough— or at least that was what I tell people when I am asked. I've saved up a good amount of money to start a life elsewhere anyway and I was beyond ready to move on. My time with the Silvers exposed me to the horrors and cruelty that money can buy, but in turn, I learned skills that are also valuable. Just because I used it mostly in corrupt ways doesn't mean I didn't appreciate or know where to draw the line.

Along with the praises that Shamar usually gave when I completed a mission, he would always tell me I had an unusually strong conscience for a trained assassin. He regretted not killing it when I was a Candidate.

The Candidates, girls in the process of becoming Silvers, laid out plates and plates of food for us. Around here, they were considered the help. Everyone went through it, although I held the record for being the shortest kept Candidate. Along with training, they do chores and are tasked to keep the Villa pristine. I thank the one closest to me before they left.

"It was really easy," Olivia continued babbling on, "Honestly, I was so shocked. I don't get why others get so much praise when it's just a piece of cake."

This time, I don’t bother hiding my laugh. Every head turns to me, as I settle in my place at the end of the table. Olivia's glare was sharper than daggers, directed at me for making her seem dumb.

“Excuse me?” she said in faux politeness. “Does her Royal Highness care to weigh in?”

I ignore the barb and roll my eyes at her. "It was easy because the Duke gets attracted to anyone with a v*gina who flirts his way," I said, tearing a piece of toast into two. "He was too excited by the prospect that he's still in the market and relieved his guards early. Had there been his usual number of security posted, then I doubt you'd have had a breeze."

Kelsey, a brunette from Grisier who was recruited a year after me, nodded. She sat beside me. "It's true. It's common knowledge that the Duke was one lusty son-of-a-b*tch."

"Please do not speak ill of the dead, ladies."

At the sound of the rich bravado, the chatting immediately ceased as the girls stood in respect for the brains behind the whole operation. Clad in his usual cheery black, Shamar did not look a day over forty though he must be pushing his mid-fifties. His perfectly cool, calculated stare touches everybody in the room, yet ultimately settles on me: still seated, stirring my coffee with a teaspoon in one hand, with the Sunday paper in the other.

"Good morning, Scarlett," Shamar greeted breezily. His stoic face remained the same.

I wave him away, busy with the sausages on my plate. Danna, another one of my sisters who was sitting on my left, kicked me from under the table.

Shamar sighs and proceeds to his place at the head of the table. Once he sat, all the girls followed suit— well-trained down to a tee. "You may continue eating, girls."

"That's it?" Ginevra spits out, startling a few as she throws her knife tip down on the wooden table. I wince as I see Shamar’s beady eyes focus on the shallow, yet expensive, cut on the lacquer and wood. "The rest of us put a single toe out of line and you give us hell for it. She disobeys you blatantly and you don't even give a sh*t!"

I drop my spoon on the saucer and set the paper beside me. Shamar lifts a hand, stopping me from whatever I was going to say. His black eyes slide toward the angry bimbo with her boobs almost hanging out of her nightgown.

"Compared to Scarlett, what have you accomplished? Have you killed a Prince of Saudi Arabia to earn fifty billion dollars from the Sultan of Brunei? Or have you had to stay underwater for two days, running on one tank of oxygen, to wait and bomb the submarine of the Empress of Japan?"

Shamar now looks to the others. "I would fire all of you in a heartbeat if Scarlett agreed to stay and do her job and live forever. That is why I am lax with her. Prove yourself and I might extend the same to you. I will eat in my office. All of you go to the grounds and run laps until I say so."

This time, I stand up with the others. These days, the training of the Candidates was left to me, but since they will still be busy cleaning pots and rooms, I figured that I would train with the others. I remove my table napkin from my lap and dust the crumbs off my shirt.

"Not you, Scarlett."

My shoulders drop and I restrain myself from groaning out loud. Shamar calls for a Candidate to pick up his plate and cup before walking off, not even glancing behind him to see if I will follow or not. It isn't unusual for Shamar to call me in his office. He usually does it to present a new assignment or berate me on my choice of moving on, but I still follow. I had to. The girls need time to simmer down. If they still hate me by the time I get to the grounds, taking their asses down on the ring will remind them why I was favored over them.

Green plants in colorful large vases and paintings of Renaissance artists mark the hallway that leads straight to Shamar's bulletproof, bomb-proof, every-single-kind-of-human-destruction-known-to-man proof office. I'd joke about it, but Shamar has every reason to barricade himself from such attacks.

The door released with a soft hissing sound as it was cleared to open from the two-prong defense mechanism involved. The interior was simple. A shelf lined with books, a desk, and an executive chair decorated the room, along with a cream leather couch. A red carpet covered the floor that muted my footsteps. From behind the table, Shamar took a bite from his sandwich.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," I say, rolling my eyes as I slump on the sofa before him. "The girls already think I'm f*cking you."

Shamar's mouth twists into a dry-humored smirk. "Please. We both know that I wouldn't f*ck you even if I was forced to procreate and you are the last female on earth. I'd rather f*ck a penguin."

"Penguin-f*cker."

"I like the sound of 'penguin-defiler' more."

Lifting up my feet, I place one after the other on the edge of his desk. To his credit, Shamar does not even look at my bare feet. "So, what's up? Any new people to put six feet under?"

"Not quite," was his vague, chafing reply.

I stare at Shamar for a second before saying slowly, "I don't like the foreboding I am sensing."

He sucks on his teeth once before saying, "Your next assignment is your ticket out so I will remind you to consider my proposition carefully." Shamar met my eye briefly before taking out a medium-sized folder and a photograph.

Instantly, I recognize the person in the picture. It was the official photo still of the Crown Prince-turned-King. He was in his red uniform, kind of like the one you see on Prince Charming and the likes. Except those dark brown eyes appeared much more intense despite the second-rate photo paper. In it, the King sported a smattering of a five o'clock shadow, along with a muscled build that must have been earned through hours and hours of training every day. As a woman, there was a certain attraction I hold for men who take care of their physique, especially when one can appreciate it even when one is wearing a thick suit.

I shake my head, returning to the matter at hand. Has Shamar lost sight of himself in his dreams? It's not that the job was impossible for me; with all the times I have snuck around in the castle undetected, I'm sure I wouldn't have a problem. But to kill the king of this country?

"I thought we drew the line on the immediate Royal Family?"

"That is true," Shamar said in a tone I can't quite put a finger on. "They are the only white in our black."

I raise a brow. "What— are you saying I have to protect the King now?" I said with a laugh.

But Shamar was not amused. "Something to that effect, yes."

There was a long silence in the room, pregnant with tension. While Shamar picked on his sandwich and trained an eye on me, I was boiling inside.

"This is what I have to go through to get out of this hell?" I asked quietly.

Shamar looks at me carefully then finally says, "Yes."

"I have to be a freakin' nanny?" I screech, standing up so fast my chair is knocked away from under me. "Forget what I said earlier! I'll kill the King and his guards with my own bare hands if I have to."

"That's not our way—"

"What do you mean 'that's not our way'? You built this place from the ground up, training orphan girls to kill like f*ckin' Naked Weapon meets Game of Thrones! It is our way!"

He lifts a thick brow up. "I thought you hated killing. That's why you're quitting."

My fists clench together. "You can't make me do this," I said to him through gritted teeth.

Shamar stands and places himself in front of his desk, removing the only barrier protecting himself from me. His hands grip the edges tightly, the sole ring on his finger clicking with the wood.

For the longest time, Shamar has been the only person who knows me inside out. He knows how I tick, the way I operate, and how I would almost always decide. And usually, I'd be on par with him on most subjects. This is why he's let go of most of my co-Candidates and kept me. We were the same, him and I.

On the subject of protecting the King of Porto Halesi, he already knew how I would react, no doubt about that. Although I am averted to killing, I also didn't want to protect anyone but myself. I'm not a guardian. I was not trained for that. I'm a killer who doesn't want to be one anymore.

And the sucker is baiting me for the freedom I want.

"I have my reasons why I run this tight ship, Scarlett." Shamar toys with the golden ring on his finger. "And it is not for selfish reasons I adopted you from the slums of Russia. I let you girls exercise your free will as much as I can in return for your service and really, I am being generous.

"You only have to look after the King for six months, befalling three major events: his Coronation, the official trip to Europe for the Summit, and Porto Halesi's Founding day. There may also be state functions and other appointments that you may need to accompany him to. It is a stay-in job."

"Who even wants him dead?" I can't imagine anyone wanting to covet our small country. Porto Halesi’s main source of income was from the traveling ships that treated the small island as a safe haven after being at sea for months. But what do I know? I was barely home myself.

At this, Shamar gives me another picture. I take it in my hands, automatically memorizing facial features, eye and hair color, jaw and nose structure when I did not recognize any of the people in the photo. Any other markings I also cataloged and the only thing I can deduce is that the two men in the photo were father and son. The older one did not seem to be a likely target even though he carried himself with such importance. The younger man, however…

I look up at Shamir and tap the son’s face. He nods. "The older man is Alheere Z'hahik, currently residing in the Corinth Islands."

"Wasn't he the former King's uncle?"

Shamar nods once more. "He's a claimed bastard, King Han's child from a Persian Princess that was disgraced. Queen Freesia was mean to the child and resulting in resentment toward the crown. Almost twenty years ago, he was banished for being caught in a deal with those who wished the throne gone."

I catch on quickly. "But the King claiming him made him a vier for the crown. And when he was banished..." I trail off, already seeing the full picture.

"His right for the crown was not revoked. The late King was a kind man, not wishing to estrange his uncle further so he now stands second in line to the throne." Shamar lifts a brow. "Great job."

I hand him back the photo of the two bearded men. "Seems to me that this is a simple matter for the new King to handle," I said, still cautious.

"Yes," Shamar agrees, going back to sit on his chair. He clasps his hands together with a severe expression on his face. "But Alheere has a son, and Halesian Law states that any direct descendants of a person removed from the state are exempt from generational punishment. This law was passed after King Edbert's only son and wife died from the plague. So he pardoned his banished brother's son and ensured the line would continue."

I take a deep breath and sigh, brushing my long red hair away from my face. This is exactly why I don't have a care for the royals. Their lives are too complicated and too entangled with each other. It's way easier to kill them rather than understand them.

But now… Now that my freedom is on the line, not only do I have to understand their ties and roles in government and whatever dirt they have under the rugs they stand on, but I also have to be in the middle of it.

I don't exactly want to accept, but I do admit it's a nice parting job that can earn me a fortune. I would never be able to return to Porto Halesi; would be a wanted woman for the rest of my life.

But who was I kidding? I have been a wanted person since I was born. Perhaps I can travel the world purely for my pleasure. Sip on a coconut here, get massages there. I can almost taste it on my tongue.

With much deliberation and heavy inner wars, I lift my blue eyes to dark ones.

"When do I start?"

"You leave as soon as you're ready."