KINGSLAYER

♕ 5 | 5 ♕

"It was no issue," I told her, suddenly self conscious of my many weapons. "I would not have liked to see anything bad happen to anyone so young."

"Yes. There are some truly twisted people out there, especially around this time of dusk. Speaking of, are you two staying in an inn nearby, or...?" She left her sentence trailed off.

"We will be," Alexander said, masking the suspicion I knew he was feeling.

The woman's father waved a hand. "Nonsense. The good deed you did for my family deserves to be rewarded. My doors are open to you if you wish for a place to spend the night for free."

"That is acceptable," I said, pretending as though I had not hesitated. "Thank you."

"Of course." He extended a hand. "My name is Pierre-Marie Lussier, but you may just call me Pierre." We gave the same names as we did with the huntresses. "Splendid. I hope you do not mind not having an elaborate home-cooked meal tonight," Pierre said as we followed him down the street, his daughter in tow. "Thinking we would be out later, I sent the servants home for the day."

"That is of no importance," I told the back of his graying head. "We are simply grateful for your generosity." And grateful they had not asked about my swords too.

Our newly-procured group made our way through the center of town and up a gradual incline, where the houses started becoming more and more extravagant. Yellow light filtered in through every window, turned golden by the blackening sky. Though Pierre was the one who offered his home to us for safety, it seemed more like we were the ones offering him protection for whoever the shadows held. Paragonia boasted some of the wealthiest cities in the world—but many of them became so opulent off the back of crooked dealings, which meant it was overrun by criminals in both low and high places. That was why it was not surprising Pierre and his family seemed concerned for us. Ironic, too, that they invited two obviously dubious individuals into their home, but I was far from complaining.

Besides, it was not as if an old man and a young mother had ulterior motives to taking us in. Even if they did, I would deal with it swiftly.

But I was uncharacteristically inclined to believe their true benevolence, which was the only reason I agreed in the first place. As Pierre and his daughter chattered about their plans for the next day, I felt oddly safe. Perhaps that was what drew me in—the quiet comfort their family bond radiated.

We stopped before a house whose front steps laid directly off the streetwise. On the top step stood a tall man who smiled when he saw our procession. The baby uttered a joyful gurgle at the sight of him, and the woman broke away to hurry up the steps into the arms of her husband. They gave their goodbyes to Pierre and we were off. But my gaze lingered a moment longer on the three of them as they waved farewell.

Pierre's home was a few streets deeper into the city and boasted a rod-iron fence around a square of evenly-cut grass. The gate squeaked as it opened to permit us. When we walked inside the house, it was completely dark, but Pierre hurried to remedy that with a match to his oil lamps. Soon the caramel interior was washed in a warm light, shining against the gold decor carved into tan walls. Alexander and I stepped onto a navy blue oriental rug that looked imported from the West, waiting for Pierre to direct us anywhere.

"My apologies," he said. "Feel free to settle down anywhere. I'll bring tea." With that, he disappeared into the kitchen, where I could see him walking back and forth between cabinets.

"I hope it's flavorful enough." He passed us each a steaming cup decorated with hand-painted floral designs. "I'll admit tea-making is not exactly my forte. Perhaps it was a mistake to let the housekeeper leave early, her tea is divine."

"Thank you." It was essentially just hot water, but I mimed enjoyment.

I gave Alexander a look to be sure he would not do anything uncouth, but his gaze was on a portrait of a woman hanging on the wall above the mantle. "Is that your wife?"

Lowering his own teacup, Pierre looked to the portrait with wistful eyes, taking in her smile, the endearing tilt of her head. "Yes. That was my Cécilia."

"She is beautiful," I said when he failed to elaborate.

"She is." After lingering on her a moment too long, Pierre lowered his face. "This marks the second year since her passing. I'm sure you heard how plague ripped through the south. It was frighteningly swift. One day she was perfectly normal, then gone the next."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Alexander said in his heavy accent, which I seconded.

Pierre waved a stubby hand. "But we should not sully the night with somber talk of lost loved ones." Then he launched us into a conversation that spanned hours, sliding from one topic to the next with ease. The time passed so smoothly it seemed to be only several minutes. When he began to open up about tales from his past over a hastily-cooked dinner, Pierre was not a bad storyteller. It was clear he was very proud of his family, as small as they were.

Only when the clock above the fireplace chimed an hour before midnight did Pierre seem to realize how late it was. "On that note," he got out of his chair with a sigh, "Let me show you your rooms. I must be off to bed soon; my assistant will be here at the first sign of dawn."

We obliged him, following him up the stairs and down one of the red-carpeted hallways. "Take your pick," he said, gesturing to all the open doorways, for which I was grateful. I did not want to share a bedroom with the mercenary.

"We appreciate your kindness," I said once again.

"It is the least I could—" His sentence was cut off halfway as he looked at me. As he saw me. "What did you say your name was, again?"

"Celadine Priscelli." Fingers tightening on the doorknob behind my back, I made an attempt to recover. "If that was all, I really must be getting to bed."

"No, it's just—you're not—" The more he stuttered over his words, the more recognition I saw light over his aged face. "You're her, aren't you? You're Oceana's lost Queen."

My horror crescendoed. Although I saw he was too far in to be convinced otherwise, I shook my head too erratically. "I only bear a strong resemblance. Or so I have been told." My hands were shaking on the doorknob.

"I own the newspaper downtown," Pierre said, his excitement visibly rising as the true weight of things set in for me. "We wrote stories for weeks about how Jaylithia Imperatrix returned only to be lost at sea, printed portraits for months. But there were rumors she is searching for something in the east. You are." His voice was too loud. Knowing there was nothing he could do, Alexander watched the interaction with wide eyes. "Gods, a Queen in my home. What are you doing here?"

My body suddenly fit much too small to contain all of me. I felt in danger of overflowing, of slipping over the edge. There was a time in which I secretly wished anyone would see me for who I was deep down. But now that wish was laced with poison.

"Are you truly searching for something, as they say?" I could hear my advisors grumbling their disapproval at my failure. "I can help if you need," he offered eagerly, suddenly possessing the energy of a man half his age. "I have connections, we can—"

I had no plan. I had no thoughts. All I knew was that I failed. And errors were unacceptable.

Before I fully knew what I was doing, I strode forward and lodged my blade into Pierre's pudgy stomach, forcing it upwards into his kind heart. His kindness bled out, staining his shirt and coat red. The body hit the ground with a too-heavy thud.

"Jaylah," was all Alexander said, taking in my shaky movements.

"Help me hide the body." I sheathed the blade, not bothering to look into Pierre's face, where the ghost of his exuberance was still visible.