The Assassin And The King [Completed]

|Chapter Three : The Confrontation|

With Valerian Kingston's eyes trained on me as I move out of the curtains trying to maintain a confident front although I'm anything but that inside, I suddenly feel like a deer caught in headlights.

Ofcourse, he can't see my face—save for my absurd blue eyes—for it is covered by the black mask. And I intend to keep it that way.

My gaze remain fixated to his, not making a move. He raises an imaculate brow at my lack of action.

All the last five times, whenever I appeared in front of him, I had attacked.

But this time I didn't.

And that seemed to surprise him although I can't be sure since there's not a single expression on his face.

If Valerian Kingston would've joined the Assasin's creed, Victor would've been proud of his no-expression personality.

"You don't intend to go for the kill this time, Queen?" He asks calmly still leaning against the doorframe, his husky voice making my insides churn.

Ofcourse, he knows my pen name. Half the kingdom does. I can only relish in the fact that they don't know my real name. Now that would've been terrible.

My eyes takes into the midnight black locks falling over his forehead covering half of those undeniably captivating green eyes and then moves over to his straight nose and his cruel mouth that otherwise looks soft.

He looks every inch of a king he truly is. Dressed in a black velvet doublet with intricate bronze patterns, his aura screams danger. But for the life of me, I can't bring myself to fear the man.

For a moment I stay rooted on my spot, just looking at him.

How terrible is it to have a beauty so ethereal but a soul so dark that would outcast your worst nightmare?

But then, maybe he is the nightmare.

A beautiful nightmare at that, might I add.

Why am I thinking about beauty and nightmares now?

I keep zoning out a lot these days. Guess age is picking up with my old ass.

Warding away my non-sensical thoughts, I snap my attention back to the king. Except. . .

He's not there anymore.

A shriek almost leaves my mouth when I'm suddenly pushed back against the beige coloured walls.

Green eyes peer into mine as two pair of arms keep me pinned against the hard wall. I try to maintain a confident front at the storm brewing in those terrifyingly beautiful irises.

"This time," The raven king leans in closer to my ear sending a strange shiver down my spine, "I'm not letting you escape alive."

I don't as much as shudder at the threat lacing in his voice.

My hands involuntarily sneaks down to the waistband of my jeans. Finding the oak-stake there, I stealthily pull it out, all the while keeping my eyes on the man in front of me.

Valerian Kingston being the keen observer he is, not-so-lately realises the reason for my silence.

Just as I'm about to stab him in his torso, he grabs my wrist in a grip firm enough to hold me in place, but surprisingly gentle enough to not hurt me.

I blink back in astonishment. He could snap my wrist just with his mere strength. But then. . .

I realise with a sinking feeling in my gut that he'd never hurt me during any of my assassinations against him.