Assassins Don't Go to High School

Chapter One

~Celaena~

"This has gone on long enough."

I don't look up, but hug my knees closer to my body as I sit on the stiff sofa furnished in my chambers at the Assassins' Guild. It's been months. Ten exactly, in which I have done nothing but recover and go through physical therapy. I should've been kicked out or killed. I know the only reason I'm still here is because somewhere, no matter how deep he's hidden it, Arobynn Hamel cares for me as if I were his own child.

"Mourning is understandable, especially considering how close you were to Sam," My stomach tightens as Arobynn says his name, "However, you are only allowed to remain here because you are an assassin. The best. It's time for you to resume your duties."

I groan, but respond with a respective, "Of course, sir," I stand up, bowing my head, "what service do you require of me first?"

He raises his head in approval, his gray eyes looking down into mine. Crossing his muscled arms over his bare abdomen, he says, "Glad you asked." He snaps his fingers and a guard assassin waiting outside the door places a large electronic tablet in his hand, then recedes back to the hallway.

He pulls up what appears to be a map of the Atlantic Ocean on the screen, "I'm going to assume your knowledge on the small island country located off the shore of Africa, Eyllwe, is nonexistent, am I correct?" He asked what was most likely a rhetorical question, but the smallest nod of my head is what prompted him to continue. "Well there's someone who wants its heir killed. That's your new assignment."

"Alright, who is he, and how am I getting to Eyllwe?" I ask.

Arobynn laughs, "No child, you will not be going to Eyllwe-"

"Well then how am I supposed to-"

He gives me a warning look for interrupting before continuing, "Princess Nehemia has been relocated after the first attempt on her life." He taps on the tablet a few times before pivoting the screen to face me again. "She is now residing in Adarlan, Washington, in the U.S."

"Okay, so I fly in, kill the princess, and fly home before the end of the week. No biggie," I respond, already rising from my seat on the couch to begin packing my things.

"Not so fast. The United States is interested in purchasing Eyllwe to become a province of sorts, like Puerto Rico," he paused, motioning for me to retake my seat, "Eyllwe isn't so keen on giving up their monarchical ways, however, they need the financial support the U.S. would provide. The Americans have offered their protection over the princess as a sign of peace. With Eyllwe and American guards protecting her, we can't have any kind of suspicion thrown our way."

"What does all this mean exactly?" I ask with a feeling in my gut that bad news was coming.

"You are also going undercover to infiltrate the Eyllwe princess's American life, and throw suspicion of her death elsewhere."

Now it was my turn to laugh, not a real laugh- which I hadn't done in months- but a shallow, bitter one. "You want to send me back to school? American high school, no less," I scoff.

"Precisely."

"Arobynn, I-" he clears his throat loudly and gives me a stern look.

"Master Assassin, sir," I coat my voice with equal amount of sugar and sarcasm, "I haven't been to any form of school since-" I choke on the words so I change them, "I've not been in years. Nine. Because I've been a little busy being an assassin!"

"Watch your tone. Don't forget who you're speaking to." He tosses his long auburn hair over his shoulder as he scolds me, "If you wish to retain your status as my heir, you will do this, or else you will face consequences most severe."

I hold my tongue, and instead give a curt nod.
He says, "Good. Now let's discuss alias details." He snaps his fingers again, and the guard assassin in the hallway returns to the room, this time bringing a large stack of papers. Once he retreats back to his post outside the door, Arobynn begins, "you won't be getting as much freedom with this case as usual, it's going to require precision, delicacy, and caution. Your alias's name and background has already been decided."

"Boo, that's one of the best parts," I fake pout.

"Poor you. Anyway, your name is Lillian Gordaina, and you're from a town in northern Canada no one will have heard of, which will explain why your accent sounds mysteriously unidentifiable. Your parents died-" he pauses momentarily, diverting his eyes, "in a horrific accident, leaving you in the custody of your family housekeeper and childhood nanny, Philippa. You moved to Adarlan because the memories of your parents were too omniscient, and you needed a 'fresh start.'"

"Which of my coworkers is lucky enough to get to play the part of my lovely family housekeeper/childhood nanny, Philippa?" I ask, sifting through my closet for something that deemed appropriate enough to wear to a school for the duration of this mission. "Is it Judith from the kitchens? Because she's had a disliking for me ever since she caught me sneaking chocolates back to my rooms late one night."

"You've never met Philippa. She's a friend, of sorts. One who won't ask questions."

"Oh, alright."

"And you won't be needing to pack any of your things. Everything has already been set up in your temporary residence, furniture, decor, clothes..." He drifts off holding up a tiny black dress I'd been about to pack, it ended at my mid-thigh and had no back. "This," he gestured to the dress, "is not acceptable attire for school, or anywhere outside a nightclub really."

"Fine. Kill all the fun. First no choice in my name and now no choice in my fashion." I scoop all the clothes I'd just added to my suitcase onto the floor and plop into a bean bag chair.

"That's not even the end of my 'fun killing.' You won't be getting a say in how you kill the princess either." I blink a few times before throwing my hands up in exasperation, but I keep my mouth shut. "You and the princess, who is going by the alias Mia, will get into a fatal car accident that will 'kill' you both."

My jaw is tensed so tight it hurts and the words that come out of my mouth are through gritted teeth, "not that I don't just love the idea of a car crash, but I really don't. Why is that what you chose?"

He waved a veined hand dismissively, "It's common and believable, and I do not have to explain my reasons. You'll figure something out," he began walking toward the door, "Get dressed, you leave tonight." And with that he left.

"Ugh," I groan and flop down on the couch, hand over my face.