The Prince I Was Meant To Kill

Prologue

Every kingdom has a monster. This one wore a crown.

History remembers kings for the wars they won.

It remembers monsters for the blood they left behind.

•••

There were kingdoms built upon faith while some kingdoms were built upon gold.

And then there was Edevane. A kingdom built upon fear.

Its banners flew proudly over conquered lands, their crimson fabric stained darker by years of endless war.

Villages lowered their heads when the royal army passed. Nobles smiled only when the king was looking.

Even children learned the royal family's name before they learned their prayers.

Not because they admired them.

Because fear was the first lesson Edevane ever taught.

People whispered that the King Edric was merciless.

They whispered that his son was worse.

Some stories claimed the Crown Prince once ordered a traitor's screams to echo through the palace courtyard for three days, forbidding anyone to grant the man water until he begged for death.

Others swore he had watched an execution without blinking, sipping wine as though attending a performance.

No one knew which stories were true and no one was brave enough to ask.

After all-

"A rumour survives because someone lived long enough to tell it."

The unlucky ones never did.

•••

Far beyond Edevane's towering walls, beneath the stone fortress of an enemy kingdom, a meeting was taking place.

The room smelled of burning wax and damp stone.

Around a long table sat men who had spent decades losing battles against King Edric.

Maps lay scattered before them. Every route had been tried. Every alliance had failed. Every battlefield ended the same way.

With Edevane victorious.

An elderly noble finally broke the silence.

"What if we kill the king Edric?"

Another shook his head.

"It changes nothing."

"He has only one heir," a woman murmured, her fingers resting upon a map of Edevane. "The son."

The chamber fell silent. Everyone knew his name.

Prince Harry Edward Styles.

The heir to cruelty and the future king.

"If the prince dies," another lord said quietly, "Edric's legacy dies with him."

"And who," someone asked, "could possibly reach him?"

No one answered immediately because only one name existed.

A name spoken less like a man and more like an ending.

The heavy doors creaked open. Soft footsteps echoed across the chamber.

A figure dressed entirely in black entered without hurry.

Their face remained hidden beneath a hood. No introductions were needed and no one asked for proof.

The greatest assassin on the continent required neither.

The contract was placed upon the table.

"You know the target?"

A gloved hand reached forward, unfolding the parchment.

For the first time, a portrait became visible.

A young man sat upon a throne with one elbow lazily resting against its arm.

Dark clothes.

An expression devoid of warmth.

Emerald eyes that looked less human than they did predatory.

Even painted onto parchment he seemed impossible to approach.

"The Crown Prince," one noble said. "Harry Edward Styles."

Silence.

Then the hooded assassin spoke for the first time. His voice was calm and emotionless.

"When?"

"As soon as possible."

"Method?"

"We don't care."

Another lord leaned forward.

"Poison him."

A third interrupted.

"Stab him while he sleeps."

"No," the woman said, "He trusts no one enough to sleep peacefully."

The room fell quiet again.

Finally the assassin rolled the parchment closed.

"I'll need access to the palace."

"You'll have it."

"I'll choose my own disguise."

"Done."

"I work alone."

"As always."

One of the younger nobles hesitated before asking,

"...Can you actually kill him?"

The assassin looked up.

Only his blue sharp eyes could be seen beneath the hood.

Cold, steady and definitely certain.

"I have never failed a contract."

There was no arrogance, no pride, just fact.

The room exhaled and the oldest lord pushed a signet ring across the table.

"When Prince Harry dies two kingdoms will change forever."

The assassin picked up the ring.

For a long moment, he stared at the prince's portrait one last time. Then he extinguished the candle beside him.

Darkness swallowed the room. Only one sentence remained. Quiet enough to be mistaken for the wind.

"Then I'll become someone he would never think to fear."

The contract was accepted.

And somewhere, in a palace untouched by the coming storm.

A prince who had survived every enemy he'd ever made had no idea that death had already crossed the kingdom's borders.

It was simply waiting for the perfect moment to knock on his door.

Starting soon.