The Heir Assassin (lisa mcmann)

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The Heir Assassin

          I twisted my hair into a ponytail, tucking it under my cap and lowering the brim. Then I took a final look around the room full of strangers, wondering which of them would try to help me escape, and which would try to kill me.

          The room that I stood in was cavernous, with shining windows on every wall, showing off the magnificent view of the perfectly green land of Brist. Curtains were draped elegantly and the rug was thickly woven, an intricate red design giving the whole place a cozy yet sophisticated feel. The only problem with the magnificent room that I stood in was the stern glares every one of the portraits that hung from the walls gave off. Who ever had done the paintings before me was truly an artistic genius when it came to capturing the Royal Family mood - sour, austere, and cold - and the way that their eyes seemed to bore into the back, or front, of a person's skull.

          There were at least one hundred portraits in the room. Divide that by half, and that was the number of supporters willing to do anything for me in my suicide mission. In the corner were the Duke and Duchess of so-and-so and in another hung the current King's sisters, all with the same roundness of face and pucker of thin lip. The remaining space was overtaken by the King's immediate family. A colossal painting of him, his wife, and five children took up the whole eastern wall, and I bit my lip as I examined one person frozen in the picture before me.

          He had dark brown hair that curled at the edges, giving his whole image an unruly bad boy look. The man that I once knew had sturdy shoulders, an aristocratic nose, and a tall lean frame. Blue eyes pierced literally through the portrait, eyes that I had once stared into for hours at a time, giving me the most wonderful feeling ever.

           Before I could grab my pistol out and put holes his face and chest as target practice, the earpiece in my ear buzzed and a familiar voice rang through my head.

          ‘Reese, we have got to hurry. The wedding is in an hour and I just got your dress for it. It's the red one in the dressing room where I showed you earlier. Get your game together. I know that you’re worried. Meet me out by the courtyard after you’ve finished doing your girl thing.’

          I smiled slightly, removing the hand from my holster that was itching to blow the heir prince's head off and adjusted my headpiece so I could talk to my partner in crime, Davidson, better.

          'Don't underestimate me.'


          The dress Davidson stole from the tailor's room was extremely beautiful, exceeding all of my expectations. It was one of those ball gowns that you only saw in museums nowadays, causing me to wonder where exactly Davidson had gotten it from. A very crude slit that was easily hidden by the voluptuous layers of the dress had been made for me, designed so that I could easily grab my pistol from my thigh strap. The red colors rippled when I took some cautious steps in my heels, enjoying the feeling of the swishing around my feet. The dress was probably the only thing I was enjoying out of this whole mission.

        After applying some makeup that I found in a basket, I shook my hair out of the ponytail that I had made earlier, placing the Rockies baseball cap onto the marble counter, and fluffing out my black locks. Making sure that my communication earpiece was invisible beneath my mass of hair and that my holster was in place, strapped firmly to my thigh, I left the dressing room, not looking back at the mashed up cap that sat there or the leaving image of a girl who never was.

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