The Assassin Princess

The Vain Countess

“You must be joking,” Veronique scoffed suddenly. She folded her arms across her overexposed bosom and Calira’s frown deepened.

“I don’t joke,” Calira growled. Her patience for the woman in front of her had long been worn away and she was growing tired of pretending to be courteous. Veronique frowned at the Crown Princess’s sudden hostility.

It hadn’t taken much, Veronique thought to herself as she studied the blonde. The woman had been nothing like the spoiled princess Veronique had thought her to be. Instead she was faced with a cool, calculative woman who knew where and when to strike. She was a predator, not prey.

“Don’t you mean the His Majesty is the only suitor you’ve bothered with?”

“No. Alaric is the only suitor I’ve ever had.” Veronique frowned deeply at Calira’s answer. The bluntness of the statement and the look of utter boredom across the blonde’s countenance told Veronique she was telling the truth. Prince Alaric had been this woman’s only suitor.

For how long? Veronique wanted to question.

Did he think of you even when he was with me?

Jealousy raged in the brunette’s gut. When she had snagged the Crown Prince in her trap of seduction, she had felt extreme pride. Even though she was married, she flirted shamelessly with the Prince and loved him passionately when they were alone. Rumors had spread (of course).  The Court was nothing more than a group of gossiping chits.

But she hadn’t cared then. She had the Prince.

Now she didn’t have him anymore. Since the engagement announcement, he had all but ignored her. She understood why now and she understood what she must do to regain her lover.

Princess Calira must be dealt with. Immediately.

**

Alaric stood in front of the dark cell that housed the man who had tried to kill the Crown Princess. The assassin had sworn himself to silence since his capture. Even torture had not drawn words from the man’s mouth.

“Your silence is admirable, Assassin,” Alaric commented as he moved closer to the cell bars. He could see someone move in the dark shadows of the cell.

“It seems my fiancée was right. You will not talk,” Alaric mumbled to himself more than his prisoner. An image of Calira surrounded by bright flowers and dark shrubbery blossomed across Alaric’s memory. She had appeared so lovely, hidden away in the gardens. He turned from the cell. A dark chuckle resounded from the shadowed stone chamber. Suddenly the warm image that Alaric was carrying was replaced with a more sinister one. He froze as an image of Calira strewn across the stone floor of the throne room entered his mind. Dark, crimson blood stained the white dress she wore and her vibrant blue eyes were dull and glazed. Her body didn’t move as her lifeless eyes stared at him. He felt his heart slammed against his ribs wildly. Fear gripped his gut. He turned swiftly and grabbed the cell bars.