The mind can be a dark, demented thing, he thought. Especially his mind, of late: so cold and so mechanical. There was no spark of warmth in any of the thoughts which ran through the head of the man sitting in a dark corner of the murky tavern. Theseparticular thoughts were dominated by strategy and precision. Seven steps to the bar. Three seconds to snap the neck of the man sitting on the stool. Approximately five seconds for the barman to realize what’s happened and attack, so he’d have to cross the tavern in four seconds and be out the door. Clean. Efficient. Cold. That was how he’d do it if he’d been hired to kill the unsuspecting man sitting at the bar. But, of course he hadn’t been; devising the most efficient way to propagate another person’s demise was just a way to pass the time for Ember. It was like a puzzle which kept his abilities sharp. It didn’t hurt that it also always kept those faces at bay; the faces of the dead which haunted his mind when it was not otherwise occupied with methodical tedium. Most had died at his hands, but there was that one face, that one death which he hadn’t caused but was nonetheless responsible for. And there it was: that face, that beautiful, tragic face that made every wall the assassin had so carefully built come close to shattering and disintegrating into nothing. If he allowed her face to play in his head for much longer he was in serious danger of breaking down all together. And Ember would not allow that.

Seven steps to the bar. Seven steps to the bar. Seven steps to the bar. He needed to focus on what he was doing here at this moment in time. He needed his thoughts to be here in the present, not buried in the past where they were liable never to come back. He was here in this tavern for a reason, and it wasn’t for the, only semi-satisfying, ale. No, he was here to receive his latest job. As always, he would be meeting a third-party middleman in this tavern. It was rare that he would ever actually meet the person funding his little… operations. Anonymity was important for both himself and his clients, so he’d devised a situation by which the two didn’t have to meet.

Ember’s sharp, gold eyes surveyed the smoky room. It was filled with people; alive and effervescent, and the perfect place for two men to go unobserved as they spoke of things that were for their ears alone. His eyes brushed over the boisterous group at the booth next to him, to the horizontal line of old men on stools at the bar. His associate did not seem to be present yet, which meant he was late. Tardiness was an unattractive and burdensome vice which Ember had less than the usual amount of patience for. He sighed in his utterly unaffected way and allowed his eyes to settle on the entrance to the tavern in mild anticipation, bordering on annoyance. He touched the tips of the fingers of both of his hands together forming a small triangle in front of him as he waited. He counted the seconds so that he would have an accurate calculation of exactly how late his associate was. It was always good to have some friendly feedback to give, or, in Ember’s case, some not-so-friendly feedback, but that was neither here nor there. The door opened, and his associate finally walked in. His name was Charles, and he was a rather large man with a round face and stocky legs. As the newcomer’s eyes fell on the assassin sitting cloaked in the corner, Ember could tell by the look on his face that he understood his mistake. As he approached, Charles smiled nervously.

“Your twelve minutes late,” was Ember’s greeting as his associate slid into the seat across from him.

“I know, I know. It couldn’t be helped.” Charles looked as if he were about to delve deeper into an explanation, but Ember held up his hand.

“Save it. That’s exactly what you said last time. You know, there are plenty of other men of questionable ethics out there whom I could get to replace you. And, of course, there is the little problem of you having seen my face. I’m not sure I’m comfortable knowing there is someone out there who knows my little secret and yet, is not of any use to me.” Ember let the suggestion behind his words hang in the air between them. Charles’ face seemed to turn a pale shade of green for a moment.

“It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

“Good. Now, down to business. You have something for me, I assume. I’d be very disappointed to know that the last twelve minutes I’ve spent waiting for you were a complete waste of my time.”

“I have a name for you,” Charles said in a rushed tone. He then pulled a piece of parchment from his coat pocket and slid it slowly and pointedly across the table. Ember picked up the paper with an arch of his brow. There was something in Charles’ eyes which told him that the name on this paper was no ordinary name. He opened it, read the name, and his brow arched even higher.

“Is this for real?” Ember asked, the parchment still open in his hand; the name, written in dark ink dancing before his eyes.

“Oh yeah, it’s for real alright,” Charles responded. The look in his eyes was hungry, like the old ladies Ember saw in the market as they gossiped about the inhabitants of the huge Manors they cleaned.

“There must be some mistake. Who would want her dead? I heard she’s practically a modern day hero. The people love her.” Ember was not normally one to ask questions. In his line of work, if you started asking questions, you were likely to find yourself out of a job. Also, he never really cared to know about the people he’d been hired to kill. It only succeeded in making his job more difficult. Unless, of course, the person he was hired to kill was complete scum. That’s when the job ceased being a difficult one. This, however; this name written down on the parchment in his hand failed to make any sense to him. Charles’ smile widened, and he leaned in closer toward Ember as if their conversation was in danger of being heard over the din which filled the tavern.

“From what I hear,” he began conspiratorially, “this one comes from the top.” The emphasis on the last word was not lost on Ember. So that was it, just another story of the Royals getting what they want at the expense of the innocent. Their world was filled with such stories, and he was to be their pawn this time. He tried not to let the thought of that fact bother him. A job was a job, after all.

“This better pay well.”

“Oh trust me, friend, it pays very well,” Charles said with a wink, “Of course, you’ll need to make it look like an accident. Discretion is your topmost priority on this one,” he finished, as if that fact went without saying.

“I’m on it,” Ember replied, pushing himself from the table in one fluid movement. He made to walk away, but stopped to put his heavy hand on the shoulder of his associate. “Oh, and Charlie… I’m not your friend.” He gave the dumpy man’s shoulder a pointed squeeze and left the tavern, leaving no trace that he’d ever been there at all.

There was a swirling mist in the morning air which was slowly burning off, but Ember decided to take advantage of it while he could. It was something of a gift; his ability to blend into his surroundings seamlessly, and the thick mist was making his job that much easier. He was wearing his everyday attire. The armor he usually wore on his jobs would stick out like a sore thumb in the daylight, but his gear was waiting in his pack for when it was time to get the job done. At this moment, all he had to do was watch. Watch his intended target; study her movements so that he could pick the right time and the right way to strike. This particular job had many aspects which would prove more difficult than most, and Ember had to exercise the appropriate amount of caution. One couldn’t just waltz into the castle and murder the world’s most beloved princess. No, he would have to choose his moment carefully.

The castle was breathtaking and glorious, if you enjoyed that sort of thing. It was easy to see how much power and gold the royal family possessed just by looking at the place they called home. Not only was it enormous, it was built so extravagantly that it was abundantly clear that taste wasn’t a factor. The castle was one big showy display of wealth for the entire kingdom to see. There was one aspect of the castle which was truly beautiful though, and that was the gardens. Beautiful plants and trees, both domestic and exotic, were arrayed in the most glorious fashion. It was like stepping into another, much more magical world when you walked through those gardens, and it took Ember’s breath away. Of course, there was no time to dwell on such beauty, and Ember made his way through the gardens and toward the castle swiftly. He’d been through the castle grounds on a few other occasions. Once, there was a foreign ambassador staying at the castle that Ember was paid extremely well to kill, so he knew the lay of the land, at least. He sneaked passed two guards and hid himself in a bush growing alongside the castle wall. Once there, Ember pulled out the slip of paper Charles had given him at the tavern the previous night. The name was still there, written in blood red ink: Freya Midir. He turned the sheet of parchment over to reveal a map of the castle. An “X” marked the spot of the princess’s quarters. Unsurprisingly, there were several stories up. Of course they royals couldn’t have made it easy on him and choose to have their quarters on the ground floor. It looked like he was going to be doing some wall scaling.

Ember sighed and tucked the map away. He looked around. Scaling the wall of the castle in bright daylight was not the smartest or easiest move, but if he was going to get any reconnaissance done, he was going to have to risk it. Lucky for him, everything seemed to be quiet. As long as he didn’t make too much noise, the chances were slim that any of the guards would think to look up. Also lucky for him was the fact that moving silently was one of his strong suits as well. He grabbed on to the sturdy vines which crawled up the castle stone and hoisted himself forward. About halfway to his destination, he heard voices coming from above. Now was not the time to stop and listen, as he was still in plain sight for anyone with the inclination to look up to see, but it did make him pause long enough for the momentum he had going to cease. His foot slipped, and he felt the bottom half of his body to fall out from under him. Ember clung tightly to the vines with both his hands and managed to stop himself from falling to his death, but the slip was loud enough for those above him to hear if they had been listening. Ember repositioned himself on the wall and listened. He waited for someone to walk out on to the balcony above to investigate the noise, but no one did. The voices—they were all female—continued without pause, and it seemed that Ember was safe. Inwardly, he cursed himself for being so reckless, but continued up the wall. He reached the balcony and swung himself over noiselessly, darting immediately behind a marble statue which covered him fully.

“My, your Highness, what a beautiful flower!” he was in time to hear. Well, he had the right place, at least, even if he had done a rather poor job in getting to it. He continued to listen as they all chattered away; surprised that none of the voices seemed to belong to Princess Freya. Her ladies in waiting gossiped about meaningless dribble, and, just as Ember was beginning to grow bored, there was some sort of commotion. Ember chanced craning his neck around the statue to get a look at what was going on. The princess seemed to have injured herself in some way. Then he saw her. She looked different from how he’d imagined. She was beautiful; glorious even, but that was to be expected. There were stories of her beauty which reached far and near; stories about how the Crown Prince fell in love with her at first sight. Ember could well believe it. This was not how she differed from the image in his imagination, though. The difference was in her manner, and her attitude. She did not seem like the rest of the royals. She did not have the same tinges of pride in her eyes, nor did she chatter away with the same mindless enthusiasm of her ladies in waiting. She sat there, and her mind seemed to be far away. The look on her face was one he’d seen on himself when looking in the mirror: it was grief. The princess was grieving for some reason unknown to him. Something about that look told Ember that the stories of how Freya had fallen in love with the prince were somewhat exaggerated. This didn’t surprise him.

Perhaps that was why she had to die.

Ember continued to look at the princess as she wiped the blood from her finger. His heart leaped as her head then began to move in his direction. He moved before she could see him. He had the fleeting wish that she had seen him. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to kill her. Something about that look he’d seen on her face made him wish he hadn’t agreed to take this job. But it was too late.

Ember moved swiftly to the other side of the balcony. The room it led to was the princess’s private chambers. He would find a place to lie low in there, change into his assassin armor, and when she decided to retire, he would be waiting.