I woke with a crick in my neck. I'd been sleeping in a very uncomfortable position. I sat up, yawning and stretching my arms, and looked down to find I hadn't changed last night.

I'd probably fallen asleep on the floor, and Lance had carried me to my bed. The thought of being carried suddenly struck me very oddly. I imagined him, and found myself grinning. What a sight. I was surprised he hadn't dropped me or smacked my head against the wall or something.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and ran a hand through my hair, blinking and rubbing my eyes. Then I made my way to the wardrobe and changed into another outfit, definitely not a dress, and washed up. Bruises were visible across my cheeks, so I let my dark hair down.

Everyone was sitting around the breakfast tables and I slowly walked in, fingering the end of one of my sleeves nervously. I sat on a table that was partly empty, consisting of only three people. There were two boys I recognized as Darren and Aland, and the girl who I usually saw hanging out with them: Charlotte. Her hair was a flaming red. I admired it because it wasn't exactly natural, she'd dyed it the color it was. But it matched her small pale face and green eyes perfectly.

Darren was the blond with blue eyes. Aland, on the other hand, had darker hair and chocolaty eyes. Charlotte looked close to my age, but Aland and Darren appeared older.

As I sat, they stopped talking immediately, taking in my appearance. Darren was the first to speak.

"What's happened to your face?"

"Darren!" Charlotte scolded. "You shouldn't ask those kind of questions."

"It's alright," I offered a smile. "I got into a small fight."

Aland whistled. "A fight? Impressive."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "You're the new girl who's with Lance a lot! The brave one that spoke up at the meeting?"

"Who's Lancelot?" Darren whispered, and Aland elbowed him.

"That's me," I nodded, slightly annoyed to be known as 'the girl who's with Lance a lot'. A few girls and a boy walked into the room carrying plates and dishes.

"We'll I'm Charlotte, this is Aland, and—"

"I'm hungry," Darren said, leaning back in his chair to stretch. Aland took the opportunity to punch him in the stomach and Darren doubled over as Charlotte giggled.

"Nice to meet you, Hungry," I cracked a smile. "I'm Kristina."

"Pleasure," he croaked. From the looks of it, they were close friends.

Charlotte scooted closer to me. "Ignore them." She grinned as plates were set in front of us.

"We're just waiting for Lance. He'll be late today. Special business to attend," Aland rolled his eyes, getting hit in the back of the head with a spoon that belonged to Darren. "He's so favored out of everyone."

"I am not," a voice said from behind me. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. Suddenly, for no good reason, I felt cramped and uncomfortable. "Stop making up rubbish." Lance took the seat besides Charlotte, directly in front of me, his green eyes boring into mine. "Have you finished with the book yet?"

I snorted, beginning to feel really hot. It was a strange feeling. "I'm never going to finish it. I might as well tell Esmeralda I don't want the job."

Lance grinned. "Fine, I'll do just that. At least now I'll have peace and quiet down there."

I kicked his shin under the table and he cringed, but the teasing smile on his face never left.

"Kristina," Darren whispered near my ear, "Why is Demetria staring at you?" I turned to catch her eye and smiled, waving. Her face turned a dark shade of red. She looked remorseful.

"She's the one that's done this to her," Lance pointed at my face. I lowered his hand with a smile. He returned it, despite his spitefulness towards Demetria.

"It wasn't her."

"Didn't you beat her during training a couple of days ago?" Aland asked, digging into an omelet on his plate.

"Yeah. She staged her revenge last night." Lance was practically fuming.

"Thank you for speaking for me, kind sir," I acknowledged him and all three of them began to laugh. "But leave her alone. She hasn't done anything."

For breakfast there was milk, eggs, bread, and butter and jam for toppings on the bread. After we were done, we were all patting our stomachs.

"This is the best time of the day," Darren sighed.

"I actually find myself agreeing," Charlotte said and suddenly, Aland burped. "Ewww!" Charlotte shrieked and Darren slapped the table, laughing. I looked at Lance with a smile.

You'll soon love it here, he mouthed.

I looked away and laughed, but I knew that wasn't true. I had very few days left. I had to get out of here.

Xavier needed me. Being here made me realize what friendship was and what Xavier had given me. Someone to trust and care for.

That night after eating dinner with the same trio and Lance, I read the rulebook and lay back, pulling my covers up to my chest. Lance was nowhere to be found the rest of the day, and I'd gotten terribly bored. Turning to the side, I blew out the candle. How long had I been here? Four, five days?

I imagined Xavier suffering. His pale face. His groaning. He said he'd hold on for me, but who knew how long that would last? I clutched my stomach, tucking my knees up to my chest, suddenly aware of the pain in my fists and the bruises on my face. It hurt, no matter how strong you were, how persistent. It hurt.

I had had nightmares last night, after a very, very long time. First I hit my head and I was dying. Xavier stood next to me and promised me he'd come back with the medicine, but he never came and I eventually died, because he'd chosen other people over me. Then I had a dream that I returned to the castle, only to find a whole new set of people there.

I sat up abruptly, jumping out of bed. Frustrated, I slammed my fist against the wooden wardrobe. When I pulled my fist back my knuckles were torn and bleeding. I kicked the wall, crying out as tears of pain slipped down my face. I cradled my broken hand in my lap. The pain made me angrier. I turned around and kicked the wardrobe as hard as I could, cracking the back leg. I paused, breathing heavily, when something caught my eye.

A small paper flitted to the floor. It seemed to have been jammed between the two doors. I reached down and picked it up, opening it, blood smearing the page.

When I read what it said, I nearly screamed and broke my fists against the wall again.

No more threats.

Kill all who are a threat to your identity. X is almost dead. Don't risk it. And that means everyone.

Burn this letter.

-S

It was from the King. Prince Xavier was almost dead. That meant I had very little time to get everything done.

"Lance, remember the tour you gave me?" I asked. "Where's the weapon room? I need some things for myself in case of people like Demetria." It was a rusty lie but he bought it, agreeing with my point. I felt a weird feeling in my stomach.

This is what they call guilt, isn't it? You're betraying a friend.

Friend? He's not your friend. He doesn't even know who you really are. Imagine his reaction when you tell him you're an assassin that's here as a spy and planning to kidnap Lorelle. He'll push you right out of his life. He values his life more than yours. And you're not here for friends. You're here to follow the King's orders and kidnap Lorelle, and get the antidote for the prince before he dies.

If he wasn't dead already.

I reached out to touch his shoulder to turn him around and face me while he was talking to Aland about keys to a new room. He looked at my hand and I, quickly realizing my mistake, yanked it back.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked, grabbing it before I could stuff it in my pocket.

"Nothing."

"You're a terrible liar."

"Then you don't know me."

"I know that your hand is bandaged." He turned my hand in his. The soft spots of blood around the knuckle area were visible. "Did you have another fight?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. Aland peered intently over his shoulder.

"You broke your hands?" he asked. I scowled, pulling my hands back. Bad idea. Rivulets of pain ran through my bones. I cringed.

"Well," Lance sighed, running a hand through his brown hair, "you may not be a terrible liar, but you're horrible at answering questions."

"I'll be fine," I retorted.

"I'm just worried about you."

"I'm fine," I repeated.

"You want to see the weapons room?" he asked, lifting my hand in his again, rubbing my bandaged knuckles with his thumb.

I nodded, pulling my hand back, trying not to blush furiously. What was happening to me? "A knife big enough to chop wrists will be fine," I mumbled.

He grinned and put an arm around Aland's neck, putting him in a headlock. "I don't see why not."

Two knives. Lance only saw me pick two. One more stuck in my boot.

I hid another in my sleeve, and slid one into my belt.

Then I picked a miniature crossbow with small bows and fell in love immediately. "I need this."

"You may take it," Lance said, and I realized he'd snuck up behind me because he was too close for comfort—again. There was something about Lance and no personal space. I elbowed him in the stomach and he stumbled back. I heard a laugh, too similar to a soft wind chime, and turned to see Charlotte leaning against the doorframe, Darren standing behind her.

Lance sat on the floor tinkering with a weapon, legs crossed, brows furrowed in concentration.

I grinned, weighing a short knife in my palm, a feeling of comfort washing over me. What a beautiful object, created for such an ugly purpose.

"Finished?" Aland asked.

"Mhm." I nudged Lance with the toe of my boot. "Get up."

He looked up and put the weapon aside. "I'll fix it later." he looked like such a boy, I felt my heart warming towards him.

What was happening to me?

Lorelle was nowhere to be found. I wasn't looking forward to taking her life by any means but it was direct orders from the King. I couldn't refuse them without dying myself. Killing her would be better than letting her suffer through the torture if I brought her back as a hostage—for the King's letter had said to kill the threats.

After I'd worked with Esmeralda a little and she asked me questions about the book I partially read, I knew where the poisons were located.

"Esmeralda, you showed me poisons. Why?" I asked, smoothly, working on the table. "You want me to poison someone?" I was joking, but there was a seriousness behind the question.

"No, I just wanted to show you were everything is."

"But I have no use for poisons. Aren't I supposed to be healing?" She locked the poisons in the cupboard and slipped the key in her pocket.

"Yes."

"You can only kill with poisons," I pressed.

"And so I'll teach you the names and which ones are used for what and their symptoms."

I nodded, wishing I knew why she was ignoring the word "healer".

"But if you're so keen on learning them, I'll teach you the poisons names and symptoms right now."

I nodded, but that's not at all what I had in mind. I already knew most of the poisons in the world. It was a part of my assassin training, and by the time we were done with just one shelf I was bored to death. Shelf after shelf and I pretended I'd never heard of any of them before. One made your nose bleed right before you died. The other made you hallucinate and then drive you to kill yourself. Another caused you pain and hell for twenty four hours and then death, and of course, the main one; instant death as it travelled through your veins and right to your heart. But none of them had the one with the symptoms of Xavier's poisoning.

After we were done, I said, "Esmeralda, I'll never be able to remember all these." That was a lie.

"I figured," she sighed. "You know what? I trust you enough. Take this key; I always have a spare. Lance has the other spare." She tossed it in my hand. "Just come back and check them from time to time. And beware; I always know when something in missing," she warned. I nodded and left, pushing the keys into my pocket, feeling triumphant. My heart beat rapidly from excitement.

"I want to show you something," Lance said, smiling.

"What? It's the middle of the night." I swatted his hands as he tried shaking me awake in bed.

"Come with me," he said, reaching his hand out.

"I'm tired," I complained groggily.

"You'll love this. Trust me."

I rolled my eyes and swung my legs over the side of the bed. "This better be good," I groaned.

He pulled me out of the room and started running up the stairs, higher than the level of my room. I was surprised that it hadn't occurred to me to explore this part.

At the top of the stairs there was a window. He slid it open and a burst of air slammed into our faces. I shivered. It was cold outside.

He stepped through and motioned for me to follow him, the dagger wrapped securely in my sleeve. He took me higher; there were more stairs. We climbed up and then he stopped, almost knocking me backward and down where we came from.

"This is my favorite place in the world," he said as he pulled me up onto the roof. I looked over the edge. It was high. "I'm not allowed to be out here because I can be seen easily," he explained, "But I come here at night."

"It's high."

"I know. I can see everything from here. Look over the edge."

"No."

He smiled. "Just do it. I'll hold you back. Ready?" Without waiting, he grabbed my arms and pushed me farther out so my hair was dangling over the edge. First, I felt hot out of fear. Then I became cold from worry. Then I realized what I was doing.

My eyes were wide. If I fell, I would break my neck.

But then realization hit me. If I didn't fall, I'd be alive.

Relax, Adalia. Relax yourself and enjoy the moment.

Lance's grip was still tight around my arm, but as I relaxed he loosened his grip and slowly let go. I was clutching edge of the roof, a sinking sensation in my stomach.

"Don't let go."

His grip tightened around my waist. "Don't worry . . . I'm not going to let you die."

After a few more seconds, the sinking feeling fluttered away though the butterflies stayed, but the number of butterfly wings had gotten smaller. I felt more comfortable. The dizziness had subsided, and now I was smiling.

"You okay?" Lance's voice came, not so far away, and I realized he wasn't touching me anymore. In a sudden flash, I jumped back and smacked into his chest. "Ouch."

"Sorry." I sat up straight, my face turning red.

He laughed, falling onto his elbows.

"Come. Look up at the stars," he said, lying on his back. We were so close the edge, the butterflies returned to my stomach again and I gulped. "Just relax and lay back. It helps."

Slowly, I lowered myself onto my back and looked at the sky. Lance had his arm out as a cushion right under my head. I shivered again. Lance turned his head towards me. "Are you cold?"

That wasn't why I was shivering.

I shook my head. He turned his face back to the sky, and I urged myself to do the same. The stars were a sight. I hadn't noticed stars in a very, very long time. They were bright and cheerful, always there in the dark times for light. Stars were like hope. Like the light at the end of a tunnel. The last time I had seen this many of them was a confusing time. They had helped me, but not very much. That was the time the stars helped a friend find me. That was my light at the end of the tunnel.

And here they were, showing me light on a different friend. I swallowed. There were many, scattered like snowflakes across a dark street. So far away. Stunning.

"You know," Lance said after some time, "Not many people know about this place. On my way here, I check on you to make sure you're well, and today I decided to share my secret with you."

I didn't reply. I was guilty of lying.

"I have a secret too," I blurted, and then mentally killed myself.

"Yeah?" he asked, interested. He turned his head towards me.

"Yes," I sighed. "I didn't know if I could trust you before so I didn't tell you. But. . ." Keep it simple, I warned myself. Don't tell him something you'll regret. You owe him something for everything he's done for you.

"What?" he pressed.

"My name isn't Kristina." Did I just throw away my identity? Was I really that stupid?

"Oh. Then what is your name?"

"My name. . ." I hesitated. Was I going to tell him, or was I going to cover it up in another lie? "My name is Adalia." My head was pounding.

"It's a beautiful name," he said with a smile in his voice. Did Lance count as a threat now? "Do you know what it means?"

"Uh," I trailed off. "I never really thought about it, no."

"In German, Adalia means 'noble one'."

"Really?"

"Yes. And in the bible, it's actually a boy's name," he smirked.

"Ha-ha." I frowned. "It's not my fault my parents weren't religious enough to know where the name came from."

"Hey," Lance nudged me. "Do you want to know what my name means in German?"

"Sure."

"Land."

We both laughed out loud.

I looked back at the sky, counting the stars.

The girl ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She was running and tripping, scraping her arms and legs and scarring her knees but she didn't stop. She had to get away, get away from everyone. Her lungs were running out of breath, her stomach heaved but she didn't stop until she had to as she ducked under a tree; a tree that would hold so many memories that she'd remember it until her final breath.

She stabbed the tree with her knife. Not once, nor twice, but as many times as she could until sap as red as blood dripped down the brown bark. The leaves ruffled as if begging for mercy, and finally tired, the girl slumped to the floor, head resting on her knees. She began to sob. She dragged the knife down the trunk, marking it permanently. Her dark hair draped onto her shoulders like a curtain hiding the infinite secrets she held so close to herself.

She'd never cried; not this much. Not when her favorite cat Blackberry had died, not when she'd fallen and needed stitches to sew up her wound. Not even when her parents had thrown her out of the house.

Suddenly, she felt someone sit beside her, an arm slowly wrapping around her shoulders. She jumped away, hiding her face in embarrassment and clawing at the knife still lodged in the tree, but that only made the arm tighten around her. She was angry, no doubt about it, but the boy held on as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"Let go of me," the girl hissed.

"Why should I? You're crying."

"Am not." She lifted her head wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve. This boy was special. She didn't know why he was here, though, because his position was so high in the royal court he'd be ashamed to be seen with her. He'd never spoken to her or given her a second look before. Why was he here now?

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"None of your business." He was three years older than her, but he was still young.

He was smiling now, his dark hair brushing his eyes. "I won't hurt you, if that's what you're thinking."

"You can't hurt me, even if you try," she said but she stopped struggling.

"You're right," he admitted. "How are you feeling?"

"Like death." The girl sniffed, and suddenly, she felt the tears well up in her eyes. Don't cry, she said to herself. Don't embarrass yourself.

"Sometimes it's better to cry," the boy said quietly, reaching up to take the crown off his head. He tossed it aside as if it were a worthless scrap of metal. "It helps me when I feel sad."

"You cry too?" The tears stopped. The girl looked surprised.

"Of course I do. Everyone does. I bet the King does too," he offered a sincere smiled, and the girl found herself smiling too.

"Really?"

"Really."

"He's going to be very, very mad," the girl whispered.

"Did he tell you that?" The boy raised his eyebrows.

"No, but I know it. I poisoned the wrong person." The girl was crying again, much quieter now but her face was completely hidden by the dark locks of hair.

"I doubt it." He smiled. "He's my father, I think I should know. And my mother would never let him." he paused for a second, and then added, "Neither would I."

The girl looked up at his face with large, teary eyes, debating whether to trust him or not. "Promise?"

"Promise."

She felt so happy that moment that everything escaped her. "Even my parents didn't like me as much as the Queen does."

"Really? And what did your parents do?"

She scoffed. "They didn't care about me. They never wanted a daughter; they wanted sons to carry out their name. I would've died if it weren't for the Queen picking me up. She liked me too."

"How did she find you?" the boy asked, shuffling closer to her. It was a chilly night and the tiny girl squeezed in next to him, now trusting this boy just a little.

"I ran in front of her carriage one day when she was coming back from Dystalphi. But can I tell you something?" she asked, her gray eyes shiny.

"Of course," he nodded, in amazement at this little girl. He wanted to kiss the top of her tiny head because she was such a sight. The sweetest child he'd ever seen, even though it was a silly thought for a boy who'd only lived fifteen years himself. He'd be sixteen in a couple of days, he reminded himself, but it didn't matter.

"I still like them," she said. "I even miss them. I forgive them."

The boy was surprised. Amazed. It was unbelievable. She was so small, yet her heart was so big.

"Why do you keep saying 'like'?" he asked. "Have you ever heard of love?"

"Of course I have," she frowned. "But love is too big of a word. I might love my parents, but the word seems important. I can't use it too often. But hate, on the other hand . . . I hate many people. I hate all the people I have killed so I won't regret killing them."

The boy felt sorry for her. She seemed so troubled."You should love more than hate," he pointed out.

"If I did that, then I would miss everyone once they left me. Besides, no one would ever love me. And no one stays with me forever, remember? I don't have anyone left to love."

"The Queen," the boy noted. "You love her."

The girl smiled. Her smile was like the sun appearing behind dark clouds after it had rained. "I love her so much. I know she'll never leave me. She's like my mother, but I think I'll love her way more."

He was smiling.

"But no one will love me," she repeated. Her eyes were welling up again. Her nose reddened. "Not even the Queen."

The boy's smile disappeared. "No. No, no, no. That's where you're wrong," he said, tightening his grip around her shoulders. "The Queen loves you like a daughter."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Positive."

"Then I love her like my mother." It was hard for the boy to see her as the assassin people tried to avoid. She seemed perfect.

"If you love more, people will love you back," he found it reasonable to tell her. She nodded eagerly.

"I will," she replied. "Do you love anyone?"

"My parents," he replied almost immediately. "My pets. And horses. The kingdom. Everyone."

"Wow, that's a lot of people," she said, amazed. "Can I love that much?"

"Definitely." The boy was smiling, his dark eyes gleaming. Gleaming like the light at the end of the tunnel.

The girl was grinning. "Okay, then I'll start with you." The boy raised his eyes, surprised. "I love you."

The boy laughed. "That's the spirit."

The girl laughed too. She was human, not a monster, and he helped her realize it.

"Look at the stars. There are many tonight," he finally said, wiping his tearful eyes from all the laughter.

She nodded, yawning. "I want to tell my mother I love her."

The boy, confused again, turned to her.

"The Queen," she clarified.

He grinned, nodding, and helped her up, giving her one last hug. "Let's go tell her."

"Of course," the boy said, amused.

One year. Her life was perfect for one year. But the day the Queen passed was the biggest nightmare of all. The girl's hope shattered, along with her heart, along with the love. She was done with love. Everyone she loved left her, so if she kept loving, no one would stay. Her heart had shattered like the thinnest of fragile of glass, and then she became the assassin. Adalia the Assassin.

The Queen was dead.

I woke up to find my face wet. I was crying. I turned on my side, and realized I had fallen asleep on the roof with Lance. The movement woke him up and he asked me if I was okay, obvious confusion and worry plastered on his face. I tried to pull away, to hide my face, but he didn't allow me to do so. He pulled me towards his chest where I buried my face, giving up. I hated myself for doing it again.

It was terrifying. I sat limply against him, confused. I frowned, but I wouldn't dare cry again. These tears weren't real. The memories were coming back, and the tears were just a trigger. An aftershock.

Nothing I wouldn't be able to handle.