Croissant had been slaughtered. Something I had never felt before settled upon my shoulders when I looked at the little dog's body. I should have fled that room. I should have raced outside and waited for the men from my village to arrive or hopped back on Pandora and kicked her until we galloped far, far away.

But a call to action fell upon me. Who knew the little dog that was Xion's shadow would pull such strong emotions from me, especially when the poor thing had almost been split in two by what must have been a brutal blade and I only had a rusty old thing. I patted the sheathed blade, gave the room one last scan as if I knew what to look for, then turned to run.

And, as I turned, a man materialized behind me. For just a brief second, I wanted to convince myself that he was one of the men my father had recruited to help him, but his clothes were too fine and I didn't recognize him the way I would someone who had lived in our little village. I would never be able to place his cold grey eyes or the cruel smirk that twisted his mouth.

"You aren't supposed to be here," he murmured.

But I would recognize his voice anywhere.

It had happened so shortly after I arrived at the palace, but I could still recall being lost inside the palace, thinking of an escape route when I had heard him complaining that he had been demoted. He called Xion a bastard. He said that Xion had killed his father.

Seraphina had comforted me by assuring me that she hadn't killed him for his treasonous words.

And now, he was reaching for the sword at his hip.

I wasn't foolish enough to think that my brief weeks with Devlin would provide enough training to go up against a man who had devoted his whole adult life to drills or practices. I knew that if I tried to engage him in any advanced combat, I would fare no better than the little mutt that was lying in a pool of her own blood.

"You should have just let him suck you dry. Would have been a much more pleasant way to die than what I can offer you," he said, almost sounding saddened. Too bad I saw the wicked gleam in his eye.

I didn't have the training or the expertise and I certainly didn't have brute strength compared to him. But I had drive and I had the edge of surprise.

I didn't allow myself to hesitate. In the back of my mind, I knew even a second of deliberation could be my demise. In one fluid and fast motion, my small blade was unsheathed and tossed in the air. Devlin would critique the throw. correct things my untrained eye could not see. All I cared about was that it landed true.

I didn't watch it happen, didn't let myself see the blade pierce the flesh. It would haunt me at night. I heard the slice of the blade, the gasp of a dying man, and the thump of a soulless body. I kept my gaze down and tried not to think too much as I retrieved his sword. Surely the weapon of a guard would be better than what I carried, though I did have to repress the urge to gag when his blood started to seep onto the floor and towards my slippers.

Somehow, telling myself that he would have taken my life, didn't make taking his any easier on my conscience. Knowing that Xion must have been in the palace somewhere did. With a new blade in my hand, I began searching again, this time not screaming his name at the top of my lungs. I couldn't remember if the woman said anything about how many people would be in the palace, but right then, I prayed it had only been one.

When my feet carried me automatically to the one place I knew Xion could be, somewhere he would go to be alone and to collect his thoughts. After everything that had happened between us, I didn't doubt that he would need some time for reflection.

The glassroom called to me and I raced to it, sword gripped firmly in my hand. Thankfully, there was not another soul in the hallways. I wasn't sure the combat gods would smile down on me twice in one day.

It didn't feel like a single god was smiling down on me when I entered the glassroom.

"No!"

For a second, I didn't realize that I had shouted, only aware that something had left my mouth when the person began to turn away from their task, eyes moving to find me.

I might have been a sight to behold, dirty and exhausted from the ride here, in clothes that were half royal, half peasant, a stolen sword in my grip. But it was nothing compared to what I was seeing.

The guard who seldom smiled, the one who rolled her eyes at me as if I were an annoying, needy child, the one who seemed larger than life, was face down on the ground. I think I saw her chest move with shallow breaths, but I couldn't be sure.

My attention was focused on Xion. The beautiful violin he played so magically was just outside of his reach, tossed on the floor like it meant nothing. And the pool of blood around him was growing, inching away from his body, towards the instrument.

The sword almost dropped from my grip.

"You should have stayed home, Lark," the woman over Xion said, her voice almost sounding sad.

And it was then, that I could recall where I knew the person who had been in Sampson's house. I had met her at the ball, had been introduced to her as a friend of a friend. Though she had been catty, I knew no one else in the room. They must have all been working together.

"Daisy, what are you doing?" I gasped. "Put down the knife!"

My brain could not process what I was seeing. There could not have been more damning evidence. The pretty, bubbly seamstress was standing over the wounded king, a bloody dagger in her grasp, red splatters on her pale blue gown.

"Oh Lark, sweet, naive Lark. I'm not going to put down the knife until this man is good and dead. I will not have a human-sympathizing half breed on the throne." Her voice didn't sound like her own, the way she moved with an exaggerated swing of her hips and a twirl of the blade in her hand was wrong.

I stepped back, raising my sword which was much longer than her dagger. She just grinned at me.

"Do you know what is so wonderful about having the heart of the best guard?" she asked.

It was a blur. She came at me so quickly; I barely had any time to react at all. Had I missed even one training session with Devlin, I was not sure I would have been able to counter her. She lunged for me. I let out a horrifying squeal, but raised my sword instead of flinching away. My blade struck hers so hard I felt the connection vibrate up my arm, saw it in the way she bared her teeth. We leapt back from each other, my weight dropping more firmly onto my legs like Devlin taught me as we circled each other.

"You could have just played your part," Daisy seethed, spittle flying from her mouth. "You could have died on the first night. Surely, the humans would have started a war then. Or, you could have let yourself be killed in the carriage. Xion would surely lose his mind and step down. You could have just fucked Devlin and pushed Xion into a murderous rage. I gave you so many fucking options, you little wench!"

She threw herself at me. She was smaller than me, but not by much. It was the fact that her arms were marginally shorter than my own that saved me when her dagger came slashing towards my throat. I felt the wind of the motion, knew how close she had come before I got the sense to plant my foot and kick her away. There was no strength in the gesture though, she barely stumbled back a step.

And I knew from the way that she looked at me that she understood just as well as I did that I had no chance of being the victor. I could fight, I could resist, I might tire her out a little. But she had been training for longer, she had been watching me every step of the way, intruding through a million moments of my time here.

"I'm almost sorry to do this," she said, her mouth almost losing its smile. "But you have to understand that I will do anything for my province. You are just going to be an unfortunate casualty."

"It doesn't have to be this way," I said, a quiver in my voice. The one thing that comforted me was that she and I had changed positions. Her back was now to the door, where I had been and I was between her and Xion. At least, when I died, I would go down and die by his side. It wasn't the ending I wanted, but at least it would be poetic.

"Oh you dumb country girl. There is no way I'm letting you walk out of here alive," she said.

Then she moved to strike again. 

~~~Question of the Day~~~

If money was no object, what would you do all day?