| Chapter Twenty-Nine | King of Glass |

  In all of the long years that she had been gone, the castle appeared as though it had not changed at all.  It all looked exactly as it did the day that she turned and never came back; it was as if she had never even left.

  "Your sole duty is to ensure the total safety of the king at all times," she says to a guard.

  "Where will you be?" One of the guards asks.

  "What a silly question," she says with a smile behind her mask, "I will be everywhere."

  She could have believed that the castle had been frozen in time as every splinter, crack, and dent was just as she remembered.  It was not until a man bumped into her, that she realized she was frozen in place, standing numbly at the threshold.

  It was like walking through a dream as she steps into the room, her eyes immediately are drawn to the large, glass chandelier that hung above them all.  She watched in a sort of awe as the sparkling light bounces off of each individual shard, dancing across the walls.

  The prospect that something so beautiful could be right in the den of evil made her sick.

  It was almost frightening to think that a part of her missed this place; this house of death and darkness.  Murder was normal in her desolate kingdom, but every inch of this castle was filled with the souls of the dead.  It was just another reminder of her many bad deeds.

  "It simply is stunning is it not?" An orcish man says as he stands beside her, gazing at walls.

  "Certainly," Adara nods, watching him hand her a glass of clear liquid, but it did not take a genius to guess what the contents were.

  "I heard that each banner represents the treasonous clans our king has defeated," the orc says with complete and utter fascination,

  "Yes," Adara says quietly, sipping the drink as memories of how she killed them all, return.

  In many ways, he was not wrong; the king had her lead his men from village to village, slaughtering every man, woman and child that they could find, leaving no one behind to tell stories of truth.  What he, nor anyone else knew, was that the clans were trying to form an alliance in order to overthrow the king after learning of his wicked doings.  They all died tragically trying to do what she and the others were attempting to do now.

  "I always find the king's speeches to be so thrilling," the orcish man says excitedly.

  "I am sure it will be one to remember," she says, smiling as she spots her prince.

  "I do hope so," the orc says, but she scarcely heard him as she makes her way to the prince.

  It was all she could do not to push and shove the crowds of citizens out of her way; instead, she murmurs pardons and excuses as she moved quietly between them.  As she reached his side, she put her hand gently onto his arm, moving her body in front of his.  Tilting her head upwards to look at him, she saw that she had startled him at first, but his eyes softened as he smiled when he realized who she was. 

  "Tell me," Adara says quietly as she wraps an arm around him, turning her head flat against his chest, "what have you noticed?" She asks.

  "I noticed you," The prince smirks, his eyes glance around the room as he holds her.

  Adara rolls her eyes, "really, because I noticed too many guards," she whispers as her eyes meet the black eyes of a troll guard.

  They, though, were not the only ones who recognized the increase in guards donning their thick-plated armor and colorful weapons.  
If anything, they were unknowingly the last ones to come to that crippling realization.

  Raiali was actually the first to see the guards.

  It was fairy quiet outside, the only sounds he heard were from the celebration that raged in the castle behind him.  His grip was slack on the spear he held at his side, his thumb running gingerly across the sharp and jutting edges of the spear-tip.  It was a friendly reminder to him that the weapons of death truly were beautiful pieces of artistry; he thought it was just a shame that the king let moronic thugs carry such prized pieces.

  In his youth, before training to become an assassin, he had dedicated his life to being a member of the royal guards.  He never could have imagined how his life would have turned out; despite it all, in a sickening way, he was glad his life went how it did.  If he had not become the assassin he was now, he likely could have been one of the men lying dead in the doorway behind him.

  He guessed he had the king to thank for that.

  After all, it was the king who decided that he wanted to reopen the assassin training sites and make his father the head of the operation.  It was the king who decided that he wanted to mass produce a new generation of perfectly-sculpted killing machines.  It was the king who told him that he would have the honor of being the first assassin to be trained under his rule.  It was the king who stood by and watched as his father took everything away from him, even his humanity, all for the sake of creating the perfect murderer.  He supposed he truly did have a lot to thank the king for.

  It was only when he felt the blood trickling down his arm that he realized he had begun to grip the spearhead, slicing into his fingers.  As he brought his hand to his lips, licking the blood off, he froze at the sound of footsteps crunching in the sand.  It only frustrated him more as he rolls his eyes, standing back into his formation.

  There were three of them, two orcs and a troll who donned the same armor as he did.  He raises a brow as he licks the red blood from his lips, noting the frowns on their faces.  It occurred to him that he was already considering the many ways he could kill them.

  "What is your name?" One of the guards, the troll, asks him, his voice almost lighthearted.

  "Raiali," he bites out, his jaw tense as one of the orcs gets closer to him, close to his face.

  "Where is your partner?" The orc asks as he stares him right in his eyes, "Raiali," he spat.

  "Gone," Raiali says with a glare, "I do not need a partner to take down intruders."

  The air between the four of them was full of static, high-end tension; none of them speaking a word as Raiali gripped the spear just a little bit tighter.  It was only when he saw the other, quieter, orc stare at his hand, that he painstakingly realized what he had so foolishly forgotten. 

  "That is not part of uniform," the orc speaks up, and like that, all of their eyes were on the thick gloves that were tight around his hands.

  "You are right," Raiali nods, flexing his hand behind his back, letting a blade slide out.

  "What is that?" The troll asks, stepping forward, gesturing at the blood that had begun to spread across the floor behind him.

  "You just had to ask," Raiali says with a sigh, twirling the spear sideways in his hand before ramming it forwards, knocking the closest orc and troll away from him.

  The spear clattered to the sands beneath their feet with a small thump, but the sound of the first orcs angry shout was what started it.  It only took a moment before the orc charged at him, but Raiali did not have to do much.  He did not even have to dodge him as he pulled his metal-clawed hand in front of him.  It was amazing, he thought, as the mans force from his half-brained attack was used to impale himself on Raiali's blades.  The blades sliced through his midsection like butter, the glistening ends jutting out from his back.

  "Curiosity kills you know?" Raiali asks quietly, watching the orcs eyes widen as blood drips from his parted lips as he tried to speak.

  Raiali raises his other hand, letting the blades extend before the other two guards' eyes.  It was as if the other two were in a daze as they watched Raiali cross one arm over the other, using the position to quickly slice the blades across the orcs throat, silencing him once and for all.  It did not bother Raiali as the mans blood sprayed across his face.  He simply let the body drop to the ground, the body twitching as a sickeningly strangled noise gathered in back of the dying mans throat.

  As he rubbed his hands together, blood drips down the blades and onto the corpse beneath him, but a smile fixed itself on his face at the fear that gathered in their eyes.  He did not know how to describe the fear, but crippling was the first word that entered his mind.

  "For the king," the other orc growls, holding his spear almost like a bat as he swings it in the general direction of Raiali's head.  He ducked quickly and rather easily, jumping up in the air as the man swung it backwards, trying to sweep his feet out from under him.

  It was a foolish move, he thought, to prolong the inevitable.  Raiali raises his arm and in one swift move he slices through the spear, cutting it in half, sending the spearhead to the ground with a thump.  Using his momentum, he falls to one knee, and follows through with his swing; bringing his arm back around, he ran his razor-sharp blades across the orcs legs, closing his eyes with something he could only describe as pure bliss as the orc cries out in pain, falling down as he grabs at his mangled and bleeding legs.

  "Fuck the king," Raiali says with a smirk as he retracts one set of his claws, shoving his fingers in the deep gashes that now decorated the orcs flesh; the mans strangled curses were almost as pleasing as the smooth feel of the orcs bones beneath his fingers. 

  He wasn't sure how many times he'd have to say that until people began chanting it back.

  "Fuck you," the orc growls out, his face contorted in pain as Raiali twists his fingers around, watching the dark blood flow across his pale green skin.  His words, surely meant to make Raiali angry, instead made him laugh.  He had been called many things and faced men far worse than him; this could hardly even be considered child's play. 

  He pats the orc on his leg before he raises his fist and plunges his claws into the mans thigh.

  "I will only give you this opportunity once," Raiali says above the orcs whimpering cries; it was odd, as he watched the young troll back away in fear, he found that he only wanted to help him.  "I want you to turn around and never come back," Raiali says, ripping his own helmet off and tossing it to the side.  The truth was that this kid was in the same position that he had been in so long ago, but the difference now was that this kid was going to have a chance to choose his fate.

  "You treacherous fool," the orc snarls, but Raiali was quick to silence him by digging the claws deeper, receiving a long groan of pain.

  He could see the hesitation in the young trolls eyes; in the eyes of the king, he would be a traitor, probably for the rest of his life.  It was a good thing, he supposed, that the king would die tonight.  The young troll took another step back, nodding his head slowly.  He could see him making the decision slowly inside of his head.  It made him smile as the young troll turned on his heels and ran off into the deep and black darkness. 

  "Who is the fool now?" Raiali asks as he crawls on top of the orc, digging his claws into the mans shoulders, pinning him down.  The orc tried to scream, but he was weaker now, so all that came out was a deep sigh. 
 
  "You will never win," the orc rasps out, his body losing more blood each second, forming a pool around him. 

"And you will not be alive to see me prove you wrong," Raiali says with a small smile before grabbing the orc gently on each side of his face, and jerking his neck quickly and roughly.  The loud crack seemed as loud to him as the banging gongs were; this sound though, was more satisfying.

  He had only just began to stand up when he heard more footsteps echoing in the dark.

  "Such a shame," Raiali says with a sigh as he watches the young troll step forward, two guards at his sides; the boy had brought them there and now all of them had to die.  "I truly did have high hopes for you," he says quietly as he tightens his hands into fists at his sides, the silver claws slick with glistening blood.

  Raiali, this time, did not wait for them to make the first move.  He was quick to rush forward, rolling through the sand before scooping it into his hands and spraying it into their faces.  It took only a few second for them to stumble, rubbing their eyes furiously and coughing up the dust that went in their noses and mouths.  He was not going to give them any time to recover.  In another swift move he stood, ramming each set of claws into their chests, but he did not stop there.  He retracted them quickly before extending them again, slitting both of their throats before they had a chance to even move. 

  "Who are you?" The young troll asks quietly, his eyes widen with fear; he was going to die because he made the wrong choice.  His fate, like many others, was to simply die.

  "Some people know me as the beast," Raiali says with a smile as he grabs the boy by his shoulders, digging his nails into his skin.  "But you can call me your worst nightmare," Raiali smirks as he raises his leg, kicking him to the ground.  He could hear the sounds of more guards coming, but they had nothing on him.  He was a monster, and now, they would finally learn what he was capable of.

  Away from the fighting outside, Lilura looked around the walls of both her home and prison.
 
  The maids quarters had been a safe haven.

  After long nights of doing whatever the king had asked of her, she found often find herself having been brought to them; they were the ones who would simply clean her up and send her back, but she was still grateful.  Spending a few minutes with them was infinitely better than spending several hours with the kings friends and enemies.

  It was always dark, which she thought was ironic considering the castle was mostly glass.

  If not for the gentle hue of small candles illuminating on each wall, she probably would not have seen the white-haired maid that was sitting quietly on the edge of her bed.  It was odd, to watch an old elven woman turn so pale at the sight of her.  In her entire life, she had only ever had people look at her with nothing but pure greed and desire.  To see fear in someones eyes, because of her, made her sick to her stomach.  It did not matter though, how she felt, because the real assassin downstairs was counting on her. 

  That was the only thing that mattered now.

  It almost scared her, how quickly she moved in front of the woman who had tried to stand; certainly wanting to get as far away from her as possible.  She understood the fear that came with being with someone who she knew could hurt her — she had done it for as long as she could remember, so she knew how this woman felt.  The woman grips tightly onto the sheets that lined her small wooden bed, her eyes wild as she looks back and forth between her and the door on the far side of the room. 

  "I am not going to hurt you," Lilura says as quietly as she could since she was not sure if there was anyone else in the room with them.  If there was, she hoped that they had already retired and fallen asleep for the night.  She did not know what she would do if she had to hurt someone; she was not sure if she could ever willingly inflict pain unto someone else.  She did not even think she could hurt the man, the king, who put her through so many years of nothing but suffering.

  "What do you want?" The old elven maid is quiet as she speaks, but there was anger and fear behind each of her words.

  "I want you to go downstairs," Lilura says as she clasps her hands in front of her, holding them tight; the woman seemed to notice that.  "I want you to go to the first guard that you can find and let them know that I am here," Lilura says quietly, her eyes drop to the floor as she bit her lip.  She glances slowly back up to the old woman, "do not come back upstairs if you do not have to," she whispers before moving away from the bed, letting the maid stand and begin walking to the door.

  It was a deafening silence as they walk into the large red-carpeted hallway, closing the door gently behind them; all that was left now was to hope she was doing the right thing.

  "Thank you," Lilura whispers, but not loud enough for anyone but herself to hear; she thought though, that her words would not help this woman, for she had already asked far too much of her.  If it was not for her, that old maid would be sleeping now, completely unaware of the dangers lurking around each corner.  She would not even have a clue that someone was going to die tonight.

  Lilura stood, alone, in the middle of the hall; on both dark walls, were seemingly ancient paintings of the king and queen.  If they had been portraits of anyone else, she thought that they might have had the potential to be beautiful.  Her hands shook as she reaches down to her thigh, unsheathing a small blade as she walks to the painting with both the orc king and orc queen.  It was satisfying, as she stabs the canvas, dragging the blade through their bodies until the pieces curled away, separating the king from the queen.

  They were both their own sorts of evil, but they truly were wicked when they were together, feeding off of one another's poison until both were so sick they couldn't be saved.

  She could not wait to see both of them pay.

  The assassins and warriors may have been the ones slaughtering and destroying entire villages, but it was the king and queen who had given them those orders; they were killers.

  It was all she could do not to slash every single painting and bust every statue, but those thoughts vanished quickly.  She had hesitated at the harsh sounds of metal on metal as guards were rushing up the stairs.  It was a different kind of fear that she felt, when the guards clambered up the final steps, their eyes locking onto her.  What she was and what they saw were two different things; she was just a girl, but they saw a killer.  She took a small step backwards, not taking her eyes off of them as they stepped forward.

  "It really is her," the orc guard says, putting a hand on the shoulder of the guard beside him.

  "Go," the troll whispers, his eyes never leave her own stormy eyes, "we can not take her down by ourselves," he admits quietly.

  "Don't let her get away," the orc says with a frown as he turns and runs down the stairs.

  "I won't," the troll says, loud enough to startle her, as he took a step towards her while he grips his own spear tightly in is fist.  He points the tip of the spear in her direction, "there is nowhere to run," the troll guard snarls, "lay down your weapons and maybe you will not have to die tonight."  It was a lie, all of it, and she knew that without a second thought.  If they caught her, Jasper, they might not be the ones to kill her, but they would be sure to make her wish she were dead before handing her over to the king. 

  "You are wrong," Lilura says with a small smile as she turns around, and begins to run.

  It wasn't until she was already halfway down the hall that the troll guard had even realized what she was doing; what she had done.  His startled shout echoed down the hallway, but was swallowed up by the commotion of the celebrating citizens downstairs.  It was almost exhilarating, as she ran as fast as she could, for she could not remember the last time she had been allowed to do or act how she wanted.  She was not sure if she had ever simply done as she wished.  Now, even if it was only for a moment, she could.

  There were more guards now, chasing after her, she could hear the loud thumping of their many feet on the floor. 

  "There is nowhere you can hide where we won't find you," one of the guards shouted at her down the hall, his voice filled with humor.

  She paid his twisted mind no attention as she rounded the corner, heading up the next flight of stairs; she knew how to hide.

  Lilura had just barely reached the top step when a spear flew past her, clambering onto the floor in front of her as it lost its momentum.  She could not stop.  Not when they were so close.  Turning, she began down yet another hallway, each one looking the same as the one before.  It was not until she neared the end of the hallway, when she went to reach for a glass doorknob, that she felt the pain blossom down her side.  Bringing her hand to her side, she found that her fingers were wet with sticky blood; the spear had done it. 

  It took everything she had inside of her not to scream as she pushes her fingers into the bleeding gash, gathering blood into her hand before smearing it onto the door handle and cracking the door open.  Her hands shook as she ran moved a few doors down, pushing another door open with her untarnished hand.  She was careful as she closed the door, shutting it quickly but silently, her hand hovering over the knob as she struggled to catch her breath.

  Lilura could not make out much of what they were saying through the door, but she heard them celebrating the presence of her blood.

  The room was dark, but she did not have to see to know where she was.  It was a dull, dark, and dreary room, but it was the room that she once knew as her own.  The room was just as it was when she left, barren and
desolate.  All that she had was a large bed, and a tall wardrobe.  It was a shame that the bed was not for sleeping, and the wardrobe was always empty.  She shook her head.  There was no reason for her to dwell on it, for it was all in the past.  She had more pressing matters to worry about now.

  The old hinges on the wardrobe let out a soft groan as she pulls them open, revealing only a small black dress hanging on a wire rack.  It was not the clothes that interested her — what interested her was what lied behind the clothes.  She stands on her toes as she grips the ledge of the wooden paneling with her nails, popping it free from the rest of the dark boards.  Her heart seemed to stall in her chest when the doorknob began to twist, the guards had finally realized that they had been fooled by her ruse.

  "She couldn't have gotten far," she heard one of them say, as she pulled herself into the tall wardrobe, closing the door behind her as the door to the room was kicked open.

  The bang that echoed through the room as the door hit the wall made her flinch, her heart beating fast and hard as she steps into the hidden compartment.  Her fingers shake as she grabs the wooden panel, pulling it back into place, sealing herself inside.  The space was small, so small that once inside, she could scarcely move; she was grateful for it though, now more-so than ever.  For a moment, she almost found it funny, since it was the king who had told her of this place.

  "I found something," another guard calls out, spotting the splatters of her blood across the floor.  It was the blood trail she left, that lead them straight to the wardrobe.

  As much as she wanted to close her eyes and pray for them to leave, she did not.  When the wardrobes old doors were pulled open, she did not make a move, she simply stared into the deep dark that surrounded her.  Despite her knowing that she was safe, she found that she was still holding her breath.  A part of her thought that even if she breathed a bit too loudly, they would hear her, and then they would find her; then, she would wish that she had died.  She did not want it to come down to that, not at all.

  "There's blood on the door," the guard says quietly with a long and somewhat drawn-out sigh, "but she's not here."  All that he found was a bloody handprint on the wardrobe door.

  "Look again," another voice says, but his voice was much rougher, much angrier, and much more familiar to her. 

  "There is nothing here," the guard says back nervously, "if she was standing right here I think I would notice her."  His quick remark was followed by a loud and sharp echo of a slap.

  It was that hit, that finally made her flinch.

  "If we can not find her," another voice chimes in, his voice was much quieter and calmer than the other two, "then we have no choice but to tell the king," he sighs.

  In that moment, she finally knew what it was like to feel time freeze and speed at the same time.  Her mind was racing as she struggled to figure out what to do.  If they could not find her, they would go downstairs and tell the king that she was there.  If they told him, then there would be so many guards crawling around that Adara and Leonidas would never even get close enough to see the king, let alone kill him.  Their plan would fall into complete and utter chaos and it would be her fault.  The only task given to her was to distract the guards, and so she would.

  As she stepped out of the wardrobe, she felt time slowing back down for a moment, as her eyes skimmed around the five men that stood in the room.  Time sped back up as the two troll guards closest to her seized her by her arms, holding them so hard that she could feel it deep inside of her bones.  Jasper would have fought back with any hesitation, but she was not Jasper, she was Lilura.  Lilura could not fight for she did not know how.  The only thing that she knew how to do was lie.

  "There is no need in disturbing the king for my sake," Lilura says, blinking slowly as all of their eyes fixated on her; unblinking in shock.

  "Guard the fucking door," the orc guard who had struck the other guard snarled, turning so that she could now see his face.

  Jasper probably would not have given him a second thought, but Lilura knew who he was. 

  "Did I not speak loud enough?" The orc asks, tightening his hand into a fist, "go and guard the fucking door," he shouts furiously.

  The room had only three guards now, as the two closest to the door stepped outside; their final act was closing and locking them inside.  It took only a few seconds for the orc to march forward while drawing back his fist, punching her hard in the gut.  The gasp of pain was caught in her throat as he grabbed her tightly around her neck.  He turns her body around, keeping his grip tight as he holds her against his body, leaning his face down to hers.

  "Make a move and I'll gut you right here," the orc growls, using his free hand to grip the harness around her torso, unlatching it and slinging it to the floor. 
 
  The feel of his hands on her made her sick.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Lilura says through gritted teeth, tensing as he reaches around her thighs, tossing the holsters and their various blades into the floor.

  She screams through her teeth as he dug his fingers into the gash on her side, pushing her against the bed until she sat on its edge.  It was just like him to be twisted and cruel.  He was one of the guards who frequented this room with her.  He would have his way with her, as a gift from the king, for his service to the royal family.  He was never kind, and he was never gentle.  He was full of sickness and hate.  He was one of the guards responsible for her unborn child's death.  She cried out as he ran his fingernails across her side, ignoring the blood that dripped on his fingers.

  A bit of blood never did seem to bother him.

  "Take off your clothes," he bit out, watching her hands shake as she gripped her shirt tight.  Her movements were slow, far too slow for his liking as he gripped her shirt, yanking it over her head before throwing it down.  The orc grabs the front of her pants with one hand, shoving her down with the other as he bent down to her ear.  "I would recognize you anywhere," he whispers, running his hand over her inner thigh where, like the prince, was her own brand.  "Do what you do best and maybe I won't tell them you are an imposter," he threatens quietly, gripping her tight by her jaw as he shoves his hand into her pants.

  Downstairs, only a few could hear the scream over the sound of music and conversation.

  Adara heard it, turning her head towards the stairs, gripping the prince's arm tightly; there would only be one reason for such a sound to exist, and that'd be if she had been caught.  She let go of the prince, trying to make her way to the stairs, but she stopped when she saw a troll guard covered in blood rush up the stairs.  All she could do was hope that he would find her in time, and that he would some day forgive her for what she had done.

  She was distracted, as she gazed up the stairs, her mind running through each scenario where Lilura could come out either dead or alive.  The prince; however, was not when he saw a guard moving towards her, brandishing a sword at his side as he began to ready it.  He glances between Adara and the guard, gritting his teeth before casually unsheathing his sword.  He crosses his right arm over his chest before moving forward and thrusting the sword around into the chest of the guard who's impetus propelled his body forward, further impaling himself.

  The crowd around them erupted into shouts.

  Adara turns, eyes wide as the prince slung the guards body to the floor, his silver sword glistening with blood as he gazed back at her.  It was an interesting sight, to see the prince whom seemed so willing to kill, look so upset that he had.  Adara grit her teeth as the prince steps closer to her, his shoulders tense while his eyes seemed to be filled with such sorrow.  She understood what he was doing, as he stopped in front of her, shoving her down to the floor with his hand.  It was her who was supposed to cause the distraction, but he had taken it into his own hands, to save her life. 

  The prince glances again at her, lying on the floor, before he turns and walks into the crowd.

  Adara stares numbly after him as he makes his way through the crowd, taking the guards attention with him.  She brought her hand to her shoulder where he pushed her, letting out a curse as she set her jaw.  A gentle hand is offered down to her, waiting patiently for her to take it.  She slowly places her hand into their own, giving them a smile as she thanks them, standing up; however, the smile faded as the grip on her hand tightened and she came face to face with the man who haunted her.  She was staring right into the dark eyes of the king himself.

  "Care to dance?" King Dasheem asks, his other hand moves to the small of her back; he was not going to take no for an answer. 

  As they dance, upstairs, was the making of a massacre that would go down in history.

  When he heard the scream, he had thought that maybe it had been a figment of his over-active imagination, brought on by the piles of bodies that were scattered around his feet.  Of course, he knew, that the idea of this delusion was simply wishful thinking.  It made him angry at first, to think that he had been kept in the dark, but his anger had quickly turned into a startling and agonizing fear.  He was afraid, because he could not even begin to imagine what would make her scream.  To make her scream like that.

  He did not remember running up the stairs, but he supposed he did, considering he was now standing at the top; his hands clenching and unclenching into fists by his sides.  It was all he could do to keep from tearing each door off of its hinges as he walked down the halls.  As he walks up the stairs, he noticed only two things — the first being the blood that was splattered across the carpeted floor, and the second being the guards standing down the hallway to his right. 

  "What the hell?" One of the guards asks as he turns, catching sight of the troll covered in varying shades of red blood.  He was silenced before he could utter another word, his throat ripped out with a swift move of Raiali's claws.  The other guard went to move, but Raiali was faster as he grabbed him by his throat, pushing his body up against the wall. 

  "How many are in there?" Raiali asks, his voice was low but the threat was still there. 

  "Three," the guard chokes, his green face began to pale, his lips turning a shade of blue.

  "Thank you," Raiali says, holding him there until his eyes rolled into the back of his head. 

  As the guards unconscious body slid down to the floor, he tries to turn the door handles, but found that they had been locked.  He took a deep breath as he took a few steps back, rubbing his hands together before raising his leg and kicking the door with all his might.  Lilura tried to scream, when she heard the door open, but the orc had one hand tight around her mouth and jaw.  He was pushing her head into the bed as he ordered the guards to handle the interruption behind him, never once stopping.
 
  It was a new experience, for Raiali to feel physically ill from something that he saw; he was used to seeing the tortured and mutilated bodies of men, women and children.  It had never bothered him before.  What was in front of him now though, made him sick.

  A part of him contemplated letting the two guards live, seeing the nervousness on both of their faces, but he couldn't.  He couldn't spare them, because they did nothing to stop what was happening in front of him now.  It made him mad, as he shoved his claws into one of the boys stomachs, slicing it open until his insides began to merge with the outside.  It made him even angrier, as he grabbed the other boy roughly, stabbing him in the neck so hard, so violently, that his head was severed from his body. 

  Listening to her muffled screams only made him angrier as he grabs the orc by his arm, punching him hard in the face.  Raiali drags him off of her, sweeping his legs out from beneath him and knocking him onto the floor.  He let out an animalistic growl as he crawls on top of the orc, punching him again and again and again and again, watching his face contort into a bloodied and pained mess.  It was not enough.  Nothing he could do to him would ever be enough, but he knew that for her sake, he could get close.  He would give him what he deserved.

  "How does it feel?" Raiali asks, punching him until he heard the crack of his nose shattering.  He punches the orc until his face was black and and blue, swollen beyond recognition.  It was ironic, how the orc begged with fear in his eyes as Raiali lowers his claws to his groin, considering he ignored the fear that Lilura had so clearly felt when he pushed his into her.  It took only one swift move to tear it apart, the screams were music to his ears, but he was not done yet. 

  "How does it fucking feel?" Raiali growls as he grabs the orc by his face, digging his thumbs into his eyes; he squeezes hard, not even realizing that he was screaming, not even realizing that the man had already died before his head imploded from the pressure.  He sat quietly on the floor, holding pieces of flesh, brain, and blood in his hands as he stares at the blood that slowly crept across the floor.  It startled him when he felt a tear roll down his face, snapping him back to what was more important to him. 

  Lilura was crying quietly at first, but once she saw him at her side, she began to sob; he uses his gloved hands to wipe the blood that had leaked from her ears, nose, and eyes, coating her entire face and blinding her.  As he cleans her face, he could see the bruises that had begun to form across her throat and jaw, but they did not make him mad, they made him furious.  He grit his teeth as he helped sit her up, her body heaving as she coughs, spitting up blood into her own hands. 

  "I'm sorry," Raiali says quietly, patting her gently on her back as she coughs, spitting more bloody sputum into the floor.  He was sorry for a lot of things; mostly, he was sorry that she continued to suffer in his care.  Raiali was supposed to protect her, to keep her safe from anyone who could want to use her or kill her because of what she can do, but he failed.  "I'm so sorry," he whispers, holding her hair back as she coughed again.  Time and time again he has put her in danger, and this time, she paid the price. 

  "Don't be," Lilura chokes out, pushing her hand against her side as her gaze fixates on what used to be the orcs head.  "I knew that something like this would happen," she says quietly, her voice shook as a bloodied tear falls down her cheek.  "I've seen it every time I've been with him," she hisses through her teeth as he rips a piece of the sheet, tying it around her side to staunch the bleeding.  Since the first time he had ever put a hand on her, she could see that he would hurt her, over and over again in his futures.  It was foolish of her to have assumed that it wouldn't have happened today, but it had, and she had to deal with that now. 

  "I could have stopped him," Raiali says through gritted teeth, "if I had been faster."

  "No," Lilura says quietly, "you couldn't have."

  "I'm sorry," he says, because he was not sure what else he could even say to her.

  They both sit quietly on the edge of the bed, her small hand in his much larger one, neither one quite knowing what they had to do next.

  Downstairs, the orc king and the elven assassin dance quietly and slowly across the floor as they stare one another in the eyes.

  King Dasheem was tall for an orc, taller than she was, and his head was bald with his crown sitting gently on top.  His white shirt was rolled up to his forearms, revealing a few of the tribal tattoos that decorated his body.  It was almost ironic, how mean he looked, when he had used to be so kind and gentle.  She was never sure which side of him that she would see; the nice side or the mean one.

  "I did not come here to dance," Adara says, gritting her teeth as he tightened his grip on her hand, holding her tight as if he expected that she might try to run away; it was a good instinct, she thought, because she probably would if she could. 

  "Because you came here to kill me," King Dasheem says, his dark red eyes watch her as she glances to the side, away from him.  He gives a small smile, "I am many things but I am no fool," he says as he turns then, dancing in another direction now.

  "Aren't you?" Adara asks, watching him give a bright smile to another couple who had begun to dance, following in their steps, "only a fool would make it so easy for assassins to get into the castle" she whispers.  She flinches though at the sudden anger that flashes across his face.

  "And only a fool would try to kill the king when she stands out so clearly in a crowd," he hisses back, running his hand through her hair before gripping it tight and giving it a tug, "I've had eyes on you since the second you walked through the front gates," he snarls, his red eyes glancing between her eyes.

  "Then why am I not dead yet?" Adara asks quietly, her voice falters as she loosens her grip on his hand, "why am I alive?" She asks.

  "You are alive because we have matters to discuss," the king says, letting go of her hair and taking her hand, much gentler this time.

  As much as she wanted to grab her dagger and kill him in that moment, she didn't, because she couldn't; he knew that.  If he had something to say, it was important, and he watches that realization cross her bright green eyes with a smile.  If she killed him now, she would never know what he would have said, and it would torment her until the day she met her own end.  She bit her inner cheek before nodding, letting him dip her.

  "I'm listening," Adara says quietly, her hair nearly touches the ground before he pulls her back up; they move slowly and delicately.

  "I trust that you are aware of the fact that there is a war coming," Dasheem says calmly, but even he seems shocked by his words.  It was odd, how even though she could hear it coming from his mouth, she still did not want to believe it.  "I can no longer see a way out of it that does not involve bloodshed," the king says, his eyes narrow as he gazes at her.

  "Even if that means my own blood must be spilled to make it happen," Dasheem says, he grips her side a bit harder now; his eyes dark and deathly serious, almost desperate.  "That is why you came, is it not?" He asks quietly.

  He did not give her a chance to answer him.

  "I am sure that you think my death will be the end of this war," Dasheem says, a sickening smile on his face, as if it hurt to imagine.  "I hate to break it to you," he says as he glances down to the hilt of her dagger that stuck slightly out of the waistband of her pants, "but my death will just be the beginning."  His death would bring upon the greatest war that their lands had ever seen in thousands upon thousands of years in conflict.

  "You're wrong," Adara starts, but his grip had tightened so hard that it nearly stole her breath away from her.

  "You'll do well to remember who you're speaking to," Dasheem says through gritted teeth, "I am still your king."  It occurred to both of them, that he would not be for much longer.

  "I'm sorry," Adara says, her body tense as he stares into her eyes, his face nearly unreadable.  Nearly.  He was conflicted, she could see it in his eyes.  There were so many things he wanted to say, but their time was quickly running out.

  "Would you like to know why I think my death will be the start of a new era?" Dasheem asks as he extends his arm, twirling her around before drawing her closer to his body.  She was quiet as she glances between his eyes.

  "You wouldn't mention it if you didn't want to tell me," Adara says quietly, nodding to him.

  "Well," Dasheem says, those red eyes never sit still for too long as he skims them across each face in the room, "I know several weeks ago you were taken as a prisoner of the golden kingdom."  He did not have to look to know that her eyes had dropped to the floor.  "I also know that you so cruelly conspired with the golden king to put an end to my reign of terror," he says, his voice low and threatening, but he was not going to hurt her.  He just wanted her to know, that he knew every single move she had made until now.

  "Why didn't you stop me?" She asks, but he just ignored her as they began to speed up.

  "I know that you brought the human prince into my lands," Dasheem says, laughing as though there was some unspoken joke in his words; maybe he had hoped it was just that, a joke.  "I know you both have left quite the trail of bodies in your wake," he says, his eyes seemed almost pained at that.  As if he did not really want his people to die, but of course, that could not be possible considering he lets hundreds of his people die every single day.

  "So why didn't you stop me?" Adara asks again through clenched teeth, his hands lower to her waist as he picks her up and turns, setting her back down as they dance in yet another direction.

  "Because I needed you here," Dasheem says, his eyes wide, "I needed you right here in front of me where I could see you and you could see me," he says quickly, glancing around again.

  "Your death will end this war before it even has a chance to begin," Adara spits out, stopping his pointless ranting, her hands clench into fists as she tries to pull away from him; his grip was iron tight.  "The prince is going to make sure that you can never hurt anyone else ever again," Adara chokes out as he gripped her hand so tight she though her bones might break.

  "Come on now," Dasheem snarls, his face so close to her own that she could smell smoke that laced his breath, "use that pretty little head of yours," he bites out.

  She felt sick when she realized that she was clueless as to what he was implying.  It was the prince who would murder the king, bringing both kingdoms into one, causing the brewing war to end as suddenly as it had begun.  Her mind was swimming when she saw the glimmer of silver metal before her eye.

  "I have no intention of letting your little prince anywhere near me," the king says with a smirk as he drags the tip of the blade down her cheek.  "Because it is not him who will be killing me tonight," he says quietly, placing the dagger into her hand and closing it into a fist. 

  "No," Adara says, shaking her head as he dips her again, the blade becoming another instrument in what was their dance of death.  "Stop," she says as he pulls her back up, and for the first time of the night, it was almost as if he could not bare to look her in the eyes.

  "You should have taken care of my wife and I so long ago," Dasheem says as he shook his head, ignoring the objections and the tears that had welled in her eyes.  "I took care of the bodies," he says quietly, "and my wife is long gone by now," he bites out, like it hurt him to even consider saying it; he had handled his affairs to prepare for his end, so he could prepare her for her future.

  "You aren't making any sense," Adara says, almost frantically now as she tried to push him away, but she couldn't; she couldn't push him away because he pulls her into the tightest possible hug she thought she had ever felt in the entirety of her life. 

  "The blood of the serpent," King Dasheem says quietly into her ear as he holds her tight, not letting her move, "will flow red through the streets for all eternity," he chokes, blood dripping from his parted lips.  It was only when she felt the warmth spreading on her hand that she realized what had happened. 

  "No," she says quietly, hugging him back, as if she could undo what had since been done.

  "The blood of the serpent," King Dasheem chokes out as he grips her hand tightly, forcing her to twist the blade deep inside of his gut.  "The blood of the serpent flows through you now," he whispers as he stumbles back, falling down to his knees; despite his pain, a smile remained on his face as he fell to the floor, blood pooling around him.

  It was impossible to describe how she felt as she fell to the floor beside the king, watching the dark red fade from his eyes.  Gasps and screams were all that could be heard from those who stood around her, but all she could hear was his raspy, dying breaths.  She had been waiting for this moment, for his death, for so long; this was not what she wanted.  She had wanted him on his knees, begging for mercy, knowing he would not receive any.  This was not how it was supposed to happen.  This was not at all how it was supposed to happen.

  "No," she whispers as she stands up, taking a step away from his body, her hands bloodied and trembling in front of her.

  It made her sick, as she looked around at all the horrified faces around her, at all the faces that were terrified of her and what she had done; at what she hadn't wanted to do.  She watches as the orc she had met earlier on in the night glances around at everyone, and then at the fallen king.  He was quiet as he slowly kneels on the floor, bowing his head to her.  She stood numbly and watched as more began to follow his lead, kneeling down.

  It wasn't until nearly every man, woman, and child kneeled, that she could see the prince.

  There was confusion in his eyes as the men he had been fighting laid down their weapons and kneeled down; his uncertain, mismatched eyes slowly found her unblinking green ones. 

  "Adara," the prince says, taking a few steps closer glancing down as another man kneels.  He turns his gaze back to her, "you did it," he says with a smile, not yet understanding.  She was not sure that she quite understood what was happening either.

  "No," Adara shakes her head; she did not want to kill him; he had forced her to do it.

  "Are you hurt?" The prince asks, staring at the sticky red blood that coated her hands.

  "Adara," it was another voice, Raiali, as he and Lilura came down the staircase.  Their footsteps that had once been quick and hard, were now quiet as they stood at the bottom, slowed by shock.  Her breath became caught in her throat as Raiali and Lilura kneel down.

  "What is happening?" The prince asks, not understanding the fear on their faces.

  "You did not kill the king," Raiali says, holding onto Lilura's hand, "but she did."

  The old queen was gone.  The king was dead.  The queen and king never had any heirs.  It hit him like a fist to his face, knocking the smile right off of it.  It made sense to him now, why the people around them were so afraid of her, and why she now looked so afraid of him. 

  "Adara is the Queen," the prince says quietly, putting it all together with a haunted look on his face, looking once more into her wide and unblinking eyes.  It was all he could do not to make a sound as he places a hand on his chest and bows his head to her, before turning around and making his way to the door.

  Adara did not notice the tear fall from her eye as she watches the prince walk quietly, alone, into the darkness of night; never once glancing back.