Darion pushed the door open and strode into the throne room. Stained glass depicting images of past kings, queens, and knights in armor bathe the room in golds, crimsons, and sapphires.

"Heart Breaker, how good it is to see you've fully recovered." The king and queen were present, but the children were stowed somewhere safe; a location only a select few knew of.

The throne room was the one room in the entire palace Darion actively avoided. His personal favorite room was the library, a vast room with multiple levels, each filled to the brim with books of all sorts. There was even a small section set aside for his spell books.

"Your majesty." Darion bowed. He no longer wore the pure black outfit he donned for executions. Instead he wore a blue shirt with a leather jacket over loose dark pants and leather boots. He bore no weapon for not only were they not allowed in such close proximity to the rulers of Hathorian, he never carried weapons in the palace; he never needed to.

"As you know, a prisoner escaped their execution earlier today. With your...talents, you are the most qualified soldier for getting this man back to us." Darion nodded, accustomed to being sent after criminals. Some were escapees, others had been people smart enough to elude the army for weeks on end. No matter the target, Darion had never failed to bring them in.

Not once.

"Dead or alive?"

Rema looked over at Ethan, her eyebrows scrunched. "I actually haven't thought about that."

"Whatever you desire shall be fulfilled, my love." The two engaged in silent conversation, leaving Darion to wait patiently in the middle of the room, standing with perfect posture.

The queen leaned back in her chair, turning back to face her soldier. "Alive; the crime is simply too high for a private execution." She looked off to the side as if considering a thought for a moment. "Although I wouldn't be opposed to a few injuries that would prevent any more escapes."

"As you wish, your majesty," Darion said, bowing once more before turning to leave. His steps reverberated through the room as he made his way out, passing the armed guards standing still as a statue.

The executioner turned hunter headed straight to the library, twisting through the endless maze of palace halls. The library utilized natural lighting from a glass dome ceiling five stories above. The spell books were stored at the top where the lighting is best; no chances were being taken for someone to accidentally read from The Book of Death instead of The Book of Breath. He took the stairs hidden away in the back up to the top floor, smirking at his shelf as it came into view. He walked past the shelf, letting his fingers run across the spines as he looked for the book he needed.

His hand stopped and he pulled a slim book off the shelf. Spells for Tracking Elusive Scoundrels. It was perhaps the smallest book in the collection; there are only so many ways to track someone.

The whisper of pages sliding against each other broke the silence as Darion opened the book. He flipped to the page with the spell he was looking for. The ingredients and words were already etched into his mind, but he always double-checked for magic was a very dangerous practice; one ounce of garlic can be the difference between a tracking spell and an explosive.

Darion's next stop was the kitchen. "Garlic. Check. Honey. Check. Water. Check." Darion paced around the room gathering ingredients and muttering to himself. Everything he needed went straight into a bowl and was mixed in together as he read a passage over them. Not many would notice the slight glow that signaled the concoction's completion, but Darion had long ago trained himself to spot it. "And a dash of cinnamon for scent." He pulled a vial from his belt and took the lid off. There were eight vials in total around his belt. One was for the tracking potion, another was already filled with the dark purple potion he used for executions, and the other six were empty. He slid the vial of golden liquid back into its slot, turning to head for the prisoner cells down below.

"What business do you have down here?" A guard in blue asked as Darion descended the last step.

"You must be new. I'm Darion, Darion Grayson, and I've been given the task of hunting down an escaped prisoner." New guards were hardly ever hired, but with the annual masquerade taking place that night, it was to be expected. Royal families from kingdoms near and far attended the masquerade, all clad in their most extravagant attire with the most luxurious masks anyone could ever ask for; if a single attendant came under attack by outside forces, it could strain political relations.

The guard didn't move aside. "And who gave you this task?"

"The queen herself, of course. Who other?"

A door creaked open behind Darion as someone got finished using the restroom. "Dammit, Jefferson. I go into the loo for one minute and you've already stopped the one person allowed in and out of here." Stephen, the usual guard during this shift, walked past Darion and right up to the rookie, Jefferson. He pulled a scroll of paper from the boy's pocket and opened it, holding it up for him to see the sketch of the man in front of them. "Right here in clear English: Darion Grayson, allowed full access in and out of all cells, occupied or otherwise. Can't you read?" The man gave the boy's head a weak smack.

"I can, sir, just very slowly."

Darion was growing a tad impatient. "Cut him some slack, Stephen. Did you even know how to read when you were enlisted?"

"That is not important," Stephen said, rolling the paper back up. "Very well then. Jefferson, take him to the cells and do whatever he says--no questions."

"Yes, sir!" Jefferson opened the door he'd been guarding and followed Darion in.

"Do you know which cell the thief was kept in?" The boy scrunched his face in concentration as he raked his mind for the information.

"I believe that'll be this cell right here." The boy led Darion to a cell near the back. As they walked through, prisoners would scoot away from the cell doors at the sight of the executioner.

"Heart breaker," some would whisper, trying to hide themselves in the darkest corner they could find.

"Wait, are you the Heart Breaker?" Darion ignored the boy as he looked back at him. "Wow, I never thought I'd ever meet you. It's an honor, sir." It always came as a mystery to Darion as to why people were so honored to meet a killer one second, but eager to send another killer to their death the next.

"Open the cell." The boy fumbled with the keys he carried, testing each one. "Is there anything in there that belonged to the thief--maybe a clothing item of some sort?" The boy had finally found the right key and the door swung open. He peered inside the empty cell looking for something that would meet Darion's request.

"There's the wrist restraints we recovered from the escape." He picked them up from the floor, holding them out to the man.

Darion took them and pulled the golden vial from his belt. "This should do." The cap was off and the contents were covering the metal in a matter of seconds. The boy watched in awe as the restraint glowed golden before returning to its normal state, no evidence of anything ever being poured onto it.

"Does magic always smell like cinnamon?"

***

Darion's home was a ten minutes walk from the castle through the market and at the edge of the forest. The hut was small, but big enough to accompany him and his soon-to-be wife. He'd requested it be built from stone instead of wood; he sometimes practiced magic at home and preferred his house to not be engulfed in flames after a spell went awry. Smoke drifted from the chimney into the orange sky, the smell of roasted meat wafting through the air.

The door opened with a creak alerting his entrance. "Darion?" His fiance looked over her shoulders at him from the kitchen, smiling as she continued to stir food in a pot.

"Diana, my love." Darion wasted no time before kissing his wife, taking in her lavender scent. He let his fingers drift through her dark brown hair.

"You're later than usual. Did something happen at the palace?" She wore an apron over her white gown, her feet bare against the cool stone floor.

"A prisoner escaped today's execution."

"Are you okay? Were you hurt?"

"I was pushed off a raised platform, but other than that, I was fine." Diana set her spoon aside and took Darion's face in her hands, inspecting every inch.

"There has got to be another job you can take, Darion. You practice magic, for crying out loud!" He lifted his head from her hands, still holding her close.

"You know I can't betray the wishes of the royal family. Besides, I'm good at what I do, so why stop?" He let her go and walked to his weapons closet, pulling his sword, Aslander-- the true heart-breaker--out and into his sheath. He grabbed hunter knives and looked over his prepared potions. Putting his empty vials in their holding spot, he replaced them with three sleep potions, three fire-starters, and an extra execution vial.

"And where are you going?"

"I've already told you, a prisoner escaped. It's my job to catch them."

"You can catch them after you eat your supper." She dropped two steaming bowls full of stew onto the dinner table.

"I wouldn't miss your cooking for all the kingdom." He smiled at her as he sat down and, no matter how hard she tried not to, she smiled back.

***

Orange light spewed from the ale-house the spell had led Darion to. Shadows could be seen drifting past windows as laughs and shouts of glee could be heard from inside. The hunter stood out front, his black cloak wrapped around him with the hood pulled up over his head. Aslander was at his side and the shackle was in his hand, practically vibrating as it drew closer to its target. Darion pushed through the doors, all going silent as the customers turned to stare at the dark figure. Men and women filled the room, all wearing what looked like attempts at attire from the upper classes. Masks were covering every face in the room--even the bartender's. He'd just walked into a masquerade.

The shackle jolted from his hand, flying across the room causing some to duck and yelp their surprise. They wrapped themselves around a man's wrist, one locking in place while the other hung down to the floor. The masked thief locked eyes with his hunter.

"Shit."