Kingdom of Amaryah

New Year's Day

First day of Spring, 2760 DP

Outside Neir's window, the sun slept. The sky bled into a visage of blood, darkening into the ever-black of a moonless night.

Wordlessly, Neirnis̈hënon crept out of bed. His bare feet collided with deathly cold stone, and he pitter-pattered to Ruishë's enclosure, blanket in tow. He grabbed the cheesecloth bundle of berries, gathered Ruishë into his arms, and creaked open his bedroom door. The two guards outside stood as still as stone.

He could feel their gaze on him as he silently trekked the corridor. Straight ahead lay the arched doorway out of the Royal Quarters. Instead, Neir turned left and made his way deeper into his family's home. He passed through the dining area. Yet again, his father had skipped dinner in favor of sequestering himself in his study. So Neir slipped past the couch, padded over the ancient embroidered rug, and avoided the bust with the watchful eyes. Eventually, he rounded a corner marked by flowers and halted in front of two dark wooden doors.

The knobs were gold and molded into the shape of a rearing lion. The wood itself had been engraved with scenes upon scenes of lions. Lions hunting, standing proudly, lapping up water... killing.

Orange candlelight filtered through the gap under the door. The light gave him the strength to wrap himself and Ruishë in his blanket and settle on the cold floor. The hulking doors loomed above him, like great big standing stones threatening to fall on him.

In the absence of his padding gait, silence descended. On occasion, he heard his father sigh. Sometimes he heard the king pacing. Other times, Neir heard the soft clink of a metal quill on the edge of an inkwell bottle.

But they were only slight disturbances in an ocean of oppressing silence. With each rise of his chest, Neir expected a dark-clad monster to round the corner.

Neirnis̈hënon threw the blanket over his head. The dark space quickly became stifling with the heat of his breath. Ruishë licked her foot and dragged it over her ear.

"Don't worry, Ruishë. It'll be okay." His whisper boomed in his ears.

Thump-thawp, thump-thawp.

Neir froze. He's here. Fear gripped his throat, cold as ice. The soft footsteps came ever closer.

Thump-thwap, thump-thwap.

"I see you there." The man's voice—smooth as still water. Deep as a lake's floor. It reminded him of his father's voice.

Neirnis̈hënon peeked out from under the blanket. The assassin's leather boots were a worn brown, the leather thread connecting the toe piece to the ankle piece was a shade darker. He recognized them as military-grade. A soldier!

He flipped back the blanket—

The man was not a soldier.

He wore the garb of a Royal Elite Amaryan Guard, but only a handful of soldiers carried the esteemed title... and Neir did not recognize the man. The square jaw, the hawkish nose, and the mop of black hair were utterly unfamiliar. Nor did he recognize the striking gray eyes.

The breath was stolen from Neir's lungs.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost," the man chuckled and held out a hand to the prince. Neir stared at the calloused, pale hand. None of the Elite Guard were pale.

Maybe because I have. Neir sucked in a sharp breath. A ghost came to kill my father.

The assassin lowered his hand, and his deep purple cloak fluttered with the movement. Neir heard the sound of fabric on fabric. Not a ghost, then.

His father's murderer eyed him. As he did so, Neir took the opportunity to scoop up Ruishë and stand.

"What is your name?" the assassin asked. He doesn't recognize his prince?

"Neirnis̈hënon."

"What kind of name is that?"

Neir shrugged. "I'm told 'kingly.'"

"It sounds like someone trying to wash clothing in your mouth."

Neir grinned, then promptly remembered this was an assassin. A wash of cold flooded over him. "What's your name?"

"My name is Daerish."

Neir filed the name away to give to a guard later but... but.... He squared his shoulders.

"I–"

"You've never heard of me?" Daerish asked.

Neir narrowed his eyes. "No. Should I have?"

"How old are you?"

"Seven."

Daerish nodded as if that answered it, then made to move past Neir. "No, I guess you wouldn't have."

Neirnis̈hënon stepped in Daerish's way. "I won't let you in."

"And why not?"

Neir eyed the gilded sword that hung from Daerish's waist. One of Neirnis̈hënon's hands clutched the calico Ruishë to his chest, the other fisted at his side.

Ruishë had comforted him after his nightmares. Ruishë was his closest friend. They both loved berries and the outdoors! She was a worthy life to trade for his father's. Ruishë was important.

"Of course she is," his mother had said. "But not nearly as important as you."

Ruishë was of great value... but so was he. Neirnis̈hënon was the crown prince of Amaryah.

"I won't let you kill my father! Instead," Neirnis̈hënon held his chin up, "kill me. I'm as valuable as the king so take me and leave him alone! It's a good trade. A life for a life."

Daerish stared at the boy.

A life for a life, his mother had said. Her last words before the traitor's blow finally bled the vitality from her. He had hidden among the hay even when his joints ached, and even when his tears had bled dry. He hadn't moved until nearly the setting of the sun and hadn't made a sound until the civilians of Amaryah had started looking for survivors.

Prince Neirnis̈hënon, unaware that he had brought Daerish's life full circle, clenched his jaw.

Little did the prince know that Daerish had outgrown his hatred for a king who had traitors. It was a childish notion to blame another for pain that was not their fault, to blame the king for the tortuous death of his civilians by outsider hands.

He vowed he would never serve a king who had traitors in his midst. So he did just that. He worked closely with the king as a secret guard. He listened and intercepted enemy messages. He watched from the shadows and ensured the King of Amaryah had no traitors.

And now he stood before a boy who was ready to give his life for his parent, just as Daerish wished he could have done when he was the prince's age.

The last twenty years of Dearish's life had been dedicated to his vow, and to making his mother proud. With the young prince in front of him, he had the chance to make the seven-year-old Daerish proud.

He could keep this child and father together, unseparated by the veil of death.

"I'm not here to assassinate your father, your highness." Then, in a flurry of realization, Daerish's hand went to the pommel of his sword. "Why do you think I'm here to kill Rylaeshykon?"

Neirnis̈hënon took a step back, eyes wide at the gesture. "Because... because I dreamt it."

Daerish's breath caught in his chest. The boy is a seer?!

The prince's eyes were unfocused, seeing something that wasn't there. His words were almost whispers, and his speech became languished. "I dreamt that Father would be killed tonight. I saw a knife. I saw blood."

Neirnis̈hënon's gaze refocused and settled firmly on Daerish. "I saw your eyes."

Daerish suppressed a shiver. He had met another seer—the chill up his back, the feeling of a great pair of eyes watching him—

Well, it wasn't easy to ignore the feeling when a seer near you saw something to come. Or maybe it was just him.

Daerish unsheathed his sword. "We better get moving then."

"You believe me?"

"Of course."

Neirnis̈hënon grinned.

Something shattered beyond the study doors.

Without a second thought, Daerish crashed through the entryway. The doors blew wide, banging against the regal walls. An enormous dark desk occupied the center of the room, the lit fireplace casting the carpentry in flickering oranges and reds.

The King–

Rylaeshykon lay among a field of shattered glass in a growing puddle of red.

"Father!"

A blonde Houndal woman, icy trails streaking her face, stood over the king. A knife glinted in her hand.

"Aylë!" the prince cried. "Aylë, please don't!!"

The serving woman whipped her head toward the prince, her ice-blonde hair flying about her. Her eyes were as wide as deer caught in a thicket, rimmed in gloss and red. The startled fear vanished, and her jaw set. "Neirnis̈hënon, this does not concern you."

Neirnis̈hënon made to run forward, but Daerish grabbed him by the shoulder. The young prince struggled against his strength, tears streaking his young face. "Why are you doing this?! I thought you were my friend."

"I have never been your friend," Aylë said. Daerish thought she could have been beautiful if she weren't holding a knife over Rylaeshykon. If he so much as stepped forward, Aylë might plunge the blade into the king's heart.

Tears slipped down her cheeks; her eyes were as intense as the fire behind her. "From the moment my family died of starvation because he refused to grant my people use of the river, you became my enemy."

She rose the dagger high–

Neirnis̈hënon screamed–

And something calico streaked across the floor and scampered up Aylë's leg underneath her dress.

Her shriek resounded off the walls. The maid danced away, screaming and slapping at herself. Her foot caught on a shard of glass, her arms went wide, and she clattered unceremoniously to the ground.

Before the air could leave her lungs, Daerish ran and scooped up the woman's dagger. He settled his weight on top of the assassin and set the blade tip over her heart.

The woman stilled, breath caught, as she watched the knife blade.

"Your Highness," Daerish called to Neirnis̈hënon, never taking his eyes off the assassin. "Is Rylaeshykon okay?"

"I am more than upset that that woman spilled my vintage wine across the floor," the king said. "But other than my wine-stained tunic, I am perfectly unharmed, Daerish. Thank you."

He released a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Actually, your son saved you."

"Neirnis̈hënon?"

Daerish nodded as he heard the boy pad up to him. His bare feet splattered the wine.

"Your son is a seer."

The prince's rat skittered out from underneath Aylë's dress, causing the woman to flinch. The creature squeaked as she ran to her human friend.

"Ruishë!" Neirnis̈hënon scooped her up and held her close. Ruishë's little nose twitched proudly. He grinned at his father. "I told you my dreams come true. But I'm very glad you're okay, Father."

The prince looked back at Daerish. "What will you do with her?"

In response, Daerish glared coldly at the would-be assassin. "I have been trained in the Guard's art. I will know if you are lying. Did you poison the king? Are others part of your plan?"

She fearfully shook her head.

"Well then–" Daerish sunk Aylë's knife into her heart and, with a final twist of the blade, met Neirnis̈hënon's gaze. "A life for a life."