The sun shone through the spotless glass window, signaling that a new day had begun. Mitchell winced slightly, stirring as the rays of light pierced his delicate eyelids.

He peeled his face off the velvet cushions, and dragged himself tiredly out of the window sill. Apparently, it seems like he had fallen asleep when contemplating. He limped to the bathroom, where he did his morning routine.

In the midst of opening the bathroom door, a knock resonated from the door and he said, "come in."

The moment the door was knocked, all traces of sleep and weariness was wiped from his eyes, replaced by regular, cold, merciless ones.

The door opened silently on its hinges and three people walked in. Two were waitresses, and were pushing a cart of breakfast for him. The last one was none other than Francis. Mitchell tensed slightly, indicating that this was not a normal thing. The food was pushed beside a dining table in a separate room of his apartment, and Francis stood in front of Mitchell, a greasy smile on his face. The brunette smiled back, if not a bit nervously.

"What brings you to my apartment?" His tone was steely and smooth, and displayed nothing he was feeling inside.

"I have another mission for you, my talented friend." Mitchell nodded, adding a spark of amusement in his eyes, although disgust curled around his heart. Despite trained an assassin, despite trained not to feel, whenever he murdered someone, he would always feel a twinge of guilt, which he would always brush off, and bury it deep down.

Francis gestured him to the dining table, and instructed the assassin to sit. Although a muscle feathered in his set jaw, he did as told, and served himself. Francis sat opposite him, and took his choice of foods. They ate in a tense silence, not giving eye contact to each other.

When they finally finished the meal, Francis leaned back on his chair, and said,

"I assume you're taking the case?"

Mitchell smirked, and responded with a snarky

"Depends on the pay."

Francis smiled, and said the pay. It was an outrageous amount, and could be used to buy a small cottage. The brunette smiled, his teeth gleaming, and said,

"I accept. How long do I have? The crown prince is guarded very heavily, and I might need a longer time to penetrate its forces."

He nodded, deep in thought, and replied,

"Is a month enough? That's the longest I can stretch."

"Perfect."

Francis grinned, and passed the papers to him.

The paper consisted of the person the needed to be murdered name, the date, the payment, and the assassin's signature. Mitchell scrawled his signature at the bottom, flicking a eye across the paper, analysing if anything was amiss.

Francis scooped the paper up, and stood up, straightening his clothes.

"Also, this mission is top secret, and no one knows about this except you, me and the client."

"Hmm...The crown Prince...that's a tough victim..."

The cunning assassin mused, as he leaned back on his chair.

"Oh, Mitchell, do you need me to give you the file of your victim?"

Mitchell nodded, still deep in thought. Francis stood up, and Mitchell followed suit. They went to his office.

Francis rummaged through the shelves filled with files, and plucked the chosen one out. He offered it to Mitchell, who accepted. He flipped the file open, analyzing its contents.

"This states his bedroom location, his daily activities, where he goes to lunch etc. cetera." Francis supplied, locking his fingers together, laying them on the table.

Mitchell raised one eyebrow, a silent question to where he gained all these knowledges and he replied nonchalantly, "All the spies in the castle."

Mitchell nodded, albeit impressed, and closed the file.

"Good luck."

The funeral of the passing of the late princess was that very afternoon, much to Mitchell's delight, and even better, being known as a successful businessman, he was invited. He dressed up as smartly as he could, and rode in a carriage pulled by two black horses in red harnesses. He arrived at his destination, plastering a morose expression on his face, and slowly made his way to his seat, exchanging small talk and condolences in the process. The king was seated on his gold throne, a heavy rich purple ermine cloak clasped on his broad shoulders. He wore a simple cyan long sleeved formal tunic, with an indigo tie, complementing his mesmerizing eyes of the exact same hue. He was fitted in blue jeans, and had a ring of gold and diamonds on his brow.

Guard clothed in enchanted iron armor flanked the throne, and to the right was a smaller version of the king's throne.

Seated on that throne was the crown Prince of Aragrave. He was dressed in a black formal suit, with a crimson tie, and his mahogany brown hair was sleekly combed. His eyes were swimming with sorrow, and his hands trembled a tad. He was seated down smartly on the throne, and had a similar crown like his dad, but instead silver and gold. The other dukes and people of high class sat in velvet chairs rimmed in polished iron, and exchanged condolences. Sadly, the left of the kind was empty.

The beauty-blessed queen had passed on just recently, after the birth of princess Mia.

Mitchell straightened his tie, and sat down on the chair with the other folk, and waited for the burial to start.

The sound of dejected music rang through the room and all whispers ceased to exist as the funeral began. The coffin was placed on a stand of carved birch, and the coffin was crafted painstakingly by delicate hands. It was made of spruce wood, and the pattern of flowers and vines creeped up the sides, and assorted gems were stuck tothe sides, the body was cleaned up carefully, the wound healed and body preserved, and resting in white silk.

Clearing his throat, the director started his speech.

After the formalities, came the part where the sly assassin was anticipating. They could mingle and view the coffin, the perfect opportunity for him to take down notes on his target. As everyone stood up, he followed suit, and merged with the other folk, sticking close to the crowd but not actually indulging in the gossip. He held a glass of wine in his hand, and took a small sip, covertly taking a glance at the royals.

There were about a dozen of guards, equipped with shimmering iron armor and razor-sharp swords. Six were on the right, and the other six were on the left. Their eyes constantly darted around, gaze sharp as a knife, and unfortunately, slid to Mitchell. Seeds of anxiety bloomed in his chest and sweat dripped down his back. He tried his best to remain unfazed and oblivious to their hard gaze and focused his attention back to the crowd, adding a few words of agreement into random conversations.

After what seemed like eternity, the guards couldn't find anything amiss, and slid their gaze to someone else, causing Mitchell to discreetly loose a sigh.

At least now he knew the guards. In that brief period of time, the talented man learnt the guards. Six were the prince personal guards, where the other six where just there for safety measures.

Mitchell eyes flashed in annoyance as he found out that those guards would not be as easy to take on as the ones he met the first time.

But he should be able to take them down, considering that no one knew who his victim was.

Plastering a gloomy look on his tan complexion, he made his way forwards, to the coffin, needing to attain more information. He looked down at the coffin, mummering condolences that meant nothing to him, and looked at the prince out of his peripheral vision. The prince eyes were clouded with grief and sadness, and it was obvious that he was holding back tears as he gripped the arm of the throne, his knuckles white.

Mitchell felt two emotions at that moment. Pride, for causing the prince so much pain, and guilt, also because the prince was in pain because of him. He swallowed the guilt however, scolding himself silently for exposing such vulnerability.

The king had a storm of mixed emotions in those indigo eyes. Sadness, anger, and something else that Mitchell couldn't understand...

The assassin couldn't find any more knowledge that would do him good, and grunted softly in aggravation. He made his way back to the crowd, his head low and eyes glazed with false pain. To avoid suspicion, he lingered in the crowd for a couple minutes, before slinking away into the shadows, and going back to his apartment.

_writers note_

:>

It's kinda obvious who the prince and the king is:>>

Or is it?

I just noticed how long this books gonna be. Oh welp._.

Theories anyone?

But anyways, thanks for reading and

BAAIII