One Night Ago

Key flattened himself to the wall, ears straining to catch the fall of feet on the stone path, but none followed. He let out a quiet breath, relieved that he had shaken the man following him, and, still close to the wall, hidden in the shadows, he continued forward until the castle was in view. He was near the grand wall of the palace, which separated the royalty of the country from the normal people. He had been a lot of places, not exactly by his choosing, but he had never been here. The wall surrounded acers of gardens with colors that, in the daytime, would be vibrant, but were now just faint colors mixed with grey. The ponds, reflecting the crescent moon, were silent, and the paths probably bustling with servants, were silent and deserted. It was the dead of night, but Key knew there would be guards around, servants working, and he had to be careful. 

Key lowered a light hand to his belt, and felt the kiss of a knife's sharpened tip against his palm. He smiled grimly. He would do what he came to do. He had to. 

Taking the outermost path, he moved on, seeing no one, only figures outlined by the bright moon in the distance, hurrying on with their own business. No one saw him, he knew. If he was to choose, doing such a risky job with the moon's light overhead was not ideal, but it wasn't his choice. His employer had made it clear to do it tonight, and so tonight it will be. He didn't dare disobey. He needed the money. 

The castle, although it looked big even from the Quiy Market downtown, it was even bigger up close. The turrants soared up to pierce the star-spotted sky, the doors taller than a building in the market, and as Key approached the castle, it rose until nothing but the marble building could be seen, only tiny cuts of the sky. 

He couldn't get in the castle by the main entrance, that was for sure. There must be a back entrance, for sure. He adjusted the mask covering his features, made sure his hoodie was fully covering his hair, and spotted a young servant hurrying a little ways out, arms full of linens. She was alone. 

With soft feet, he snuck up to her, and, too quick for her to fight, he whipped out a small knife from his sleeve and pressed it to the pale skin on her neck, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her still. She went absolutely still, but Key felt her slight trembling. Feeling a bit of guilt form in his throat, he tilted his chin so his lips were right next to her ear. 

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered. He knew that almost never calmed them down, seeing as he had a knife at , but he always said it anyway.

"Just tell me what I need to know, and I'll let you go," he continued. He had picked a young one for a reason. The older ones were always more loyal to their masters, too willing to sacrifice their life, but the young ones were usually easier to break. 

"I need a side entrance, not well used." He told her. "Nod if you know where one is." The girl hesitated, and Key pressed the knife a little deeper, not deep enough to draw blood, but almost. Enough to hurt. She nodded. 

"You're going to take me to that door. Nod if you will." The girl swallowed. Key pressed a little deeper, until he knew a bead of blood had appeared. She didn't move. For one long second, Key thought he'd have to use it. 

The girl gave him a tiny nod.

"You won't lead me to guards, understand? I've heard that when I get angry, I like to kill everyone in my sight. And I have good eyes, sweetheart," Key hissed. It wasn't exactly true, but she didn't know that. He felt the tremble again. He knew that if he could see her face, her eyes, she would look scared to death. But he had to do this. He tightened his hold on her. He prepared himself to use the knife. The girl nodded. 

Key drew away the knife, but kept his arm wrapped around her. "Don't run."

Keeping the servant girl always in front of him, making sure she never caught a glimpse of him as she lead him, always in the shadow of the castle, around the east wing, until they came to a small, wooden door, set with a small lantern flickering above it. A latch was drawn across the door, with a chain wrapped around it, but Key didn't mind. A small flicker of triumph glimmered inside of him, but he knew not to relax until the job was done and he was home.

The girl, head down, pointed to the door. Key, arm preventing her form running, bent down to whisper in her ear. "You won't tell anyone, am I right, sweetheart?" The girl nodded, and as Key let her go, the light caught her face. She was lying. He knew it. With a single long stride, he spun the startled girl around, stiffened his smallest finger, and jammed it just under her ear. The girl, scared, had only a moment to react before she dropped, unconscious, into Key's waiting arms. 

Key arranged her as gently as possible so that when mornings came, and he was long gone, the girl would be found, or would just wake up herself. It was late spring, so it wasn't like she would freeze to death outside. 

Inside, Key slowly slid the door shut, careful of the noise. He was in a small corridor, and, judging from the sounds and smells, close to the kitchen. The kitchen, in royal family's, he knew, ran all night and day, so he couldn't wait it out. Besides, that might be risky if he waited. More of a chance of someone stumbling over him. He didn't want another unconscious person to hide. No, it was safer to risk going by them. He had studied a map of the castle lay out beforehand, so he knew the target's chambers were in the center of the castle. They were in the east wing, and it wasn't far from the center. What would be the trick is sneaking by unnoticed. The maps hadn't shown anything but main rooms, no small doors or passage ways. He hated going through the main hall, but he had to. There wasn't any other option. 

Venturing out, he crept down the hallway, soft footing it past the storage rooms. There it was. The first obstacle. A brightly lit room, clattering with voices and tools and the slight roar of the ovens. Every now and then, kitchen workers would appear from the room, carrying cakes or platters with meals on it, disappearing and then coming back, the tray empty. Key didn't see any guards around, and so he quietly slipped by.

Keeping to the shadows, he a tiny, thumb long blade tucked into a metal sheath in his belt. The end was dipped in poison, so a single scratch could kill a man in an hour. He had never really liked blood. He preferred, if he had to do it, to be clean. His job was to kill and get out, not to mop the floor. The corridor was silent, lit with soft lamps, white fire that only the royals could afford glowing inside. 

Footsteps. Key pressed himself to the wall, and the soldiers came from around from the corner. Three of them. He knew that they would see him in seconds. He knew he could take them, easily. He closed his hand on the hilt of a knife, but then released it. He would do this freehand. 

Slipping behind the obvious soldiers, he struck. Swinging out a foot, he caught the first one in the back of his neck, where he knew the soldiers armor was foolishly weak. The man went down. His companions whirled around, the sound of swords sliding out of their sheaths cutting through the silence. Key waited, a smirk curling his lips. The shorter one swung, but Key easily dodged, stepping closer as the soldier tried to regain his balance, but Key's fist met his jaw and the man stumbled back, cursing. 

"Now, sweetheart, no foul language," Key chuckled, as the third soldier fumed, his sword not helping as Key just stepped nimbly out of the way. His mouth opened wide, probably to sound the alarm, and Key couldn't have that. He brought his foot up to clip his chin, and the man dropped like a sack of flour. A thick arm encircled Key's neck, and he stilled instantly. The man behind him chuckled, and so did Key. The man paused, as if wondering why his captive was laughing, but he didn't get to far. Key reached up, deadened his arm, spun around, and punched the man in the face, the stomach, and knocked him out. 

Leaving the three unconscious guards lying on the ground, Key knew he had to move fast. The brief fight must've drawn some attention, and he had to get this over with. 

He was too careful to run though, and so he continued, switching into a different hallway as to hope to avoid any followers. He ran up the stairs, careful not to make a sound. He only encountered four individual soldiers which he dealt with easily. He may be in the business of killing, but he didn't like to do it. He would only kill if necessary. He stored the two guards guarding the entrance in a nearby closet, and undid the latch, slipping through the crack before shutting the door behind him. He had gotten this far. He had to do this right, but at this stage, he always got that pit in his stomach. And he had always been able to ignore it. 

He released a breath, before spinning around, the glory of the room stunning him for a minute. It was a huge sitting space, with a fireplace taller than Key, couches that looked a mile deep, ornate, carved glass tables, footstools that Key knew cost twice as much as his house placed in stratagetic locations. The ceiling was twice as tall as Key's own house, the molding in gorgeous colors of deep blue and gold, the colors of the kings. The soaring windows were clear and like crystal, gazing down at everyone else, the glass edged with stained glass in a dark blue. Everywhere there was space, gold was set into the walls, the furniture. Rare black marble set with veins of gold and blue was cut into blocks for the floor, and jewels and pears glittered in the white light. He fought down a surge of jealousy. With one of those pearls, he could pay rent for years. The king was here, surrounded in weath and comfort while down in Quiy people were starving, begging for a bit of stale bread.

The room was deserted, the king no where to be found, but Key knew that his bedroom was in the room next to it. He started toward the huge door, conscious of the quietness, the stillness of the room. He pulled at the door, glad that it slid open quietly. He flattened himself, managing to pull himself throug the small space. So this was his room.  It was a lot like the room before, with the same floor and ceiling, but in the center was a huge bed, marble pillers at each corner. Delicate white cloth with sapphire accents was draped over it, for privacy, Key guessed, and he couldn't help but snicker under his breath at the girliness of the bed, although it had certainly cost a lot of money. He was suprised at the lack of security around the king, but the kingdom hadn't seen a killed king in decades. Well, he'd make history, Key thought. Glancing around, he only saw an old women sleeping in the corner. He walked over there, and, feeling guilty, gave her a sharp hit on her head, just to make sure she stayed asleep. Finally, a kind of ritual in his movements, he approached the bed, and drew back the curtain so he was staring down at the face of the sleeping king. He drew out his little knife, and then, for the first time since his first assignment, he paused. He didn't want to kill him. It wasn't that he'd been a bad king. He was very good at war, but he didn't see his country outside of the castle and the people downtown, who would be perfect for soldiers. But did he deserve this? Key didn't know. He froze. This had never happened to him. But something told him not to kill this man. Swallowing, he slid the knice back in his belt, and ran.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

First chapter! Yay! Please tell me what you think, because if I see comments I get motivated and I update more. Thank you!