Key burst through the doors, no longer caring about getting noticed. His instincts had taken over and they only said one thing- run. He knew his employer would punish him, and maybe even kill him, and his mind told him to turn back, to slit the throat of the king, but his feet didn't seem to listen. His breath coming in frantic bursts, he bolted down the staircase. He could hear them- the sounds of armor, footsteps, the twang of an arrow leaving a bow. He flung himself flat, hearing the arrow whistle over his head, then turned, his hand closing on a dagger in his boot. He had to get out. He flung the dagger, and as the blade hit the archer's forehead, he just set his jaw. He had to get out. They filled the stairs, archers lined the balcony, and Key had never been more alive. 

He fished a knife from his belt and threw it at the nearest approaching swordsman, landing it in his gut. The man collapsed backward, bringing the two men behind him down as well. Key raced by, pausing a fraction to snag the knife from the dead man's stomach and continued running across the room, vaulting over a table. He rammed his shoulder into the wood, forcing it to topple onto its side. He sheltered behind it, the arrows clattering uselessly against the strong wood. A small, hard smile on his face, Key leaned out just far enough to grab a couple of the gathering arrows in his fist. He shook off the bow strapped to his back and the quiver of arrows, and strung the bow, taking out the archers one by one. He knew they would be the most danger to him. The swordsman were still a ways away, but approaching, and he knew that while he was fighting the soldiers, a lucky shot would be the end of him. An arrow whisked by him, skimming his arm, and Key gritted his teeth. He was good with pain. It'll be fine. 

His quiver almost empty, the last of the archers gone, he leapt out from his shelter to engage the coming soldiers. He drew a long knife and zoned out. All he saw was the weak points in each man's armor, glowing like stars. He saw blood, falling to the floor, and from a lucky hit that had grazed his forehead, so he had to blink blood out of his eye. It wasn't particularly painful, but annoying all the same. He saw a silver blur of his knife as it twisted, whistling through the air. All he felt was adrenaline and determination, cold and strong. Out of the corner of his eye he saw more archers rushing into the balcony, and he spat out a curse. He slammed his blade into a soldier's forehead, and spun around, searching for an exit. There! A small door, ignored, wedged into the corner of the room. 

He turned away from the remaining soldiers, and, almost as an afterthought, he reached into a pocket, and drew out a small parcel. He skidded to a stop in front of the door, tried the doorknob, and as it twisted cleanly, he pushed through, and threw over his shoulder the parcel. He heard the crack as it hit the floor just before he slammed the door closed. It wasn't anything lethal, just a small bomb that creates confusion. This mission had turned into a disaster.

He spun around, waiting for another wave of soldiers, but nothing. He was in a small courtyard, with a still pond in the center, trees laden with apples swayed gently. The grass was well-cared for, of course. There was a ladder leading up to the roof. He knew he could get away that way. He took all of this in in a second. He had been trained to, after all. He started to the ladder. It wasn't long before they came after him.

An imperious clearing of a throat startled him, and he whirled around, reaching down to his belt, closing his hand on a knife. A boy was standing in front of him, a few feet away. He was incredibly handsome, Key had to give him that. His cheekbones were prominent and his jawbone sharp, the bare light of a lantern giving him a dramatic figure. His clothes were royal, finely made in a dark blue. Key guessed this was the crown prince. Kim Jonghyun. Rumor in Quiy was that he's a spoiled brat. Key knew enough about reading people to prove the rumor right. He had a tilt of his chin, so that even though Key was taller, the boy had a way of looking down on him. 

"What are you doing?" The boy hissed, his voice high and mighty. Key hated him immediately. 

He gave him a smirk that he knew would set him fuming. "None of your business, sweetheart." 

The boy narrowed his eyes and walked closer. "I'm the crown prince, and-"

"Oh, I know," Key interrupted, then gave him a smile that wasn't a little sarcastic. 

The boy raised his voice, like that was supposed to make Key be scared of him. "And I order you to state your business!" 

Key had had enough. He could hear the faint shouts, the running feet. He had to get out, and he was just wasting time talking to this  brat. He turned around, ignoring the boy as he raced to the ladder and climbed up. 

"Ya! Dont ignore me, you city trash! Answer me!" The boy bellowed, but didn't move from his spot. 

Key, on the roof, turned around, struggling and failing to keep his temper under control. He spun the knife between his fingertips, the moonlight glancing off the polished steel. 

"Listen, sweetheart." He twisted the knife one more time and let it go so it slammed into the grass at the stunned prince's feet.

 "You may not know it in your pea-sized, it's-all-about-me brain, but I did you a favor today. And it'll cost me, more than you know. So think a minute for opening your idiot mouth. I did something for you today, but you can trust me, sweetheart, it'll never happen again. This 'city trash' just saved you a whole lot of and a life that you would probably hate. So shut your trap until you know the full story," Key hissed at the frozen prince, and without waiting for his answer, he turned and left the knife buried in the dirt, the army pouring into the courtyard to find their quarry gone and their prince standing in the moonlight. 

Key didn't let himself relax until he was slipping into the alley leading to his house, on the outside of Quiy. He had a piece of meat  from the butcher's trash under his arm. He had ignored the large man's questions, but since the old man didn't have good vision and the light was dim, he didn't notice much of the blood splattered on Key's clothes or the multiple scratches he had received.

Key had snuck out of the castle by a small door that he guessed was a service door or an entrance for servants. The lights had gone on all about the castle, and everyone woken, but Key had escaped without someone seeing him. He wasn't worried about anyone figuring out who he was. Assassins under his employer were always normal citizens, barely noticed, with a talent and a brain. He was smart enough to keep that part of his life under wraps, and it wasn't like he had any close friends from school. He didn't go to school, and only spoke briefly with stall owners at the markets. He didn't mark his knives; he wasn't stupid, and he always washed his clothes in the stream the next day after an assignment. 

He wasn't about to be caught. He couldn't. 

But his employer, he was another story. The man knew where he lived, where he went, and Key had never caught a glimpse of him. Not once. But Key knew enough about him to know that he wouldn't hesitate to kill him. He had to be on his guard. He had never disobeyed, never failed. Worry weighed at his gut as he soft-footed it to his door.

Key unlocked the door with a non-existent key and let himself inside, closing the door and clicking the lock shut behind him. A boy was standing in the doorway, eyes fastened on Key as he stored his knives and bow in a locked chest. 

"Are you okay, hyung?" The boy questioned, coming to help him as Key methodically cleaned his weapons and slid them into the chest. Key swallowed. The boy was 16, and yet he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

"Yeah, Taeminnie, I'm fine. It's late, go to bed," Key spoke softly, gaze down, and although he knew Taemin could always tell if he was lying. The boy studied Key again, but then seemed to accept that he would never get Key to spill. He nodded, his blond hair falling into his eyes, and turned to go. 

Key locked the chest and stood up, pulling Taemin back into his arms. The boy was painfully thin. He had a hard life, but it was Key's job to make sure it didn't get any harder for his little brother. The boy relaxed, letting Key hold him for a minute, then gently pushed him away. His eyes were sad, but then again, they were always sad. 

"Good night, hyung," He whispered, then slipped into his room. Key stood, staring at the boy. He closed his eyes for a second, then flipped them open. He swiftly changed out of his stained clothes, hid them under a floorboard, and curled up on the thin mattress. 

But that night, even with everything on his mind, the worries, the fears, the one thing that kept popping into his head was the face of Kim Jonghyun, standing alone in the courtyard, shadows gathering just under his cheekbones, his large brown eyes softened by the gentle moonlight.