The sun of the next day barely peeked over the mountains when a subtle movement began in the halls of the castle.
Several men clad in black uniforms moved along the paths with quiet, hurried footsteps.
They stopped before a certain double door and opened it slowly, not to cause any sound or disturbance to the one inside.
There were a dozen of them, each holding a crossbow, as they stepped into the room.
They circled the four-poster bed with its curtains drawn, separating them from the one sleeping within.
A knowing glance was exchanged as they held their weapons aloft and took their aim.
In a heartbeat, a barrage of arrows tore through the curtains, shredding them to bits and pieces as they embedded themselves in the poor person on the other side.
Everything went still for a moment, only the stirred-up down and fluff from the attack was drifting slowly through the air.
It was utterly quiet.
Troubely so, one might argue.
