There is no way I'm getting out of this alive, it's either now or never. He is a general, which means I'll have to stay here until he falls asleep or is distracted enough so I can slit his throat. My dagger trembles in my hand, aching for me to sheathe it. I am not ashamed to admit I am frightened, my heartbeat a horse's gallop in my chest. I do not want to kill him. Out of the entire kingdom, there are three Generals keeping peace over such a large populace. The Red General is ranked second after The Red Tiger; a woman of brute strength and pious habits. She is cunning and small and beautiful; rumours made by those who have escaped with their lives or have glimpsed her face under a heavy Red mask. They all wear masks. Every General, Captain and Royal Guard are covered with only the skin of their necks to prove that they are human underneath.
He trudges with heavy, tired feet. The smell of buttermilk and soft bread permeates the air, along with a musk that can only belong to a man of his stature. He inhales deeply, sitting on the edge of the bed. A ruffle of clothes sounds like the grating of sandpaper in the silence, I hold my breath for fear that he must collect them off the floor and glimpse a small girl under his bed. Oh, how wonderful would that be in other circumstances.
His shirt is off, I can tell when he chucks it into the bureau. Then his belt when the buckle clacks together like fireworks. Then his shoes. He disappears for a while and minutes later a shower is running in a nearby room. I smile. Perfect timing.
I slip out from under the metal frame of the bed and almost crawl towards the door. Steam already clouds the air, blurring my vision slightly, my throat suddenly thickens with nervousness. I inch toward the shower curtains, his body clearly outlined through its sheer fabric. He is tall, lithe with heavy muscle and shoulder length hair. But his legs are weirdly shaped. They do not match the outline of his torso.
His arms drop to his side, the water stops running. My heart stutters as a low, disappointed click of a tongue echoes in my head.
"I'm honestly getting tired of these attempts now. It's annoying me." His voice is like a song I do not recognize, a snippet of pure amusement threaded through a tired tune. It makes me sway on my feet, wanting to stay and listen until the song ends. But the instruments clatter, the strings burst.
He pulls the curtain aside, streaks of brown and black flash before my eyes and before I know it I am pinned against the opposing bathroom wall. His heavy arm is against my small throat, thighs that are still covered in a thicker leather material pins me in. Ah, that's why it seemed odd.
"Who are you, who sent you?" The question seems more of a command than an inquiry. He towers above me. I glance up into pure honey brown eyes; eyes that are too tired for a young man with such innocence aching to break through. In another life, I would've taken solace in those eyes. Eyes that gleam a certain familiarity that pierce my soul, my stomach twisting. Eyes that remind me of—
"Don't make me ask again."
"How—"
"I know when this room is broken in to. You can't think me dumb as a General. Answer the question."
"I cannot answer that question."
"And why not?" He tilts his head precariously, an eagle ready to strike. "Did she send you? After she so callously failed and threatened me last time?"
With a raise of my eyebrow, he realizes that he's said too much. "I'm only going to ask one more time. Who are you, and who sent you."
When I stay silent, he releases me with a huff of a breath. In one quick, smooth motion, he snatches the blade from my hand and points it at my neck.
My hands fly into a surrender, eyes dancing on the glint of the blade. "Okay, okay. Take it easy."
"You have a lot of nerve telling me to take it easy when you're the one trying to assassinate me."
When he presses the blade against my neck, I close my eyes. Lie. You've been doing it since you were a child. Don't choke up now.
"I can't tell you who sent me because I do not know myself. It was given to me against my will." Half truth.
"And you're so dull that you'd follow blind orders?"
"As I said, against my will."
He eyes me warily, scanning me from head to toe. The innocence brimming in his eyes are battling with something else ferocious, something dangerous. "You do not look like an assassin. Neither a mercenary. I take it this is your first assignment?"
"I could be a veteran for all you know, don't undermine me."
He drops the blade, flips it with one smooth slide of hand and offers me the hilt. I take it warily, trying to decipher the emotions that swarms him. "Then kill me. Because veteran or not, no one in their right mind will ever try to assassinate a General. And succeed."
"What about the she you so politely spoke about? Was she not skilled enough?"
He smirks, as if I actually said something funny. "I never said unskilled. I said not in her right mind."
He tenses a bit, his left foot turning to the left with precise grace. He strikes, a low kick. I dodge in time, spinning around to face his side mid-spin. I kick at his knees, stepping out slightly to knock the hilt of the dagger agaisnt his temple, sending him falling to the bathroom floor. As soon as his heavy body thuds against the floor I wrap my legs around him, straddling his waist, dagger against the base of his damp throat. His hair sticks messily against his face, and from a different light, I see a scar that runs through his right eyebrow, stopping right beside his eye.
"You undermine the crazy ones."
He rests his head against the ground, swallowing heavily. I follow the motion with my eyes, feeling his rhythmic heartbeat skip. "Do it then. If you're so proud of having no sense whatsoever."
"It's that easy?"
"Yes. That easy."
I press the blade against his throat, drawing a drop of blood. The sight sends my head spinning. No, you have to do this. Don't back out now.
I press harder, he hisses, hands clenching against his side. "Are you going to kill me or torture me. I don't do well with torture."
"I don't think you're supposed to be cracking jokes on the edge of death."
"What can I say; the devil has a sense of humour."
A knock echoes through the room and my head whips up, only for the room to tilt in a full, blurry circle. I huff a strained breath, feeling my lungs crush against the ground and the giant of the honey coloured beast straddling my small body.
"Who is it?" He calls, his hand cupped over my mouth. Sweat and warm beads of water trickle down my lips and neck, the heat of him seeps through the thick leather, making me break out into an automatic sweat.
"Sir, it's me, Daina." Shit. She's supposed to be asleep.
"What's wrong dear?" He eyes me with a suspecting glare. He already knows that whatever Daina has to report, it's about me.
"I think...there's an intruder in the house, sir. He knocked me out, and...stole my clothes. I'm sorry to interrupt your quiet time sir, but I didn't think it could wait. I just woke up from collecting your flowers."
He smirks at me, then in a flash it disappears. "Thank you for telling me Daina. Where's Rider?"
"Right down the hall."
"Good. Stay close to Rider. Get Poppy and the girl. Rest for tonight, I'll see to the intruder."
The door clicks shut, and he rocks back on his heels. Scratching his stubble with the tip of the dagger, he mutters, "My handmaid? Really? She's a quiet enough woman without you traumatizing her."
He stands straight, a giant in front of a tiny mouse. He does not offer any other words. Instead he sheaths my dagger, and disarms me of the rest. When I am on my feet again he walks into his bedroom, tying his curly black hair back into a short, messy ponytail.
"You turn your back on your enemy. How very ignorant of you."
He chuckles, "You're a mercenary who can't kill. A dog with no teeth. A snake with no venom. You are clearly no threat to me or else you would've slit my throat at the given opportunity." He turns to me, eyeing my body once more. A clear thought processing through his brain.
"Do you simply leer at all your assassinators like that?
"I'm not leering, girl. I'm assessing. You are young, somewhat experienced and were given a blatant suicide mission you followed through with blind obedience." He ambles to the dresser, tugging a shirt over his muscled torso. Before the shirt is fully on, I glimpse a black outline of a rose covered in rain clouds and a half shaded sun two inches away on his scarred rib cage that I've clearly misplaced before. Another tattoo snakes around the length of his forearm; a snake with thorns attached to its scales. The last one is on his back but he tugs his shirt on before I have a chance to decipher it. "Let's just say you've caught my attention.
"There are many myths that exist in this world," he continues, "Groups of men who kill, who hunt, who believe in freedom, who believe in bloodshed. Which one do you work for?"
I stay quiet, knowing what he is referring to. If I say the Reaper is the one who proffered the mission, he'd slit my throat instantly. But wouldn't I prefer a quick death with him? Or torture with the Reaper.
"If I leave without your blood spilled, I will be killed regardless. So do it. Just kill me and be done with it. Make it quick."
"So eager to die? Are you just giving up so easily?" He clicks his tongue, a sound of disappointment, "Honestly expected more from you."
"I am not eager to die. But dying by your hand is better than what I will experience if I live to see another day in my world." I stand straighter when he looks at me, curiosity a sparking ember in his eyes.
"Do you know what death feels like? The soul crushing hand that clamps around you until you can no longer breathe, can no longer feel. That hand around your heart that makes you wish you really were dead." He saunters over to me, still rooted in front of the bathroom door. "If you did, you would not wish that upon yourself. You would ask to leave."
"I do know what it is like." When I say this, he startles, eyebrows pinching together but not in shock, no...something indistinguishable. "If I go out there again..."
"What? Will the man who sent you kill you instead?"
"No. Worse." I do not lie, not with the way he is assessing me.
"You will live. And so will I." He steps closer, a sorrowful expression encasing his somber face. "You are not a killer. You do not wish to be one. Do not let someone else decide that for you in exchange for your own life."
He backs away slowly, striding towards the door. "Are you letting me go?" My voice is not my own. I do not realise how badly my hands shake, how dry my throat has become. My body is soaked with sweat and water from his. I was a fool to believe I could ever do this.
"You've seen my face, girl. It is too late for that." With that, he exits the room and the lock clicks from the outside.