Elora ran down a dimly lit corridor, the light of an occasional
flickering torch dancing in the shallow puddles dotting her path. The water splashed up her bare
legs as she fled from her pursuers, hollering and clamoring after her.
            Elora had crept into the king’s chambers, her mother’s dagger pressed tightly to the inside
of her wrist. The king had left his balcony door open, the utter fool. She had planned three
different routes in and out of the king’s bedchamber and never considered that she would be
handed the easiest one on a silver platter. His arrogance rarely surprised her anymore. There was
hardly enough light to see by from the barely risen moon – this night had been chosen carefully.
Her dark cloak concealed her face, should anything go wrong.
            Elora stalked around the back of the massive canopy bed. The queen was asleep, lying
facing the balcony doors. She was not Elora’s target. Not tonight. The king shifted in his sleep,
his hand falling limply over the side of the bed. Good, she thought. It would be over quickly. His
wouldn’t be the first throat she’d slit under the cover of night, and until his mess was fixed, it
likely wouldn’t be the last. After a quick glance at the hulking doorway to her right, she moved
swiftly to the side of the bed. Expertly dropping her dagger into her hand, she flicked her sleeve
away from the blade. The faint light caught the surface, seemingly winking at her as she moved it
to the king’s neck.
            The blade had barely made contact with his skin when the doors were loudly opened,
creaking out a split-second warning. A flood of palace guards came pouring through the
doorway, the ancient wooden doors heavy enough to buy Elora some time. Cursing under her
breath, she fled back in the direction she came, towards the balcony. The fabric of her long cloak
billowed above her head as she expertly swung herself over the balcony and dropped to one a
floor below. The landing was awkward, and she was forced to roll until she roughly hit the
opposite wall. With no time to catch her breath, Elora leapt up and threw open the balcony door,
finding an empty bedroom with an unmade bed and no lit candles. Shouting could be heard in the
distance, not far enough away for comfort.
            Pulling the door open, Elora burst out into a hallway she wasn’t lucky enough to find
empty. Taking off in the opposite direction, she entered the dark hallway, flying over puddles and
stones made slippery with moss. Her steps were so light they could hardly be heard, and she was
simultaneously annoyed and impressed with the guards behind her managing to keep pace. There
was supposed to be a small tunnel up ahead, and she ran her hand along the wall as she ran,
ready to grab the corner and swing herself inside.
            The tunnel appeared right where she expected it to, and Elora was delighted to see it was
small enough that the guards would have to enter one at a time, allowing her to create a
significant amount of distance. Unable to suppress her satisfied smile as she listened to the
guards shoving each other deeper into the tunnel, their armor scraping sickeningly on the
cobblestones, Elora jumped out of the tunnel and into another hallway. She switched directions,
running towards a bedroom on the opposite end of the castle. With a silent prayer to whoever
was listening, she opened the door and breathed a sigh of relief to find the bedroom empty. Elora
closed the door silently behind her and ran to the balcony, jumping over it to scale the wall
towards her own bedroom window.
            A curt knock at her door made Elora jump as she slipped through her window with no
time to spare. She was barely able to shove off her cloak and stuff it under her bed as the door
opened to reveal Jonson, the king’s chief advisor. His appearance at her door cut through her like
a knife, and she hid her shaking hands behind her back. Jonson was a wretched man who hid
beneath a rather handsome exterior, who Elora had always despised. He always made eyes at her
from across the dining hall and had cornered her in dim corridors more than once. His throat was
the next on her list, even if for purely selfish reasons.
            As he stepped into her room uninvited, Jonson’s lips curled up to reveal his too sharp
teeth. With the way he looked at her, Elora couldn’t help but compare him to the mutts that
occasionally found their way into the king’s kennels, though he was far more deserving of the
fates that found often found those poor mutts. She fought against the snarl that threatened at the
corners of her mouth and lifted a hand, urging him impatiently to get on with it or get out.
“The king has requested the presence of his healer. There’s been an attack.”
                                                                                    ***
            Elora had been expecting this, though she was surprised the call came so quickly. The
dagger’s blade had barely touched his skin, but it was likely sharp enough to leave something
superficial. The King had always been frustratingly dramatic. Gathering her herbs and salves into
her leather messenger bag – another heirloom from her mother – she followed Jonson out of the
room and towards the spiral staircase at the end of the hall. Doing her best to ignore the itch of
sweat on her hairline, Elora attempted to fill the space and get some information out of the
advisor.
            “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” she asked, her fingers tingling with the
thought of driving her dagger into Jonson’s back as she glared at it. It would be so easy, but far
too suspicious tonight. Like the queen, he would be spared until Elora was ready.
            Jonson glanced at her, turning only slightly as he ascended the stairs. “A girl in a cloak
snuck into the king’s chambers and tried to kill him,” he replied, shrugging as if it were a
common occurrence. Elora bristled at the nonchalance, insulted that the threat she posed was not
being taken seriously. She digested what he had told her – she already knew all of it, of course,
but his clarification that the assassin was a girl gave her pause.
            “How do you know it was a girl?” Too careless, she thought. Years in this godforsaken
place had made her reckless.
            Jonson snickered, her blood curdling in her veins as she waited for his answer. Somehow,
she hated him more than the King. “Educated guess,” he said, turning to wink at her.
Elora’s face remained neutral, but her ears hummed with panic, waves of anger crashing
behind her eyes.
                                                                                    ***
            Once in the king’s chambers, Elora found him sitting on the edge of his bed, a
handkerchief pressed to his neck. As she approached, her eyes flicked briefly to Queen Deanna.
The older woman was gazing at her strangely, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her long,
midnight blue dressing gown matched the silk bed sheets she sat on top of. By all accounts, the
queen was beautiful, but her stare was cold and distant. Elora looked away, shuddering under the
weight of her eyes.
            King Bradley lifted his free hand as Elora got closer. “Oh, my dear Elora! Thank the gods
you’ve arrived. Have you heard about the attack?” The king’s dramatics were nothing new to
Elora. How he had managed to do so much damage to the world as he has while seeming so daft
never ceased to amaze her. She knew, though, underneath the façade that he was dangerous. He
liked to be made to feel important, and he punished those who didn’t follow that unspoken rule.
Fanning himself with his free hand, he allowed Elora to lift the cloth from his neck as she
kneeled next to him. There was no need to look at the cloth to know there’d be hardly any blood
on it. Keeping her voice low and even, she responded coolly, “I’ve heard, yes. I’m glad you’re
alright, Your Majesty.” She wasn’t. “What will you and your guards do to prevent this from
happening again?” It was a bold question, stupid even, and had anyone else asked it, they’d be an
instant suspect. Not Elora, however. She’d saved his and his men’s lives far too many times
during her tenure at the castle for her to be untrustworthy, not in his eyes.
            As she expected, the king was all too happy to part with crucial information about his
new security detail. Guards on every balcony on this side of the castle, more patrols at night, and
a weekly thorough inspection of every room in the castle. Elora had to swallow a sigh of
frustration as she listened to him yammer on. Tonight’s mistake would certainly set her back, but
she was resilient, and smarter than his men. These new obstacles would be worked around within
the week.
            The king kept speaking, so Elora kept nodding along, grinding up thyme and sage in a
small mortar. Mixing them with one of the healing salves she’d made only this morning, she
smeared it on the small cut on the king’s neck. He yelped in pain as the herb mixture made
contact, and every guard in the room stood up straighter, their armor shifting and clinking in
cacophonous unison. Elora had to fight not to roll her eyes as she stood from the floor, pressing
her long nails into her palm hard enough to draw blood.
            She bowed to the king and queen and stepped back. “You’ll be healed by tomorrow
afternoon, send for me if not,” she said, knowing that she wouldn’t be needed again. Though she
tried to just turn and walk away, she couldn’t help but steal one more glance at the queen. Her
heavy stare had not wavered, and she continued to level it on Elora. She had the strange feeling
that Queen Deanna could see directly into her soul, see her true reason for being in this castle.
Her hands trembled as she headed back to her rooms.
                                                                                    ***
            Elora needed to get rid of her cloak. She was permitted to travel into the town
surrounding the large stone castle as long as she informed one of the King’s servants of her
departure, should he need her again. If the King had been remotely normal, he wouldn’t need a
live-in healer. His life had only been seriously threatened once, in a training exercise gone
wrong. The same cannot be said for his soldiers, who were often brought to her in various states
of disarray and injury. Though she felt little sympathy for them, she ultimately knew she was just
as complicit with the King’s wrongdoings as they were so long as she stayed in his castle and
kept his men healthy.
            Elora had stumbled across one of the servants on her way towards the ground floor, a
kind man named Alistar. After learning of her plan to be gone for a few hours, he merely nodded
politely and kept walking with his basket of fresh linens. As she walked, she was acutely aware
of the neatly folded cloak in the bottom of her bag. If she risked leaving it in the castle, she could
be found out at any moment. The relief of getting out of the stifling walls for a few hours filled
her with renewed energy, and she had to stop herself from sprinting towards the massive gate
into town as it came into view. Finally, freedom, if only for a few-
            “Going somewhere?” Jonson grabbed her arm, his fingernails pressing into her jade
green, freshly laundered tunic. She deflated instantly, disappointment threatening to choke her.
She had to get away from him.
            “I’m going into town. I have already informed Alistar. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” she
attempted to shake out of his grip, but he wasn’t done torturing her yet.
“You need an escort. New rules after last night’s attack. Lucky for you, I happen to be
free for the next few hours,” Jonson replied, his face shifting into a smug, ugly grin. Elora
wrestled with her options, looking around the castle grounds in a silent plea for help.
            Unfortunately, they were alone. She couldn’t come up with an excuse he would be likely to
accept, and realized she’d have no choice but to allow him to chaperone her for the day.
She ripped her arm out of his grasp and smoothed out her tunic as she turned away from
him. “As you wish,” Elora uttered. Somehow, she’d have to shake him in order to part with her
old cloak and purchase a less conspicuous one. Jonson always had a way of ruining her good
moods.
                                                                                    ***
            Elora relished in her infrequent trips to Olernen, the small yet bustling town just outside
the castle walls. The townspeople reminded her of home. A village full of vibrant houses and
joy. The holiday celebrations alone would last days, and oh, how she longed for those days. The
stone walls she suffered in were cold and unforgiving, and she dreamt of the sandy beaches from
whence she’d come.
            Jonson cleared his throat next to her and her face fell into a scowl. She whipped towards
him, crossing her arms as she shifted her messenger bag a hair farther from his reach.
            “Can I help you?” Elora snapped, speeding up her walking pace. Jonson only shrugged.
Rage flared inside Elora and she stopped herself short of growling at him.
            Up ahead, the merchant stall she’d been searching for came into view. By name, it was an
apothecary. As the king’s healer, shopping at an apothecary stall raised no suspicions against her,
which is why it worked so perfectly as cover for the guild. Elora greeted the merchant as she
arrived, an unusually tall woman named Lyandra. She beckoned her through the curtain behind
her, leading into the apothecary storage tent. The tent was charmed, guaranteeing no sound
would escape once the curtain was closed. As Jonson moved to follow her, Lyandra held up a
hand and shook her head. He briefly opened his mouth to protest but she held his stare with her
own stern one, looking down at him from a foot and a half above.
            “Only one. Wait for turn,” she said, and closed the curtain behind them. Like Elora, she
wasn’t from this country, or even this side of the world. Elora had never asked where exactly she
hailed from, and she didn’t recognize her thick accent.
            Amongst shelves of ingredients ranging from sage to elf’s foot sat a table covered by a
thin red tablecloth. Crouched over a map on the table stood Elora’s brother. They regarded each
other coldly, staring from across the small space with upturned noses.
            “Percy,” Elora stated, raising an eyebrow.
            “Elora,” he said her name sharply, narrowing his eyes as he stared at her, then jerked his
head towards the map. She huffed and walked over to the table, dropping her bag into a chair and
following it down soon after. He pointed to a mark on the map between two red pins. “Your
deadline just got closer.”
            “What?” Elora exclaimed, heat prickling at her cheeks. “I have three more weeks to
finish this job. I’ve been working on this for years; you can’t take time away from me now.”
“While it’s true that the intel you have provided from inside the castle has been…helpful,
we’ve decided to move forward with our invasion plan before the first freeze. The king must die
this week, Elora.” He never said her name with any kindness, but something was especially
biting about the way he said it today.
            Elora threw up her hands in disbelief and looked towards Lyandra, who offered no help
as she met her pleading gaze with a completely emotionless one. “They just increased security. I
don’t know if I can do that.”
            Percy didn’t look up from the table when he responded. “That’s a mistake that you made,
Elora. It’s a mistake you alone have to deal with. Get it done and get out of my sight.” He waved
her off and she grit her teeth together painfully as she stared at the side of his head. She wanted
to scream.
            Turning to Lyandra, she pulled the cloak from her bag. “I need a new disguise.” She
couldn’t buy a new cloak in front of Jonson, and after getting out of his sight for even the last
five minutes, she knew she’d never hear the end of it.
                                                                                    ***
            Jonson finally left her alone when she was safely back in her quarters. For hours, she
paced back and forth, mentally mapping out the various routes through the castle. She realized
that only one route lead her to the king’s chambers now that the windows and balconies were
being so heavily guarded, and that was through the guards stationed in the hallway, not to
mention those in his bedchamber.
            Elora ran through countless possibilities for this singular route of attack in her mind,
biting her thumb nail as she stared at the far wall of her bedroom. She’d been trained to attack
silently, to move with shadows and leave as quickly as she’d come, ruined lives in her wake. The
mistake from last night and her shortened timeline would cost her deeply, and she no longer felt
a silent attack was possible. There was a very real possibility she’d go down with this ship.
Dropping into her bed, Elora crossed her arms over her eyes and sighed. She’d come here
as a spy, and she would leave here as a wanted assassin, if she even got that far. This wasn’t
what she’d envisioned for her life. Born and raised as a healer, she used the gifts she’d inherited
to help others. Magic that set broken bones, cured infections, and saved lives. Magic that
threatened the king’s empire. Magic Elora used to heal him for all these years. Now, he had to
die.
            Elora was startled out of her thoughts when a curt knock rang out at her door. She
slapped her hands down on her duvet, letting out a groan of frustration as she stood to answer the
door. Whoever had come to bother her now was likely to get a verbal lashing like none other-
            “Hello, Elora. May I come in?”
            Elora stood gaping at the queen, who had appeared in her doorway. Blinking, she stepped
back and held her hand out, palm up, as she gestured behind herself into her room. Queen
Deanna stepped inside, walked elegantly to Elora’s small breakfast table and sat down. In all
these years, the two had hardly exchanged little more than polite pleasantries, and even that was
rare.
            Her mind raced as she closed the door and sat across from the queen, trying to keep her
face level as panic crashed like waves in her ears. The queen said nothing for several minutes,
looking around at Elora’s room. She became all too aware of the dust on her windowsill, the
discarded tunic on her bedpost, and the crumbs poking into her skin as she interlaced her fingers
on the green and gold tablecloth to keep them from trembling.
            Suddenly, the queen’s attention was fixed on her. “You were there last night.” It was
matter of fact, a statement that left no room for questions. Elora’s eyes widened slightly, then
narrowed.
            “I’m sorry?” She’d been trained to lie and talk herself out of every situation. Every
situation except for this one.
            “You tried to kill my husband last night. I saw your face.” There was almost no emotion
in her voice, nothing but vague disinterest as far as Elora could tell.
            She opened her mouth to speak and, realizing she didn’t know what to say, closed it.
There was nothing she could do to dig herself out this time. She’d been caught. Though she
could try lying, if the queen told the guards it had been her, she would be hanged by sundown no
matter what story she fed them.
            The queen gazed at her from across the table, perfectly calm and collected. Her eyes
betrayed no anger. Elora’s hands began to shake as she removed them from the table and
dropped them in her lap.
            “Elora, I’d like to help you eliminate him.”
                                                                                    ***
            After the queen left her room, Elora sat going over their conversation in her head over
and over again. It was more than likely a trap that would result in her capture or death, but what
choice did she have? Whether the queen was on her side or not, she knew Elora was the assassin.
There was no option but to trust her, for now.
            Queen Deanna had told her that her marriage was one of unity between two nations, that
she had come from a neighboring country to Elora’s own. Her father, their ruler, had given her to
the king in exchange for guaranteed protection of his own country when the king started his
rampage. Only recently did Deanna learn that the king had every magic user in her country
killed, including her mother.
            “I’ve known what you are since you arrived in this castle,” she had said to Elora. She
hadn’t meant an assassin. Elora used magic in her salves and ointments, a simple yet effective
way to solidify herself as an exceptionally effective healer without drawing the wrong attention
to herself. Someone who didn’t know any better would never think twice. Like Deanna, it was a
technique she learned from her mother. Her mother, who was dead or almost there in a work
camp halfway around the world.
            Elora curled her fingers into a fist as she thought of her mother. That was the last she’d
heard from her father, a letter sent in code to tell her about her mother’s capture. She wasn’t
entirely sure what became of her father, either. That last letter came three months ago.
Raking her fingers through her hair, she stood up from her seat at the table where Deanna
had left her stunned and silent. Maybe it was a trap, or maybe it was her only chance to complete
her mission and get the hell out of these castle walls. She had plans to find her mother, if she
survived.
            Elora thought back to Percy’s map in the guild tent. They came from a guild of mages
hidden in plain sight in Olernen. Percy, however, inherited no magic from their parents and had
always resented her for it. For all his cruelty, he was a great strategist and proved his value,
magic or not. That didn’t mean Elora enjoyed taking his orders.
            If she got this right and the king was dead by morning, Percy and his men could move on
Olernen and take advantage of the power vacuum she would have just created. The queen had to
know that the rebel forces would likely kill her, even if she supported their cause. Her face was
that of a tyrant’s wife, and her silence in their marriage made her liable. Elora found herself
getting angrier as she considered the fact that Deanna only cared now that her mother had been
killed. How many mothers had died during her rule while she sat idle? Perhaps Elora would kill
her before Percy could. She shook her head as anger threatened to choke her.
            No matter, Deanna promised her safe passage into the king’s chambers tonight when the
moon hadn’t yet risen and the sun was beyond the tree line. The guard’s shift change would
provide enough cover for her to slip past and toward a secret passage known only to the king and
queen. It led directly into their bedroom, an old and almost forgotten escape route should the
castle ever be invaded. If only the king had known the invasion happened long ago, his most
trusted healer the most dangerous person he’d ever come into contact with.
            Elora dug her new cloak out from under her bed, hidden behind extra linens and an old
duvet. It was a deep purple, the fabric rough on the outside but smooth against her skin. On the
back was an embroidered symbol of the mage’s guild. It was intricate and beautifully crafted, a
gift from Lyandra she never expected when she asked for a new cloak. As an extra measure,
Lyandra had given her a mask, just enough to cover her eyes. It was far too risky to leave
something like that lying around before, should someone like Jonson ever go snooping. But now,
she was out of time and had nothing left to lose, and she might as well look the full part.
            As the hours ticked by, Elora sharpened her dagger and sat on her bed, twirling it around
absentmindedly, lying in wait for the queen’s signal. She couldn’t deny that she was nervous, her
skills admittedly lacking with years of no practice or training. There was only so much one could
do from their bedroom, a handful of floors below their target’s quarters.
            Lost in thought, a swift, singular knock at her door startled her out of her daze. Elora’s
bag sat packed in one corner, ready to be grabbed as she fled from this wretched place. Before
she could escape, however, she’d have to finish her mission. She stood, looking towards the
window. It was time to go.
                                                                                    ***
            Elora found a hidden entrance exactly where the queen had told her it would be, deep in
the tunnels below the castle. She crawled through the tiny opening, the mossy cobblestones
below her hands biting into her skin. On the other side, she stood to find a winding spiral
staircase. It was so dark she could hardly see a few inches above her. Pulling a long candlestick
out of her cloak, Elora lit it with a match and started her trek up to the top floor of the castle. The
candle would only burn for so long and the wax was already dripping onto her hand; she had to
hurry.
            The staircase was eerily quiet as she ascended, the candlelight only extending a few stairs
in front of her. Her unease deepened as she walked, and she kept waiting to turn a corner and
walk into the king’s guards, waiting to arrest her and send her to the very same work camp where
her mother was likely lying in a mass grave. She squeezed her eyes shut against the imagery,
willing her mind to clear. Now was the time to focus.
            What felt like hours later, Elora hit the ceiling of the staircase. She held the ends of the
candlestick up to it, looking for the seam that would tell her where the trap door was. Cool air
seeped through a small gap towards the far end of the ceiling; she’d found it. Elora stood silently
under the door, listening for any semblance of noise or commotion. Hearing nothing, she
dropped the candle to the floor, stomping the last of the flames out.
            She placed her fingertips against the trap door and pushed lightly upward. Perhaps
surprisingly, it lifted easily, the carpet covering it sliding off as she opened it. Standing on her
toes, she peered cautiously into the room, canvassing all the guards. The queen had once again
told her the truth. Four guards, two at each entrance to the room. The weight of four throwing
knives on her belt was a familiar one, a knife for each guard. She’d have to take them out in
pairs, or she risked alerting three of four to her presence too early. Losing her advantage would
mean losing her life.
            The trap door was located at the farthest point in the room, equidistant from both doors. It
was dark, and she’d be able to blend into the wall for enough time to take out the guards. Elora
lifted herself expertly and silently out of the trap door and stood pressed against the wall. Slowly
moving her cloak away from her belt, she grabbed two of her knives and held her breath as she
focused on her first targets - the guards at the main entrance to the room.
            The knives glided across the dark room and found their targets at the same time. Both
men slumped to the floor, the sound alerting the guards across the room. Elora had already
readied her remaining knives and swiftly sent them flying, taking out the remaining two guards.
The king stirred in his bed but didn’t sit up. The queen looked asleep, but Elora knew better.
She crept up to the bed. The king was on his side, facing away from her. Her mother’s
dagger dropped into her hand, and she reached around him, placing the cold steel against his
throat. Elora ripped off her mask as the king was startled awake.
            “King Bradley, remember the face of your killer,” Elora spoke, breaking the silence as
the king opened his mouth to yell for his guards. Before he could get the words out, she tore
open his throat.
            Blood pooled in the bed as the king sputtered and coughed, grabbing at his neck as if he
could stop the bleeding. Suddenly, the queen was sitting up straight and yelling for the guards.
Elora stood shocked at the side of the bed, staring at the queen.
Deanna turned to her as the door opened. “Run, go.”
            She grabbed her mask and ran to the trap door, closing it above her head as she jumped
down. The door opened completely just as she disappeared, out of sight. Elora heard the queen
tell the guards that the king’s killer had left through the balcony, and she let out a shaky breath.
Running down the dark staircase, Elora ran a hand along the wall and tried to keep from tripping.
She burst out into the tunnel under the castle and made her way to the end of it, slipping back
into the castle cellar and up the closest staircase. Running straight for her room, Elora thanked
any god willing to listen that she didn’t cross paths with any servants or guards.
            The door, left unlocked, opened with ease as she burst into her room to grab her bag and scale
the castle wall outside her window to freedom. She ran to the corner where her bag was stashed
and turned to leave as she heard the door close behind her. Elora’s heart stopped as she scolded
herself for not simply leaving her bag in the tunnel and finding a new way out of the castle.
When she turned around, Jonson stood with his hand on her closed door, a sickening grin
on his face.
            “Elora, Elora, Elora…” he said, shaking his head as he laughed and walked closer to her,
tying his long, blonde hair behind his head. There was a knife on his belt, and he reached for it,
Elora’s eyes following his every move. Her own dagger sat pressed against her wrist, the blood
coating the edge making it slick on her skin. Jonson stood between her and the window, he knew
he had her completely trapped.
            Elora had always hated Jonson, but he’d never looked as sinister as he did in this
moment, stalking towards her like a predator with easy prey. His eyes were dark with glee, his
teeth flashing in the flickering candlelight of the sconces.
            “I’ve had you pegged since day one, you stupid girl. The king was a fool, but I knew
you,” he said, swinging his knife around in one hand. The blade caught the light, glinting at her.
            It was jagged, and the tip was starting to rust.
            Elora had to buy time. “Then why didn’t you stop me?”
            Jonson laughed. “I’ll admit, you surprised me tonight, striking again so soon. I’m just
here to make sure you don’t get away with it.”
            He lunged at her, and she ducked, the knife striking the stone wall behind her head. She
spun away from him and dropped her dagger into her hand, settling into a defensive stance as she
faced Jonson. He whipped towards her, growling as he gathered himself. Attempting another
hasty strike, Elora crouched and swept her foot out, tripping him. Every time he had attacked so
far, he had left his right side open, holding his knife too high.
            Jonson recovered quickly, faster than she expected. Elora left herself intentionally open
to an attack, waiting to strike at his unguarded side. Her opportunity came quickly as he charged
at her, and she swung her dagger around and into the side of his torso, feeling the scrape of the
blade against one of his ribs. She yanked the dagger out and backed up as Jonson’s eyes opened
in surprise. He brought his free hand to his side and coughed.
            Lumbering towards her, he made another haphazard attempt at a swing. Elora grabbed
the edge of her breakfast table and threw it down in front of him. Reacting slowly, he fell heavily
over it and groaned in pain.
            Elora crouched down next to him, easily pulling the knife out of his hand as his blood
pooled below him. “You underestimated me,” she said, rolling him over and plunging her dagger
into his heart. “People who underestimate me tend to pay with their life.”
            She stood and turned away from him, dropping his knife on the floor. He grabbed for her
cloak but fell short, collapsing fully onto the cold floor. Elora grabbed her things and tossed her
mask onto Jonson’s body. She pulled her hood over her head and slipped out of the castle and
into the dense forest beyond it.