Chapter 1
August flipped a small blade over her knuckles, peering at the phenomenon with boredom as she slouched against a wall, both legs crossed beneath her. Her backside was starting to ache from sitting for such a prolonged period of time and her stomach was beginning to complain with hunger. She had been sitting in the obscure room for several hours, waiting for the Earl of Bradeen to retire for the evening; he seemed highly reluctant to sleep at normal hours.
Was the old coot ever planning on making his appearance?
She shifted on her numb buttocks and frowned, flitting her fingers over her form-fitting attire. When she was finished smoothing imaginary wrinkles, her gaze drifted across the luxuriant space: eyeing rich velvet curtains, a wall of artwork likely worth more than the east village, and antique furnishings that appeared somehow less comfortable than the cold marble floor. The space was opulent, meant to display the immense wealth of the Rathlandian Earl. In all honesty, August didn’t care much for the style. What she did relish was the venison roast browning in the kitchens at her family estate and, to a slightly lesser degree, the job that lay before her.
August glanced at her blade and moved to slide it beneath her fingernail in order to remove a clump of dirt. One might think such an action would be dangerous, painful even, and perhaps if one wasn’t excessively skilled with a knife, it would be. August dug along her nail beds until the sound of quick-paced footsteps clicking in the hall caused her to still.
That was the issue with marble flooring; it wasn’t well suited for noiseless travel when one was wearing heeled boots.
August tilted her head slightly to the side, her curiosity running amok. Heeled boots were strange, as well, when one thought about it. What exactly was their purpose? Despite the raucous noise, they appeared largely afflictive to one’s feet. And the men who donned polony boots in the Rathlandian nobility seemed to believe that no one was aware of their true height. Or maybe they simply failed to care...
August pondered this as the footsteps in question halted just behind the doors. Perhaps filling in the space between the heel and the sole of the shoe would allow for a better concealed elevation in height. August nodded to herself. She would have to revisit the thought at a later date.
The slight creak that reverberated through the space alerted her to the presence of the Earl as he entered his quarters. Her eyes followed his movements, her blade resuming its journey over her knuckles as he removed his coat. Bradeen tossed the garment to the floor and shucked off his boots, motioning for his valet to retrieve the discarded items.
The servant scurried to do his bidding and followed the middle-aged man as he moved further into his chambers, coming to a halt beside his massive bed. The Earl positioned himself directly in her line of sight, and his, if he bothered to look up. Instead, the nobleman continued to fumble with his garments, and August, while hardly scandalized by his loss of accouterments, had little desire to regard him in his undergarments. She decided it was time to alert the portly nobleman to her presence.
August tilted her head to the side, allowing her ear to approximate her shoulder ever so slightly and spoke, her voice a sultry echo in the chamber: “Answer me this, Earl. Why is it that you don polony boots?” Her expression revealed nothing but the open curiosity that roiled through her brain. “Are you aware that they make quite a bit of noise?” She blinked. “One might surmise that they pose a danger to oneself if one wishes to remain undetected…”
The Earl's movements suspended, his shoulders slightly hunched as he faced his dressing table. His veiny hands hovered over the buttons of his shirtwaist for a few seconds until his valet took a hesitant step towards the door, seemingly breaking the Earl's trance. The wealthier of the two men suddenly began swinging his head back and forth like a cornered animal, searching for the source of threat.
She watched with interest as Bradeen’s face metamorphosed to a shade of red resembling that of a perfectly ripe apple; he stepped forward and seized the collar of his servant's shirt, yanking him nearer to himself as he spat, “Don’t just stand there like a worthless buffoon!” He shook the smaller man while he peered indiscreetly into the dark over the slim fellow’s shoulder, “Seek out the intruder, immediately!” On the last syllable uttered, the Earl shoved the valet away from himself, hard enough that the servant stumbled.
As far as August could tell, given the lack of feminine decorative accents in the chambers, Lord Bradeen was unmarried and thus, was likely surprised by the sound of a woman’s voice in his rooms. Did he guess whom she was?
The valet bowed as August watched on, his face lined with unconcealed ire rather than the subservience expected from an attendant. August supposed she would be peeved as well if she were deemed a worthless oaf by her superior. His problems would be terminated soon enough, however, which brought her back to the purpose of her loitering adventure in the extravagant space.
Honestly, August shouldn’t have been all that difficult to locate. Of course, she was wearing dark clothing in the evening time, but she was hardly concealing her presence. She sat, clean-faced against a wall just past the foot of his bed, for goodness’ sake… But perhaps, his vision was poor? She shook her head slightly. Focus.
It seemed that she would need to reveal herself further. August dragged one leg underneath her and stood gracefully like the princess that she was. Her mother would be proud of her lady-like composure to be sure.
“There is no need to search for me, Lord Bradeen. I am right here.” She smiled mildly as the gentleman’s visage faded from bright red to snow white.
The valet tore his collar from his master’s grip at the sight of her and subsequently fled for the door as though a switch had flipped to spur him into action. Whether he went for help or ran only to escape death was of little importance to her. She wasn’t there for the valet, and the assistance of Rathlandian guards would not arrive soon enough to spare the life of the wealthy, powerful, and quite villainous man before her.
“You neglected to respond to my inquiries,” August drawled as she approximated the Earl, peering up at the Peer of the Realm. She studied the vein bulging on the right side of his neck, then his lips which were pressed together in a tight line. She seemed to have frightened him to the point that he could no longer speak. It appeared her reputation preceded her.
“I hear you’ve been involved in some abominable activities, Bradeen. May I call you Bradeen?” She stood a mere meter away from him as she continued, “Profiting from the sale of young ladies, money laundering... rumors of murder.”
She glanced at his hand as he reached behind his back, likely searching for a weapon of some sort. “You wouldn’t do that, yourself, of course…” She eyed her blade as she held it up for them both to inspect, moonlight glinting off the silver dagger. “I suppose your hands would become rather dirty... and yet, handing funds to another in order to carry out one’s deeds does not an innocent man make. Trust me,” she sighed, her posture relaxed as she waved her blade casually between them. “I would know…”
As if on cue, with the fading drawl of the final word of what August thought was a clever enough monologue, the middle aged gentleman abandoned whatever weapon might have been hidden in his garments and grabbed what appeared to be a rather expensive vase from his bedside table. He swiveled it towards her skull.
Having foreseen the attack well before it was enacted, she stepped calmly to the right. August then ducked low to avoid an even wilder swing in the next second. It was clear that the bloke was prepared to put up a fight, which was more daring a decision than that of many others she had paid visits to before.
August was not exactly impressed. Perhaps ‘mildly intrigued’ was a more apt descriptor. Why battle the inevitable? Twas a waste of energy.
When she heard the faint echo of voices through the cracked double doors of the bedchamber and a smattering of jogging footsteps in the hall, August acknowledged that it was time to end their little dance. She rolled in order to dodge a more notable jab and came up at the Earl’s side.
From there it was rather simple: one quick slash to the throat and her deed was done. She was a professional after all. A soft Rathlandian lord was no match for even the lowest ranking Gi Ischuron soldier, let alone the second in-line for the throne. August allowed his body to collapse to the cream-colored floor, deep red liquid marring what could have been a pure, picturesque, marble backdrop for the bloke. She grimaced.
She then wiped off her blade with a handkerchief, as the estate guards stumbled into the quarters, and incautiously turned her back on the hired defenders, ambling towards the open window without particular haste. August was surprised at the things people were inclined to ignore: the slight chill in the open room, the ripple of heavy curtains in the mild breeze, and the assassin sitting at the foot of one’s bed.
She peered over her shoulder and glanced at the paralyzed soldiers lingering in the doorway as they gazed upon their fallen master; if they were intelligent, they would remain as they were. She smiled vaguely at the men before tipping out the open window into the cool night air.
*******
Princess August Irenia Artemis Ischuros of the military nation named for her ancestors sat at the dining room table with her father and attacked a tender cut of venison. She stifled a moan of pleasure at the taste of well-seasoned meat.
“Cook outdid himself, Papa,” she muttered, almost unintelligibly, with her mouth full of food.
“You make that claim rather frequently, Chipmunk,” he answered after he’d swallowed his own mouthful of meat.
Only the two of them sat for their belated meal that night. Her father had likely suspected she would return late from her assignment, and thus, had waited up to welcome her home. Her mother and brothers on the other hand, had long since retired to their quarters for the evening.
King Ronan routinely waited for his daughter to return home from her assignments, sometimes into the wee hours of the morning, before retiring to bed. While greatly appreciated, August was unsure whether he did so because he found value in quickly debriefing his eldest daughter about her work, or whether he simply desired an excuse to eat a second supper.
Regardless, she was glad for his company, and she hardly blamed him if his reasoning was the latter. August alone rivaled her father for the most ravenous appetite in the family, if not the kingdom: the intense training she endured demanded a healthy affinity for sustenance. Plus, like her sire, she was easily tempted by the sights and smells of a delicious meal.
“I take it your quest was successful?”
August nodded as she chewed, swallowed. “The Earl of Bradeen was not alone when he entered his chambers, but his valet seemed to possess no deep loyalty to the man; he fled the moment he met my gaze.” August held her father’s stare blandly as she spoke and forked a few vegetables into her mouth.
“Tis to be expected.” The king’s voice was deep and smooth. “Harsh men don’t often inspire fidelity.”
He reached across the dining table and laid a hand atop her own, which still held her fork mind you. “Well done, Chipmunk." He patted her hand. "You make your nation proud.”
And by that, King Ronan meant that his daughter was an excellent killer.
August nodded, swallowed, and searched her plate for her next victim.
The stronger one was in the nation of Gi Ischuros, the more respect one garnered. As a result, the line of succession for the Gi Ischuron royal family functioned much differently than it did in many of the neighboring nations. While Ischuron rulers were of the same bloodline, the eldest child was not necessarily the heir to the throne. Rather than order of birth, skill was the determiner of inheritance. Alec, August's younger brother, had surpassed her and their eldest sibling in combat and academic ability by the time he was an adolescent. He would inherit the throne.
No matter the sex or age of the monarch's offspring, the heir to the throne was the strongest warrior; the second most capable child would enter into a political marriage to benefit the nation's foreign affairs; the third most accomplished would head the military; and the remaining children would experience relative freedom from responsibility. For example, August's younger sister, Poppy, who had not surpassed her three elder siblings in strength and battle prowess, was exempt from gubernatorial responsibility; she was married to a nobleman and was expecting her first child. And the youngest Ischuros, Flip, who had neglected to take his studies seriously, was now a wastrel who traveled the seaside as a veritable pirate. The lout.
Typically, the youngest siblings in an Ischuron royal family were spared the more burdensome responsibilities, as their elder siblings would forever possess more years of study, and in most cases, greater proficiency in their crafts than those with fewer years on earth. However, the situation was not always as such. August's father was the youngest in his parents' brood, and he had inherited the throne; his eldest brother had married for national alliances; and his elder sister had been head of the military prior to her retirement and Chaos's adoption of the role.
Regrettably, August's excitement over her tender cut of venison faded ever so slightly at the intrusion of thoughts surrounding her duty as the second-ranked of her parents’ progeny. She was honored to do her duty, delighted to serve her kingdom, and yet, a small part of her was nervous at the idea of marriage to a man she had never met. August didn't fear brutality at his hands, as she could end his life in a moment, if necessary. It was the social aspect of the ordeal that bothered her.
Most individuals, both in and outside of her nation’s bounds, considered her to be a bit odd. If she were honest, more than a bit…
August had spent the majority of her childhood teasing and being teased by her brothers, which rarely fostered ladylike behavior, much to the dismay of her mother. Moreover, she had always been excessively curious about the nature of objects and their functions. She deeply enjoyed cultivating ideas for possible improvements on modern innovations, so she was prone to asking questions about a plethora of topics, whether internally or aloud. She had quickly learned that this particular pastime was rarely appreciated in company.
Truly, August was fortunate that the art of assassination was relatively painless from a social standpoint. If she was tactless or botched proper etiquette when approaching an individual, it was of no consequence, as her target would soon perish. However, if she acted improperly amongst the members of her father’s court, the noblewomen and men would gossip about her for weeks… and they often did.
Nevertheless, no matter how daunting the prospect of acclimation to a foreign court was to August, or how concerned she was that her social skills, or lack thereof, would tarnish her future political union, she could take solace in the fact that she would never possess the crown of the Gi Ischuron monarch. Not only did her younger brother need to maintain his rank as the deadliest being in the nation and prepare to rule their country with ceaseless study of politics and trade, but he was tasked with constantly engaging with upper society in order to please their people.
August shuddered at the thought.
King Ronan glanced at his daughter incredulously for her behavior, and she shrugged minimally in response before setting her plate to the side.
She sat forward in her seat then, leaning her forearms on the table as she exhaled. “The day has been exceedingly long.” She peered at the large man sitting to her right. “I believe I’ll retire for the evening, if you don’t mind, Papa.”
Her muscles ached from the long ride on horseback. With her stomach happily full, she was beginning to feel the lazy tug of slumber. Her eyelids fluttered shut briefly at the thought of sleep before pulling open to peer at her father’s kind smile, deep, curved grooves on either side of his lips.
The king nodded, stood to his feet, and held his arms out; August wasted no time in accepting his invitation.
She scrambled out of her seat, took two quick steps, and flopped into her father’s arms. “I love you, Papa,” she whispered, feeling warm and safe in his embrace. While King Ronan was a formidable warrior and head of state, he had always been a gentle and kind father to his children.
“I love you too, Chipmunk.” He gave her one final - crushing - squeeze before releasing her. “Remember to leave your dagger outside your chambers before you retire.” He patted her back while she continued to hold onto him.
She nodded a response against his broad chest and mumbled a muffled, “Of course,” before stepping back.
Soon August was gliding down the corridor that led to the main staircase, leaving the dishes for her father to take to the kitchens. She sprinted up the stairs with the thought of her plush bed in mind and arrived at her chamber in the left wing of the estate within seconds.
Coming to a halt at the entrance to her rooms, she removed her silver dagger from its sheath, studied it for a moment, ensuring that it was mostly clean, and set it on the wooden mat outside her door. Ferris, her personal maid, would retrieve it in the morning and take it to be sanitized and sharpened.
Gi Ischorons were rather notorious for being obsessed with the state of their weapons, and August was no different. She preferred her daggers, swords, throwing stars, whip, axes, arrows, and mace to be clean and sharp.
When she had disarmed completely, save for a long needle in her boot, and perhaps a few additional weapons, August stepped into her rooms and scanned the space for intruders, as she’d been taught to do since she was a child.
Her eyes roamed over the pastel wallpaper, cherrywood furniture, and dark-stained floors. She walked across the space to peer into her closet, beneath her bed, and check that her windows were secure. When the princess was satisfied that she was alone, she stripped off her dark, form-fitting attire and slid into a knee-length nightgown. August then sank onto her bed, which was large, but not quite as sizable as the Earl’s had been, and slid beneath the covers.
Unfortunately, or perhaps, fortunately, August, like any intelligent being, was incapable of ending a life without paying an emotional and psychological price: even when the life had belonged to a lecherous and unscrupulous lout like the Earl of Bradeen. So her troubled thoughts wove through the labyrinth of her conscious mind for what felt like hours before she was finally able to drift into a restless sleep.
