Chapter 4: Gisella

Palace of the Centauri Throne: Kingdom of Karil

He had choked on his wine, eyes widening, hands going to his chest as he fell from his chair, forward onto his knees, blood spraying from his mouth, his ears, his eyes.

There was a moment of hesitation in which everyone at the banquet stared up at the dais, horrified. Then all hell broke loose. The Knights of the King's Guard drew their swords but, without any clear weapon having been used against their King, they hadn't the slightest idea who to go after. A few of them scattered, seeking to find someone in the rafters or hidden in a window, clearly certain that the assassin could not possibly be in this very room.

Gisella kept her eyes on the woman in the faded green dress. She turned to leave with the crowd but Gisella reached out her hand in the same gesture she had just seen the assassin do, a gesture she herself had practiced thousands of times before. The assassin's pace slowed until it stopped and she stood, rooted to the spot. Realizing what was happening, she began to glance around. Her eyes found Gisella. Her gaze went from her hand at her side to her cool stare and she glared at her.

Gisella grabbed a knight running past and pointed to her, telling him she saw her do something. Without question, he moved forward to arrest her, another of his compatriots meeting him beside her. They took her by her arms and dragged her away. Gisella heard the General then, shouting above all of the other screaming voices in the room. He was shouting for a healer. He was shouting for his men, warning of other possible assassins. Other assassins.

Gisella's eyes found the prince on the opposite side of the room, still standing at the bar, glass poised halfway to his open lips as he stared at his father on the ground in a growing pool of his own blood. She rushed forward, pushing her way through the crowd, hand on the hilt of her sword at all times.

"Come with me," she growled, grabbing him roughly by the arm and pulling him away from the bar, toward the nearest door, one leading out to a servant's hallway. He resisted at first, still in shock, still staring up at the dead King. But then sputtered to life when he realized that Gisella was pulling him harder now, nails digging into his bicep.

His feet began to move and they pushed their way to the small wooden door nearby. She shoved him through, walking briskly ahead in the hall toward the hidden panel that she knew lay just ahead. He said nothing, just followed in a daze, watching her remove the panel from the wall with some curiosity. When she finally slid the heavy wood aside, revealing a darkened hall beyond, he glanced at her as if thinking for the first time that perhaps she should not be trusted. Gisella just sighed.

"If I wanted to kill you, I've had several years of opportunity," she reminded him. He considered that for a moment before stepping through the opening into the dark hallway beyond. She followed him a moment later, replacing the panel behind them so that no one could follow.

Then she took a torch from the wall and a match from her pocket. Striking it against the stone, she lit the torch and led on through the hall, making her way to a larger opening, a room that she knew lay not far ahead. She heard his footsteps behind her, following her, as they made their way forward.

The abandoned internal room must have been someone's chambers some time very long ago. This palace was ancient and its secrets more so. Whoever occupied this space so long ago left behind some of their more basic furnishings. The Prince took a seat on a molding settee. Gisella remained standing, pacing the chambers, trying to listen for any sounds of the chaos outside the walls but she could no longer hear the screams or the running. They would have to remain until she was certain it was safe but how long that might be, she wasn't sure.

"Must you pace?" the prince snapped suddenly and she turned her attention to him. "Are you incapable of being still?"

"Oh, I'm quite capable of stillness," she assured him. "It's one of my best skills."

"Perhaps you should practice it, then."

She faced him, crossing her arms and raising a brow. He just shook his head and hung it low, gazing at the floor.

"He just... fell over," he whispered then. She imagined it was more to himself than for her benefit but she lowered her arms just the same. For a moment, he had forgotten he hated her and, for a moment, she had forgotten that he was a scared boy who had just watched his father be murdered. "How could it have happened? What sort of weapon could have done such a thing?"

"Magic," she told him as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His eyes snapped up to hers, narrowing.

"Magic isn't real," he said as if he'd rehearsed the phrase a million times before.

"Is that the truth?" She asked. "Or just wishful thinking?"

His jaw tensed at that and Gisella knew they were back to hating each other, that brief moment of vulnerability gone and likely never to return. But she couldn't help but lash out at him on this particular topic. Karilish royalty chose to live in ignorance. They chose to believe that King Maurin and his lapdog general had been successful in ridding the world of magic some decades ago. It was the reason she had hidden her gift, the reason she hides it now despite its usefulness.

"I dropped my drink," he said with a sigh and Gisella snapped her head in his direction again, surprised by the abrupt change in topic and certain she hadn't heard him correctly.

"Excuse me?"

"My drink. I dropped it when you dragged me away."

She stared at him for a moment, incredulous. Then she just shook her head and dug into the pockets of her cloak for the flask she kept there. She pulled it out and tossed it to him. He caught it in midair and unscrewed the top without even a thanks. He pulled it to his lips and drank, then wrenched away in disgust.

"Ugh," he groaned. "Rum?"

"Oh, my apologies, Your Grace," she told him with a mock curtsy. "The next time I save your life I'll do so with whiskey on my person."

He just rolled his eyes and turned away from her but Gisella saw that familiar clenching of the jaw all the same.

"Who would have done this?" She asked.

"Could be any number of people," he answered with a shrug, not even looking her way as he took another pull of the rum despite how utterly repulsive he seemed to find it. "We've never had the best relationship with Tauros to the South. The Islands of Mara aren't pleased with the way my father does his trade. Certain lords care more for bloodshed than fealty."

Gisella pushed aside her surprise that he knew as much about the politics of his kingdom as he did to ask another question, "No one who seeks the throne for themselves?"

"If they had, I suppose they would have killed me too."

He said it as if it was a statement of no consequence, as if the matters of successions and assassinations didn't directly impact him. He took another pull of the rum and they stood in silence for some time, each of them thinking about the events of the day and the likely fallout they would emerge to.

"It could be my uncle," he said finally, shrugging again as if it hardly mattered. "He was never happy that my grandfather chose his youngest son to rule rather than his eldest."

Gisella fought hard to contain her surprise. She had known that Lucan had always despaired at the loss of the throne. He was the oldest, raised to be King his whole life. The crown, by rights, should have passed to him when his father died but the laws and customs of Karil had always dictated that a current ruler choose his successor, though it must remain in the family line, and name them in their will along with any last orders they must abide by. It was no secret that Lucan hated his father for it and hated his brother as well, choosing to abandon the palace in favor of his estate by the sea as his brother, Maurin, came to his throne.

"But you are the heir," Gisella said aloud, trying to understand his uncle's intentions. "Are you not?"

"I am. And I am of age. But law and custom have seldom stopped my uncle in the past."

"He will come for you."

The prince's eyes met hers then and she saw the heat of his fury behind them as he spoke, "then you'd better have my back, assassin."

Gisella heard the malice with which he called her by her role and it ignited a rage within her that she could not quench regardless of how wise it was to do so. She reached out and took the flask from him, throwing it as hard as she could at the wall. He jumped when the metal clanged loudly against the stone, rum spattering out and running through the cracks in the bricks.

"Kings don't get drunk during a crisis," she snapped at him, her lips pulling up into a sneer as she stepped menacingly forward. "Kings don't speak of the fate of their country as if it is of no significance to them. Kings aren't nearly so wicked, nor as self-destructive and arrogant."

The prince watched her for a moment, as if surprised by her sudden patriotism, but when he answered it was with that patented, nonchalant drawl.

"You don't seem to have met many kings."

With an exasperated huff, Gisella threw her hands into the air and stomped off toward the exit.

"Where do you think you're going?" he called out as she vanished into another one of the labyrinthine tunnels. "Get back here this instant and protect me!"

She snorted and kept walking. A moment later, she heard the distinct sound of hurried boots on concrete and felt his presence a moment later. He was walking behind her, scowl on his face and muttering impatiently under his breath as if her disobedience was the worst issue he'd faced today. But she felt it, always there, thrumming just beneath the surface. His heart beat. And it was fast. She flexed her fingers in the darkness of the palace tunnels and clenched them slightly, making it slow, making him calm. His shoulders relaxed, she noticed. His vision cleared slightly and he inhaled slowly, deliberately. Good. The last thing she needed was him flying off the handle again and alerting any lurking foes to their location.

"Stay here," she ordered when they had reached another door. He opened his mouth to protest but she just put a finger to my lips and pushed through, drawing her sword as she did.

It was quiet on the other side but whether that was a good thing or a bad thing yet, Gisella wasn't certain. A few paces down the hall, she saw a group of the king's own guard, gathered together in quiet conversation. She squinted from afar and waited until she saw one that she recognized. When she did, she called out.

"Torian!" She called. He turned, surprised at the sudden shout. When he saw Gisella, his shoulders relaxed and the hand which had gone to the hilt of his sword fell away. He grinned and exhaled in something akin to relief. He excused himself from the others and approached her, smiling.

"I wondered where you'd gotten to when everything went to hell. Good to see you're alright, Gis."

"You as well, Lieutenant," Gisella nodded and then, peering around him to the other guards milling about, she questioned. "Can they be trusted?"

His brow furrowed but he nodded. Then she turned on her heel and walked back to the door she had come from, beckoning him along as she did. He followed, curious. But when she pushed open the door to reveal a waiting, very irritated, Prince Nicolas, the lieutenant's jaw dropped and he lowered himself into a deep bow. Gisella just crossed her arms and glared right back at the prince, or rather king now she supposed, who was glaring at her.

"Your Majesty!" Torian bellowed, clearly having decided that it was King Nicolas now, not Prince. "We've been looking everywhere for you."

"You'll keep him safe?" Gisella snapped, interrupting. The Lieutenant blinked at her as if having forgotten she was there. "Take him to his rooms and guard him?"

"Yes, of course, Lady Gis. We will take it from here."

She nodded and stalked off to attend to more important matters.