Third person.

"Hey! Did you hear the latest news? The princess of Aragrave has been assassinated!" A clerk of a random clothing stall said in a hushed tone.

"Really?" Another commoner added in shock, and looked at him disbelievingly.

"Look at the poster at the Town square! Two thousand gold ingots are on the assassin's head." He retorted, flicking his stubby fingers in the general direction.

"Who was the assassin?" Another townsfolk asked.

"Are you daft? There's only one assassin that's able to break in the castle, you know." The clerk replied incredulously.

"Are you saying it's the Bajancanadian?" The townsfolk said worriedly.

"I'm not saying it. I'm sure of it!" He exclaimed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mitchell Huges strolled down the busy streets of Aragrave, looking left and right contemptuously, looking for all the world like a very successful businessman. His clothing further enhanced his elegance, and his bulging money bag affirmed the common folks suspicion.

He was clad in a white button shirt, and had dark blue jeans. His leather shoes were polished to the finest, and his hair was swept carefully to the side.

Anyone who saw him would immediately think he was a incredibly rich merchant.

Not an assassin.

His ears perked up as he heard whispers of the latest news; the assassination of the two-month-old princess. He quickly identified the source of the whispers and indulged in the conversation.

"What do mean killed?" He asked, faking the worry, joining the two gossipers.

The clerk that was reporting the news looked at his appearance and said respectfully,

"Killed during midnight sir. Guards tried to stop him, but got killed."

Mitchell faked a face of shock and anxiety and gasped out,

"Is anyone safe here? Who is the Bajancanadian going to target next?"

"No one knows. He's never seen, and those who saw him never lived to tell the tale."

The clerk replied tersely, fumbling with the folds of assorted clothes on display.

Pride warmed in Mitchell's heart and he forced himself to keep a straight face. He loved seeing people clueless to who the Bajancanadian was.

"Well, I better be going now." Mitchell bade his farewell, and made his way to a aesthetic quartz building in the southern part of aragrave.

He sidestepped crowds of commoners nimbly, not getting a spot of dirt on his crisp white shirt. Upon arrival, he nodded vaguely to the guards at their positions and entered the giant cultivated chestnut oak doors.

His shoes clicked the polished marble floor as he made his way up the spiral stairway, his gait lithe and agile. He drew near to a closed birch door, with two crossed swords on the panel. He entered without knocking, and sat down on the chair facing the spruce desk, where a man sat.

That man was looking down on the desk, slowly reading a stack of papers, disregarding the fact that Mitchell sat there. He wore a cyan shirt, with black pants. He had auburn hair, and his eyes were angled to make him look mischievous.

After what seemed like forever, he finally placed the papers down, and looked Mitchell directly in the eye. Mitchell did not flinch, instead, looked steadily back.

He cleared his throat and asked, his voice refined and calm, yet laced with an unspoken threat.

"Murdered?"

Mitchell smirked slightly, and nodded.

"Did anyone see you?"

"The guards were dead before they could ring the bell."

The man nodded appraisingly, and said,

"your payment is in the chest in your room. "

Mitchell dipped his head slightly, and stood up, his back straight, brown eyes bored and slightly amused, and left the room silently.

He entered his apartment, and went directly for the bathroom. His room was lavishly furnished, and practically screamed "rich"

He undressed, and stood in the glass tube, letting the hot water run down, deep in thought.

He never liked this life. He was unsure in how to feel. Although he took enjoyment in seeing people struggle to find who the assassin in, he also felt that something was missing.

Especially his master. Francis. Francis found him in a wrecked building, cuts littering his body. He brought him back to the team, and tended to his wounds.

At least, that was what he was told.

When he woke up in the bed, in this place, his mind was a blank sheet of white. He remembered nothing at all, except that his name was Mitchell.

Francis told him that he was his parents friend, and found him nearly dead in the rubble, and rescued him. He also said that his parents passed on and that they wanted him to work for Francis.

The naïve young assassin agreed readily, because, why would Francis lie?

From then on, Mitchell was trained by Francis, who was the master of the team. Francis wasn't the most lenient teacher, but was the most skilled in swordplay.

Mitchell stopped his running thoughts there, and brushed a scar at his forearm, an ugly line stretching across his skin. A shudder ran down his spine as he recalled what happened.

He stopped the water, dressed in his usual clothes, and perched on the window sill inside his room. His bedroom was expansive, and in one corner, a king-sized bed was visible, it's fluffy quilts soft and inviting. There was a giant window eating the forth wall, and had a ledge with velvet cushions for sitting.

Sitting there comfortably, resting his chin on his raised knee, glancing at the new chest in a corner, overflowing with gems and ingots. His payment for the murder of princess Mia. As much as he enjoyed the easy cash that came to him, he couldn't shake off the feeling that he had a way bigger future, or a better past.

Occasionally in dreams, he would hear very vague and slurred voices, familiar yet he had no idea where he heard them, and had a feeling he knew them. When he concentrated, he would hear other sounds, like wind rushing past in an insane rate, hair beating on him.

And the last noise, a splash.

He thought to himself, his eyes clouded in thought as he gazed at the setting sun, " Is this who I really am?"

~writers note~

:3

Assumptions anyone?

Am I that obvious?

Well,

Don't forget to vote, comment and follow?

Im not doing that anymore.

*Reread*
HOLy shIT this is Hella referenced from thrones of glass oh my gOD it's like a TOG and belgariad crossover