Chapter Text
He was horrified when he realized whose blood was on his hands. The shadows in the alleyway threatened to break apart and reveal to the world what a murderer he was. He wished that they would. He wholly deserved it.
He had loved the man before him. He was his friend, confidant, and son. No more would he listen to his secrets in hidden chambers. No more helping him escape the east wing to see the fireflies or offering advice on hard decisions.
It was worse than losing a friend. The knife in his hands had removed hope from this world. It had slaughtered the offering to greed and placed it on a silver platter. The hood that had covered the man’s face had been displaced when the knife had sunk into his heart, baring the youthful face of the crown prince.
The assassin cleaned his knife on his own shirt, cursing his training. He deserved to be caught and punished with the most terrible things. Yet his training would not allow it. His orders would not allow it. He mourned his cowardice and slipped into the night.