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Shay Patrick Cormac, like most Colonial Assassins, found rest in Davenport Homestead. He would happily admit it though, often found high on branches of trees, against stumps, or shamelessly on benches, he would sleep. He had passion for work but simply found no need as he had a crew of his own, his ship anchored on the decks of the Homestead. His eyes would return to the ship, his ship, the Morrigan. It softly swayed with the currents, his crew coming and going, his flag whipping along with the wind.
At times, while perched on branches, he would allow his mind wonder back to home. Not of the death of his father, not the streets of which he fought, or the docks where he met his friend. Rather of his aunt, the songs she sang to him while sick in bed, the stories he told of his mother. Oh, his mother, his lovely mother. His father held no photos, nor paintings, and barely he spoke of her. It was all his aunt, she spoke of her like a story, sometimes in the songs she sang. His last night in Dublin was with his aunt, he sat on the fur carpet, clutching a glass of rum in his hand as he hummed an old song, one of hers.
She came to him, smiling, adoring his singing. She knew what he was going to say, he was going to be on his own. It was Liam that brought his nephew back to her doorstep, alive but bruised. He was never meant to stay in one place, he could not, he had a knack for exploring, seeing the open sea, and feeling the wind and sun on his skin.
He promised to write to her whenever he could, sending funds and such. Much to her objection. His aunt was the last family he had left, he wished for her to spend her life resting and content.
He wouldn’t be alone after all, he’d have his friend.
Pardon, his former friend.
Shay stared out at the misty shoreline of Britain looming, closer and closer with each hour. The clothes they’ve given him felt constricting and unnatural. It was unbelievably elegant. A dark green coat paired with golden colored embroidery, polished leather boots, and a finely cut waistcoat.
But the design for appearance is more than utility. The clothing felt foreign, even hostile on his skin.
The wood of the deck creaked with every step Liam took when he approached him. He took his place by Shay’s side, staring out into the sea with him. “You’ve been quiet the entire voyage. It is unlike you.”
And in response, Shay scoffed at his assessment. His hands reached for his collar, tugging as he frowned. “Aye, well, these bloody clothes have a way of shutting a man up.” He gestured to himself with disdain. “What am I, Liam? Some painted lord in a picture frame? I am dressed for a masquerade, and a marriage, no less.”
A small smile tugged at Liam’s lips as he took a better look. “It suits you.” As if he spent weeks trying to convince Achilles and Liam to forget their stupid plan.
“Suits me?” Shay countered hastily, snapping his head in Liam’s direction. “Oh, aye, like a wolf suits a collar. I am an Assassin, not some pawn or bauble to be dangled in front of the British throne.”
“Bauble or not, it’s the only way.” Liam said. “You may even find happiness with her.”
“Happiness?” Shay bit back a bitter laugh. “Don’t even jest, Liam. I am a pawn in some grand scheme! Some piece, or prop! An arranged marriage , of all things. I am no lord . I have no business pretending to be one.”
“If that is true, then I supposed I should turn the ship around.” Liam said dryly. “But you are not backing out now. You do not get to walk away from this, Shay.”
His eyes darkened in response, his shoulders tensing. “You think I cannot?” A dangerous edge creeping into his voice. Though he wasn’t armed with his hidden blades, that wouldn’t stop him from grabbing the wheel and turning the dammed ship around. The ship, his ship.
“You think I do not know you, Shay? I do, you always think before you act and have a rather skewed view on this mission. But this... It is bigger than either of us.” Liam took a breath. “If you wish to come out alive, you will play the role.”
A long and tense silence was thick between them. The salty winds whipped at their coats, disheveling Shay’s undone hair. His clenched hands now clutched the wood of the ship, turning away as his eyes fell back on the nearing shoreline.
After another moment, Liam spoke again, this time, his voice was quieter. “Believe me, I tried to find another way. This was all I could do.”
Shay remained staring on the horizon, his jaw set. He shuddered and shrugged nonchalantly, as if brushing off the apology. “I am to be a picture-perfect lord, am I not? Keep your hands off me, or you will wrinkle my fine silks.” He stated, his tone laced with biting sarcasm.
Liam sighed, though to him, it was wonderful to hear his sarcasm once more. “Fine silks, eh? I dare say you’re already halfway there.”
--- --- --- --- --- ---
The palace was grander than Shay expected. While he walked with Liam and a few servants, he scanned every intricate painting he passed, their steps would’ve echoed the marble floors if it wasn’t for the carpet on top of it.
The halls continued to stretch, adorned with towering columns and rich tapestries that bore the royal crest. Shelves containing books that most likely haven’t been touched in decades. Even the sun coming through the windows added a touch to the halls, he would say it was extraordinary.
Even dressed as any other noble, he still felt the discomfort of the lavish surroundings. He ignored the pounding of his heart, attempting to absorb every detail, yet he felt torn. He currently was a world away from his usual life, he no longer felt the weight of his blades or pistols, no hood to cover himself with, he was exposed. Enemies all around him.
“Keep your head high, Shay.” Liam patted his back. “You needn’t look so solemn. Every man would kill to be in your situation.”
He elbowed Liam to keep his distance, afraid to catch wandering eyes of servants who may whisper later. “Just be agreeable, for once.” Liam added.
Shay could feel a noose tightening around his neck.
The heavy doors creaked open, revealing a chamber lined with high windows and a crimson drapery, along with pasty white and gold. It was a rather ornate drawing room, seated at a polished mahogany desk was a young man.
A young man indeed, barely twenty, with sharp eyes that missed nothing. He dressed in deep navy brocade and sat poised yet stiffly.
It was clear that this was the princess’s younger brother, the Regent, holding power until his sister took the throne. His eyes set on Shay the moment he entered, his expression was unreadable as he took Shay’s appearance.
And he wasn’t alone. There was a line of other lords, rankings of all kinds, staring at him as well. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the servants and murmured to the Lords.
“So, this is the man I am to entrust my sister’s future.” His voice was cool, detached, nearly taking a taste of his tea. But his nose scrunched at the smell, shaking his head as he once again waved to take the tea away.
Shay inclined his head slightly and the prince rose, coming closer. His scrutinizing gaze dragged over Shay like merchant appraising goods. “This is him?”
Liam inclined his head. “Yes, Your Highness. Lord Cormac of-”
“Spare me the title.” The prince interrupted, rolling his eyes as he stood. He took a step forward. “I assume you are not deaf?”
Shay tilted his head slightly, suppressing the urge to smirk. “Not the last time I checked, no.”
The prince let out a sharp exhale through his nose. Was it a laugh? Disapproval? It was hard to tell. “He stands well enough. Taller than I expected. Does he speak well?” He turned to Liam.
“He does. Educated, strong, the scars speak for themselves.”
The prince hummed in thought, pacing a slow circle around Shay. “A man’s worth is more than his wit or stature.” He said, stopping just before him. “It is his ability to provide many heirs.”
He stepped even closer, now mere inches from Shay, inspecting every detail of his face. Then, to Shay’s irritation, the prince snatched and gripped his jaw, tilting his face from side to side.
His lips curled, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “The facial hair may stay. Sadly, my sister is fond of men with strong jaws.”
Shay arched a brow. “Fortunate for me, then.”
The prince released him with a dissatisfied sigh but not without tugging at his facial hair once more, plucking out a few hairs which he blew out of his hand. He turned away. “You will be measured for proper clothing immediately. This is the British court, not some backwater.”
He motioned towards the man nearing the doorway, it was a royal attendant, one that followed them moments ago. “Brooks, see to his attire and ensure he does not look this .” He gestured at Shay’s current clothing.
Shay exhaled slowly though his nose. “I was not aware my coat was offensive to His Highness’s delicate eyes.”
The prince turned his sharp eyes back to him, and this time, his smile matched his eyes. “You will find that in this palace, your appearance matters more than your opinions, Lord Cormac. Best you learn that now.”
He didn’t elaborate further. He merely held Shay’s gaze for a moment longer, then straightened his coat and turned towards the doors. “Take him. Have him measured for proper clothing. If he is to be presented before the court, he will do so dressed as befits his new station.”
With that, he swept from the room with the lords following behind. The doors shut behind them with a resounding thud. And only when the doors closed behind him, did Shay exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off an unwanted touch.
Liam gave a quick clap. “Could have been worse.” He then pressed a small, folded note into Shay’s palm. “But do not forget why we are here.” He murmured before pulling away with a forced smile. He nodded at Brooks, a silent goodbye and left without another word.
Shay exhaled through his nose, slipping the message into the sleeve of his coat as he turned to regard the man beside him.
Brooks was a younger gentleman, possible younger than him. He too was well dressed, groomed, and his face was neutral. His hands remained by his side, waiting for Shay.
He cleared his throat. “Shall we walk, Brooks?” He asked. “I could use a change of scenery.”
Brooks inclined his head. “Of course, my lord.”
The ceilings stretched high above them as they walked. He took the opportunity to glance around and examine portraits he passed before. Or what it seemed to Brooks. Rather, Shay took the layout, the guards’ posts, servant routes or their doors, anything that might prove useful later.
Though it was quite annoying. The times Shay believed Brooks was gone, he was right behind, a couple paces behind.
It made him huff and stop, which made Brooks stop. “Come along now, Brooks, no need to be a shadow. Now, walk with me.”
“I am merely maintaining a respectful distance, my lord.” Brooks replied smoothly. “It is how it is done.”
“I take it I will not be left to wander on my own?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“That so? Well, then, allow me a request, since I am, after all, to be family.”
Brooks arched a brow. “Within reason, my lord.”
Shay gestured vaguely down the hall. “Would it be too much of a request to see the late King’s chambers, perhaps his study? I hear it held quite the collection.”
Brooks didn’t pause but his response was immediate. “I am afraid that room is no longer in use, my lord.”
Shay hummed, feigning curiosity. “No longer in use? A shame. Surely the books have not vanished.”
“The late king’s private chambers are kept in honor of his memory. It is not open for visitation, per the princess’s request.”
So, off limits .
He clicked his tongue but let the matter drop. For now. Brooks guided him down another hallway before stopping before a set of double doors. Servants stood waiting, heads bowed when they approached.
“The lord Cormac is to be fitted for his new attire.” Brooks announced, gesturing to the room beyond.
The chamber was well lit, sunlight poured through the high windows. Fabrics of deep blues, silvers, and reds were laid out, and the servants wasted no time approaching him, measuring tapes in hand.
They stripped him, bathed him, groomed him, and worked on him. Shay shifted his stance when he was pushed on a stool, nearly nude if it wasn’t for the breeches they chose upon. They draped fabrics over his shoulders, murmuring about color palettes that would suit his complexion.
Shay silently groaned as he shifted his stance, arms half raised as a tailor adjusted his sleeve. Though...
His curiosity got the better of him.
“Tell me, what is she like?”
The servants, each one of them paused. One of the tailors looked up. “My lord?”
“The princess, future queen .” Shay gestured vaguely as a man came up to him to try another color. “I assume I should know something of the woman I am to marry.”
There was a moment of hesitation and silence before one of the maids, a young, woman with flaxen hair, gave him a smile. “She is beloved by the people.”
Shay lifted a brow. “That tells me what she is to the kingdom. I am asking about her .” Their awkwardness nearly made him chuckle, but instead, he grinned. “Come now, you needn’t be coy. Her appearance, her talents? What does she enjoy? How does she spend her time?”
“Her highness is the jewel of the kingdom, my lord. You are most fortunate.” It was a polite and rehearsed answer.
“Aye, aye, but I asked for honesty, not pleasantries. So please, tell me.”
The servants exchanged quick looks before one of them smiled and merely said. “Congratulations on your upcoming marriage, my lord.”
Shay stared at them.
They wouldn’t dare to look directly at him.
They would not answer him.
--- --- --- --- --- ---
The servants had finished their work, transforming him from a simple nobleman into the image of Britain’s future king. His dark hair had been combed back, his face carefully groomed, and just like the prince regent said, his facial hair remained.
The deep navy coat he wore was embroidered with gold threading, its high collar was tight. A fine white cravat sat at his throat, and the tailored waistcoat fit him so well that it was almost suffocating.
He turned his head slightly, taking in his reflection.
A king ?
He felt more like a lamb being led to slaughter.
“Are you ready, my lord?”
Shay forced a smile. “Was I not before?”
Though Brooks, the ever so patient remained calm, or neutral. He could no longer read the man. “Not quite like this.”
He grumbled and continued to admire himself. Then, Shay made an odd request, a need for privacy. A ridiculous reason for preferring to see himself alone before stepping out into his new title. To his surprise, Brooks obliged, motioning for the servants to follow as they filed out of the room. Though, Brooks would remain nearby.
The instant they were gone, Shay moved.
He turned to the pile of discarded garments from earlier, shifting through them until his fingers found what he had hidden. The note.
Liam had mentioned something about a manuscript. One that had been sighted in the late king’s study. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. So that was why the room had been deemed off limits, perhaps the entire royal family was working with the Templars.
He moved swiftly, heading toward the window. Pushing it open, he looked down. The palace grounds stretched far, he could imagine how dark it would be. How haunting it would be to be lost in the gardens.
He was satisfied that no one was watching, he hoisted himself over the ledge and began his climb. He scaled the outer wall of St. Jame’s Palace, ensuring he remained unseen by patrolling guards or passersby below. The structure was old, but its height posed no challenge to him. It was second nature to him.
What concerned him was the number of windows he passed, each one threatening to reveal his predicament. He glanced inside whenever he could, searching for any sign of the study.
Then, he found it.
A large, untouched study, no light from what he could see.
Shay pried open the tall window, or a small fraction of it. He slipped inside, his boots barely making a sound against the polished floor as he straightened.
A grand room lined with towering bookshelves that touched the roof of the room. The fireplace was cold, but the scent of parchment and aged leather filled the air. The desk at the center was heavy with dust, papers and a ink and quill, books and books upon each other, like left in time.
Shay wasted no time. He moved to the shelves, scanning titles, searching for anything that might resemble a hidden manuscript. His fingers traced over book spines, occasionally tugging one free to check for anything unusual.
But before he could get far-
“You may have called for Dante, he would have happily opened my grandfather’s study to you.”
Shay froze.
The voice was soft, amused, and unmistakably hers .
Slowly, he turned.
There, seated in the far corner of the room was her with a candle by her side.
Princess (Y/n). Soon to be Queen.
She had been watching him the entire time, a book resting open in her lap, her expression one of mild amusement rather than alarm.
For a moment, Shay said nothing. Then, ever so slowly, he straightened. “And miss the thrill of climbing a palace wall?” He dusted off his sleeve. “Where would the fun be in that?”
(Y/n) chuckled, closing her book. “You are rather bold for someone who was measured for a crown. If it were anyone else, it may have been called treason.”
“Bold? I prefer resourceful .”
She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “And what, pray tell, is the future king of Britain doing sneaking into my grandfather’s- no, the late king’s study.”
Shay considered his options. He could lie, but something told him that it wouldn’t work with her. So, he chose a mix of truth and fiction.
“There is a book. One my aunt adored when she was a child. I wished to find it.” He exhaled dramatically. “But I have found that my access to the library is... limited with Brooks breathing down my neck.”
(Y/n) studied him for a moment before giving a small smile. “And you thought you would have a better chance here.”
Shay gestured to the bookshelves. “I hear this study holds many things the public library does not.”
She nodded, standing and brushing down the folds of her gown. “It does.” She admitted. “My grandfather and I used to spend hours here. He would read to me as a child.” She traced her finger along the desk’s edge. “He had a habit of keeping sentimental things.”
Shay noted the way her voice softened at the memory. “I shall help you look.”
“You would?”
“I may not know you well, yet .” She confessed. “But I hope that will change. And if this book is so important to you, then perhaps it is a good place to start.”
He found himself momentarily at a loss for words. He expected cold formality from his betrothed, like from her younger brother, but rather, he received the opposite.
(Y/n) walked past him, towards the door but paused before exiting. “And Lord Cormac?” With a playful glint in her eye, she glanced over her shoulder. “If you must sneak about, I suggest using the doors next time, like a civilized man. I cannot have my husband, the king might I add, be seen climbing the walls of the palace. It would cause quite the spectacle.”
And with that, she disappeared down the hall, calling for her royal attendant, Dante.
For the first time since stepping foot in Britain, he wasn’t sure who was outmaneuvering whom.