The Red-Haired Assassin Read online

  Table of Contents

  The Red-Haired Assassin | Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  The Red-Haired Assassin

  Chapter One

  “Make way for the former Prince Malachi.”

  The tall, fair-headed man took a deep breath and stepped into the King’s Chamber. All eyes turned to him as they watched his approach to the gilded throne and the brightly-dressed man sat upon it. Silence filtered through the large room, and even the musicians playing in the minstrels’ gallery, lowered their instruments to watch this historic moment.

  Courtiers dressed in colors of celebration, gaudy scarlet, brilliant blue and canary yellow, left their conversations, ceased their dances and turned to view the dethroned Prince, the loser in the battle for this land.

  Malachi moved slowly forward as his path opened, lined by fascinated faces. He kept his expression neutral with no trace of the fury living deep inside. Gareff and what remained of his men moved in time behind him. They wore cloaks of the deepest purple, Malachi's shade, the mark of his royal blood. How long would he be allowed to keep his color?

  The black-clad soldiers followed closely, their eyes darting every which way. They would allow no harm to come to the new Prince or any of his foolish courtiers from the exiled ex-royal and his handful of supporters.

  Keeping his eyes on the bottom step of the dais leading up the throne, Malachi stepped forward, ignoring the curious faces of those who sided with the other man, the victor. His eyes swept upwards, taking in the sight of the usurper sitting on what should have been his throne, and wearing his crown. He swallowed down his resentment for it would do him no good here, and plastered a warm smile on his lips.

  “Greetings, Malachi. It is good to welcome you at last to my court.” Padiskan grinned and waved a heavily bejewelled ring in the younger man’s direction and crossed one leg over the other knee as he leaned back. He laid one hand over his protruding belly, covered by a rich red velvet waistcoat whilst the other rested on the arm of his padded and opulent throne. “Your sister, the former Princess Lisabeth is settled in her chamber with her maid. I’m certain she will be pleased to hear of your arrival.”

  That was a joke since it had become common knowledge how Malachi had been discovered and ‘escorted’ to the palace. He stood now in the territory of his enemy rather than enjoying the opportunity to return to his home.

  “Prince Padiskan, it is my honour to welcome you to my country.” Malachi sighed in relief at his sister’s safe-keeping, dropped to one knee with his head bent, his actions contradicting the slur escaping his lips. “Please accept my condolences on the death of your father.”

  Instead of leaping to his feet in fury, the man on the throne laughed loudly at his audacity.

  “Do stand, former Prince Malachi.” The new Prince commanded and Malachi could do nothing but obey. As he stood, he took in the number of sentries standing guard over the usurper, although he ignored the bunch who had followed him in. He already knew their worth – they followed whoever paid the most.

  Two large men, dressed in black leather stood, arms crossed over their massive chests as their dark eyes danced over the men accompanying him. Another man, thick of girth and dressed more in the style of a dandy than the leader of the new Prince’s military strength stood at his side, but the figure behind the throne interested Malachi the most.

  She stood tall for a woman, and yet he knew she had born of the same land as him. Her hair shone a beautiful dark red which caught the light and had been pulled into a tie at the nape of her neck. Her skin looked pale although much remained hidden beneath the dark uniform of a paid assassin. Malachi didn’t think he had ever seen such a beautiful creature in his entire life and wondered much it cost Padiskan to keep this woman by his side.

  “Isn't she wonderful?” The Prince glanced behind him, noticing Malachi’s interest before rising and holding out a hand for the woman to take. She hesitated as though unsure before accepting it and stepping down the dais in the Prince’s shadow.

  "She is most beautiful.” Malachi inclined his head to the woman while maintaining his smile and masked the rush of his blood around his body caused by her presence. "Her eyes are the color of the Bedarisus Ocean." The image of her eyes brought a memory to his mind; he'd seen the like only once before.

  "I've never been to the ocean to witness its color." The woman studied Malachi as though trying to ascertain his worth, a frown etched on her brow before taking his compliment and reducing it to a thing of no importance. “So, I don’t know if you’re lying.”

  Padiskan laughed again, a crude, loud sound more fit for the gutter he had grown up in than the luxury of his current surroundings.

  “What do you think of our former Prince, my dear? Does he represent a threat to me?”

  Her beautiful eyes appraised the newcomer’s face. His eyes were deep brown, almost black and his dusty skin had tanned from the summer sun. His hair, longer than currently fashionable, touched his shoulders in a sun-kissed fairness and his broad shoulders showed him capable of wielding a sword in battle. He was a very handsome man although seemingly unaware of his appeal.

  “He reminds me of a puppy dog with those eyes,” she muttered coldly, her eyes dancing over the entourage accompanying this man before returning her caustic glare to the dethroned Prince.

  “A puppy?" Padiskan hooted, as soft echoes of humor danced around the chamber. If the new Prince sounded amused, everyone there was determined to be amused too. “Wouldn’t you like a puppy dog of your very own, my dear?”

  “Puppies are fine until they shit in the corner and you have to rub their noses in it.” Her eyes never left the face of the man she’d chosen to slight.

  "Isn't she wonderful?" Padiskan laughed again.

  “A piece of heaven.” Malachi lowered his head, which was better than raise a weapon to the woman more than capable of killing him. She carried a sword as though she knew how to use it and he guessed the daggers hidden on her person were no secret. Padiskan didn't keep her around just to look beautiful. She was a deterrent within herself.

  And she had betrayed her country by siding with the usurper.

  “I’m pleased you chose to attend my court,” the Prince purred, his voice loud enough for all to hear. A little humiliation wouldn’t do the spoilt puppy any harm. Malachi didn't speak although the silence beckoned his words. “I hope you’ll make yourself at home here in my palace.”

  Malachi muttered his thanks although this was once his home and should have been the place from where he ruled his land and raised a royal family. Now through the perfidy of this man and his father before him, Malachi had become the outcast, a deposed Prince with no home to call his own.

  “You’re welcome to remain and enjoy my party, but I will understand if you decline. I’m sure you need time to come to terms with the changes under my rule. Your childhood chamber is prepared for you. I'm sure you will enjoy many fond memories there. Rooms have been made ready for your men.”

  Malachi bowed low, pleaded fatigue, and after one last look to the assassin’s face, left the chamber and the derisory laughter behind.

  Chapter Two

  "Who was that woman?" Malachi turned to Gareff, his most trusted companion, his voice dangerously low. “What is her name and how much do we know about her?”

  “She is known only as Rozalaine.” Gareff sighed. “I’ve racked my brain for anything useful on her, but Padiskan has kept her past secret. No one seems to know much about her.” He glanced at Malachi. �
��She is most beautiful, isn’t she?”

  "Very," Malachi replied, but he couldn’t focus on his words. The image of the woman remained in his mind. How ironic was it that the only woman to stir his senses for many months protected his enemy? He wondered if she could be persuaded to change sides, although what person in their right mind would choose to support the losing side?

  No, Malachi thought, she had looked very comfortable where she stood. No doubt, Padiskan paid her well, and she lived a life of luxury within the palace. No fool would risk that on the remote chance that anyone could remove Padiskan from the throne, and he didn't think she was a fool.

  “We need to find out whatever we can about her. Information is the only weapon we have now,” Malachi said, knowing his prized blade now rested in Padiskan’s coffers. He wanted that back. His father had gifted it to him on his eighteenth birthday, a month to the day when the King decided the land had lost too many lives to the bitter struggle for the throne. The ornate dagger was the only good reminder he had left if he didn't count his little sister. He wanted her back too, but he'd been assured by Father Jerod, the palace's priest, that Lisabeth was safe but missing him.

  “Braedan may know more,” Gareff suggested. “We can ask when we meet with him.”

  Malachi sat on the end of the luxurious bed, the one he had slept in as a small boy before the world he'd known had been shattered into pieces. He didn’t remember much about their rush to leave in the middle of the night. Hs father had left months before to meet with the enemy but he had requested his family be escorted to his camp after information which suggested they were in danger in the Royal Palace. As it turned out, the information had been accurate, and the enemy had been on route in force to capture the Queen and her children.

  Malachi sighed, watching how Gareff tried not to stare at the mass of playthings in the toy box. The chamber looked no different to what he remembered. The toys sat discarded in the corner; a few books rested on the desk exactly where he'd left them, and the bureaus still contained clothes which no longer fit him. It felt as though he’d been magickly transported back in time. He guessed that if he opened the bureaus he'd smell the mint and lemongrass sachets his nursemaid always kept in there. He'd grown to associate the smell with her and her loving care.

  All that was missing were his beloved parents, both now resting beneath the ground although he hoped they watched over him. His mother, Queen Elenora had caught a fever and died only a few months after the war began. They'd buried her in an unknown grave with the child she’d been carrying out in the Territories. His father, the King, lasted nine more years but he had never been the same since losing her. Malachi wondered if her death had been a factor in the King's decision to declare a treaty and release the throne to his enemy.

  His fingers idly caressed the highly-embroidered coverlet, feeling the love placed in every stitch by the nursemaid who had created it. He remembered her with a deep affection for she had been like a second mother to him. He lifted his head and smiled. He'd spotted her daughter in the corridor as he arrived. She'd offered him a knowing nod and secretive smile of support. Maybe, there were others here who felt the same way. Not everyone blamed him for the decision his father had made.

  “What do we do now?” Gareff’s question shook him out of his thoughts.

  "We'll play by Padiskan's rules for now," Malachi said, his brown eyes catching Gareff’s frown. "We don't have any choice, but I know this palace better than he does. He might think he's got us imprisoned in here, but this place is full of secret tunnels."

  “He's brought you here to kill you. You do know that," Gareff growled, ignoring Malachi’s humorous tone. “And as for Princess Lisabeth, God only knows.”

  “He’ll want me dead so he can marry Lisabeth,” Malachi agreed, it was the only logical solution to Padiskan’s problem. “He murdered his father for the throne and marrying my sister will legitimize his position. He can’t do that while I’m still alive so I’ll perish in an accident just like his dear old dad,” Malachi hissed.

  “He won’t marry the Princess if I’ve got anything to do with it,” Gareff promised, his eyes narrowing and his lips curling back.

  Malachi chuckled softly. His friend’s affection for Lisabeth had never seemed more apparent, and he noted that Gareff hadn't bothered to mention saving his life.

  “No, he won’t,” he agreed, “but we need to bide our time. If I suffer an accident so soon after arriving, he will lose any support he has in the land, and in those who agreed with my father’s treaty. We have a little time before he tries anything.”

  “I don’t know how you can remain so calm. Do you realize how much danger you’re in?”

  “Padiskan wants me to be scared, he wants me to know he has the upper hand but I refuse to give him what he wants. He sits on my throne, in my palace and rules over my people. I want it all back,” Malachi stated in a firm tone.

  “But the treaty?” Gareff asked.

  “Damn the treaty. I can’t endorse it any longer. My father believed the usurper would honor the rights of the people of this land; he didn't. Padiskan killed to gain the throne, and I will kill him to regain it."

  Chapter Three

  Roz got up while it was early, while the sun still hid beneath the horizon. She liked this time of day when it felt as though she had the world to herself. Moving stealthfully, she trod silently through the small dwelling she called home. Her feet barely perceived the cold stone floor although on a deeper layer she noticed everything around her because it was what she did best. She saw things others missed. Clues could be picked up in so many other ways than just sight. Her bare arms singled out the autumn breeze slinking in through the open windows, the slight chill telling her winter wouldn’t be so far away, and she inhaled the warming scent of bread from the bakery a few doors down.

  She washed in chilled water before donning a simple outfit of loose cotton trousers and a figure-skimming waistcoat. Pausing only to collect her sword and three daggers, she slipped out of the door to sprint down the street toward her chosen location.

  For an hour, she practiced moves she knew to perfection but it never hurt to run through them again. She closed her eyes, despite the uneasy feeling of being watched. He'd been there for the better part of thirty minutes but had made no move toward her, or shown any hostility. Sometimes admirers wanted to learn more about her in the hope of joining her in conversation. It never worked but it didn't stop them trying. Other times, a rival hoped to best her in a fight and knew that watching her might reveal a weakness to exploit. She didn't think she had any weaknesses but she wished them luck with finding one.

  “I was told you came here to practise. Do you come here every day?”

  She spun, sword in hand and dropped to one knee while appraising the open space around them. Prince Padiskan leant on the white-washed wall with no sign of his guard. He wore a simple robe that others in the market square might don to purchase bread to break their fast from a local bakery stall. The sun rising on the horizon gave the rotund man an earthly glow, although Roz knew that had been deliberate. Padiskan was not above using natural powers to boost his own.

  “Sire, you’re alone. Is that wise?” She dropped her head, but her question sat in the air.

  “I’ve been here for some time and I’ve come to no harm. Besides you’re the best of all who watch me, I can be in no danger with you at my side.” Prince Padiskan chuckled softly, his eyes appraising the lines of the woman kneeling in front of him. She had lowered her head in respect, but her senses worked at full speed, listening out for anything that may reveal an assassin.

  “I didn’t know it was you, Sire.” She didn't move, wouldn’t move until the Prince had given permission.

  “Stand Roz, you’ll grow old down there.” Padiskan stepped forward, his hand held out as though she needed help to rise. She flinched, an involuntary action and one he noted, but he called no attention to it, presuming it was the greatness of his stature causing such a reac
tion. “Why do you get up at this unearthly hour, it’s still practically night.”

  “I like the solitude, Sire.”

  “Are you hungry?” The Prince asked a mundane question which caused a frown to cross her brow. "I passed a quaint baker's shop and wondered if you needed to eat."

  "I could eat something," she admitted, her eyes on the hand which still held hers. She didn't dare pull away for that would be an insult to him, but she found the mask of indifference difficult to maintain, although if Padiskan noticed, he made no sign of it.

  "Come then; the bakery awaits us.”

  Chapter Four

  No passer-by would have paid much notice to the tall woman walking hand in hand with her beau, but for the battle-ready sword or the three knives displayed openly at her belt. The cold look plastered on her face may also have warned them away.

  “Good morning, Roz.” The Baker grinned widely. She was a welcome customer in his shop, good for business, showing he had friends in important places and an ally should a rogue or thieves target his premises. “And good morning to you, good sir.”

  “It is a good morning.” Padiskan grinned widely because his identity was safe. Outside of his sumptuous robes, his bodyguards, he was just one of them, a man without fame. His plain garb marked him as no different from any other man walking the early morning streets, a guise he used from time to time. Roz added her thanks to the coins for their food before following the Prince out into the sunshine.

  “Where do you live?” Padiskan smiled at the awkwardness on her face. She turned, an acceptance cloaking around her as she led him to her humble home, a short distance from where he had found her.

  She pushed the door open for him to enter but he stood his ground, bowing low and waving a hand. With a soft nod, she stepped into the coolness of her home; the windows still open to allow the soft breeze into the almost empty room.