Night pressed against the window’s glass as the royal entourage continued to enjoy their courteously provided dinner. Council Leader Armella fit right in as she enthralled her town’s visitors with eccentric tales from her day-to-day life.

Laurence picked up a tender piece of meat and popped it into his mouth, savoring the unique flavor the different seasonings produced.

"Truly divine," Laurence mumbled through his mouthful, oblivious to the breach in decorum.

Avril chuckled, only sipping at water. "You’re praising it with such... fervor, Your Highness."

Somewhat bashfully, Laurence quickly hid his mouth behind his hand as he hurried to finish chewing before retorting, "I’m just appreciating the effort that went into the dish."

Avril snorted, raising his cup to take another sip, when he caught sight of something dancing in his periphery. Without shifting his body, his gaze snapped toward the window where shadows seemed to stretch and sweep past unnaturally. They vanished after less than a second of his scrutiny. 

Avril continued to stare at the same spot for over a minute to see if more movement would follow, but nothing further occurred. 

Though he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, Avril reluctantly looked away and brought a hand up to rub at his temples. The warmth of his earlier bath was still clinging to him; prolonged exposure to heat always left a haze in his mind and molasses in his muscles. 

Nonetheless, he wasn’t too concerned about his ability to fulfill his role as Laurence’s protector, even while partially impaired. His relentless training over the course of several years had forced his body to the point of reacting to threats on instinct alone, regardless of his physical state.

Across the table, Tellos’ wiry frame also shifted uneasily. "Do any of you feel it?" He questioned, cautiously looking around as if attempting to see through the very walls of the inn. “Something ominous is brewing.”

Evette, a knight who had guarded Tellos on a few previous occasions, was used to his periodic claims of ‘ominous feelings.’ They often turned out to be small, uneventful disturbances. 

She chuckled and waved a dismissive hand as she reached for more vegetables. "Advisor Tellos, did you spend too long in the bath? The only thing brewing is your imagination," she jested, her laughter echoed by the other knights. The chorus of mirth that followed seemed to brush away concern like crumbs from the table.

"...Perhaps," Tellos hesitantly conceded, his brow remaining furrowed with doubt. "The steam does play tricks on the mind."

Avril did not know Tellos nearly well enough to determine if the man’s judgment was dependable, but a second person’s vague feeling of unease was all he needed to justify his own caution.

Subtly reaching into the pockets of his loungewear, Avril’s fingers closed around the cool, familiar contours of his thick gloves. The sealing stones embedded within the back of them pulsed with muted energy as he slipped them on with practiced ease. Their presence was a quiet reassurance against the dread that was creeping closer with each passing moment.

The clink of porcelain and the murmur of conversation continued to fill the room. 

While the prince indulged in a tale from his studies, Avril feigned engrossment, his senses tuned elsewhere as his body coiled like a spring.

After some time, Barton caught Avril's cautiously wandering gaze. The lines on his forehead deepened in concern as he mouthed toward the younger knight, ‘Something wrong?’ 

Since their fight, Barton had been much more amenable to Avril, who in return had gone out of his way to not reciprocate. 

That would not be changing even now, as Avril dismissed the older knight’s worry with a sharp shake of his head.

Barton straightened from his relaxed slouch on his cushion, seemingly rearing up to pursue the issue, when a piercing howl tore through the air, slicing through the rest of the room’s tranquility. 

There could be no convenient explanation for such a bloodcurdling cry that didn’t spell peril.

Avril was on his feet before the echo faded, every muscle taut and ready. Barton and the other three knights in the room weren’t far behind. Though still garbed in comfortable lounging robes from the bathhouse, none of them were so foolish as to be unarmed, even during what was supposed to be a moment of downtime. 

Their hands moved as one towards their sleeves and pockets; hidden within the folds of fabric, their sealing stones came alive at their touch, unsheathing swords with a metallic symphony.

Laurence, Armella, and the advisors all froze, their laughter dying on their lips as they turned toward the sound, faces draining of color.

Barton motioned for Gelias, the youngest of the knights present. "With me," he commanded, voice low and tense. "Evette, Jorah, Avril; you three remain with Prince Laurence and the rest."

Avril resisted the urge to scoff; he obviously wouldn’t step away from Laurence in such a situation, regardless of anyone’s orders.

The other two knights saluted their captain dutifully and ushered Armella and advisors Tellos, Reya, and Cecil closer to the prince so they’d be easier to protect as a group.

The room fell deathly silent as Barton and Gelias slipped into the corridor.

With the sun having set, the hallway was dim, the lanterns adorning the walls casting more shadow than light.

Barton's eyes narrowed as he scanned the corridor, immediately spotting a dark shape slumped against the far wall. His heart sank as recognition dawned.

"Eulad," Gelias whispered, horror etched across his youthful features.

Sir Eulad, a knight who’d chosen to stay behind to guard Advisors Ruford and Melia when they abstained from joining them in the bathhouse, lay sprawled on the floor. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, unseeing, and his mouth was stretched open as if he’d slumped over mid-scream. A line of crimson was cut across the front of his neck, dripping its way down into the collar of his uniform.

Barton approached cautiously and pressed two fingers to their comrade’s neck, though it was clear he was beyond aid. "No pulse," he confirmed, with a grim shake of his head.

Gelias swallowed hard, his face pale as he stared with wide eyes at the door to Ruford and Melia's room. It stood slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness visible through the gap.

"The advisors..." He murmured fretfully.

Barton's jaw clenched, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. With a sharp nod to Gelias, they approached the door, every step measured and silent on the inn’s plush rugs.

Barton's calloused hand reached out, pushing the door open with agonizing slowness. It swung inward on silent hinges.

The sight beyond was what they’d been dreading.

Moonlight spilled through the open window, casting long shadows across the floor as the curtains billowed gently in the night breeze.

Advisor Ruford lay sprawled across the bed, the collar of his nightclothes stained a deep crimson. Beside the bed, Melia's body was crumpled on the floor. Her light, gray streaked hair was littered with specks of red.

Gelias stumbled backward, bile rising in his throat. Barton steadied him with a firm hand on his shoulder, his own face ashen but composed.

"Stay alert," he hissed.

Gelias nodded shakily, spinning around to keep his eyes peeled in case the attacker was still nearby.

Barton's expression hardened as he surveyed the victims, his trained eye picking out details. The lack of defensive wounds, the precision of the fatal strikes – no doubt it was the work of professionals.

He then walked toward the open window, cautiously looking out. They were on the third floor, but with flower boxes that lined many windows and the intentional divots in the cottage design of the building, he deduced it was possible for someone trained to scale up to the room.

The attacker must’ve come in, killed the advisors swiftly, and exited into the hallway where they startled Eulad enough that he tried to yell briefly before his throat was slit.

Barton then turned his head to the side door that connected the advisors’ room to Laurence’s chamber, his mind racing at the possibilities.

Had the attacker intended to kill the prince as well, but abandoned that plan when he heard the many voices next door? That was one possibility.

Barton's jaw clenched as he spun away from the grisly scene. "We need to inform the others," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Stay vigilant."

Gelias nodded; though his hand trembled slightly on his sword hilt, his eyes were sharp, as they made their way back to Laurence's quarters. They chose not to go through the side door and instead went back the way they came, not wanting to startle their group.

They slipped into Laurence’s room, closing the door firmly behind them. They were greeted by tense silence as all eyes fell to them upon their return.

"What did you find?" Avril demanded from where he stood protectively over Laurence’s hunched form. The prince's eyes were fearfully wide, but he appeared relieved when he saw that Barton and Gelias had returned unharmed.

Barton's face was grim as he relayed their findings. "Sir Eulad is dead. As are Advisors Ruford and Melia. A skilled assassin, most likely."

A collective gasp rippled through the room.

Armella's hand flew to her mouth, Reya stifled a sob, while Cecil gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles went white.

"I knew something was brewing," Tellos cursed under his breath.

Laurence paled, his hands clenching into fists in front of his chest. "How... how is this possible?" He asked, his voice wavering.

Avril reached down and grasped Laurence beneath the arm in a viselike grip, effortlessly pulling the prince to his feet.

"We need to move," Avril said, his voice low and urgent.

Barton nodded sharply. "Agreed. We'll make our way to the carriages and—"

A blood-curdling scream cut through their planning, followed by the clash of steel on steel.

The sounds of battle erupted from outside the inn.