Laurence clung tightly to Avril as he was jostled about with each of the knight’s swift strides. Behind them, he saw several dark silhouettes in pursuit, and urgently tapped Avril's shoulder to alert him.

Avril risked a glance back, his eyes narrowing contemplatively. He tightened his grip on both Laurence and his rapier, before deliberately sliding to a halt.

"Stay as still as you can," Avril ordered, keeping his voice low.

Laurence grimaced, very much wanting to be set down as soon as possible, but he bit back all verbal protest.

The line of followers on their tail closed the distance quickly now that Avril had stopped to let them catch up. The assailant in front wasted no time in lunging at them while wielding dual short swords. 

Avril pivoted, using Laurence's weight as a counterbalance as he deflected the first strike and slammed his elbow into his opponent's collarbone before the second sword could follow up. 

Laurence's world became a dizzying blur of motion. He was astonished by Avril's impossible sense of balance and how he seamlessly incorporated Laurence's weight into each dodge and thrust. 

In a move that defied Laurence’s understanding of physics, Avril spun around, the prince’s extra momentum turning the two of them into a deadly twister. The initial assailant as well as others just catching up found their faces, necks, and chests grated like cheese. The ones who didn’t die immediately fell to the ground clutching at their peeling clothing and skin, making them easy targets for Avril to finish off by stabbing through the back of their necks.

Notably —disconcertingly— none of them screamed, grunted, or made any other noises before or after their deaths. 

With the flayed bodies of their pursuers littering the dark hallway, Avril finally lowered Laurence back onto his feet.

The prince felt ill looking down at the aftermath, swallowing heavily as he averted his gaze. On top of that, he felt utterly useless, literally needing to be shepherded around because he had very little fighting experience. He also couldn’t effectively use his sealing arrays to assist while they were trapped in the inn. Not in a way that wouldn’t go against his own morals, that is.

Laurence lowered his head, disappointed in himself. “Sorry I’m being such a burden,” he felt the need to acknowledge.

"It’s fine," Avril chirped with a dismissive wave of his hand. He tossed some of his long hair over his shoulder and replied, "It’s not as if I expected more from you. Be satisfied as the damsel I’m obligated to rescue."

Laurence gritted his teeth, the helplessness gnawing at him more fiercely than before. He wanted to argue, to claim some semblance of agency, but the truth of Avril's words left him silent.

*****

Avril kept a tight grip on Laurence’s arm as he ran towards and finally kicked down a door that led to the outside. The crackle of the fire still raging at the front of the inn could be distantly heard from where they stood on the opposite side.

"What now?" Laurence asked worriedly, expecting more enemies to pop out at any moment.

"Options are thin," Avril muttered, scanning the surroundings. The night air, thick with the scent of smoke and chaos, barely registered to Avril. His mind raced as he planned their best options for escape. "Our ride's ash and cinders, so I suppose we’ll just have to set out on foot and hopefully steal a—"

"Wait, are you implying we leave everyone else behind?" Laurence's voice rose with indignation, a hand angrily gesturing back towards the inn where others were still trapped in the skirmish. “We can't do that! We have to help them!”

"Surely, you jest," Avril scoffed. "The spoiled prince playing hero yet again?"

"Enough, Avril!" Laurence's retort was fierce, red eyes blazing. "My people, my responsibility!"

"Your life, my duty," Avril countered, unmoved, his own annoyance palpable beneath a veneer of indifference. "We should abandon this place, now."

The argument hung between them, but time was a luxury they couldn't afford. Every moment they spent bickering was another chance for the ambush to claim them.

Heavy stumbling footsteps from the exit behind them jolted the two from their thoughts.

"By the empire," Barton grunted, nearly toppling over as he adjusted his grip on the two figures he carried: Armella, her hair matted with sweat and blood, and Reya, whose face was streaked with terror. The knight Evette was nowhere in sight, and the grim set of Barton's mouth told all that needed to be said about her fate.

"Avril!" Barton’s voice was sharp and urgent. "Take them!"

Without ceremony, he shoved the two women toward Avril, who made no move to assist as they stumbled closer, taking it upon themselves to hurry behind him for refuge.

"What are you—?" Laurence started, but Barton was already turning back with the resolve of a man walking to his end.

"Stay alive, Laurence!" Barton called over his shoulder before disappearing into the inn once again.

Laurence would have rushed in after him if not for Avril's hand clamping down harshly on his shoulder, rooting him in place.

Reya's voice cracked as she hugged herself tightly. Her clothes had several tears in them and specks of blood dotted one sleeve. Her eyes swam with heavy tears. "Evette... Tellos... Gelias... they didn't make it," she sobbed, each word laced with a pain that knotted in Laurence's chest, heavy and suffocating.

Armella, more composed but still obviously traumatized, added tightly, "Every member of the inn’s staff appears to be deceased. I also witnessed the demise of the advisor called Cecil, as well as the knight with him."

Their words were a blade twisting in an already bleeding wound. The loss hollowed Laurence out, leaving him grappling with a responsibility that felt larger than the kingdom itself.

From the outside, they all heard as Barton suddenly roared, a battle cry that echoed through the walls. Once again, Laurence tried to dash inside, but was jerked back by Avril’s unrelenting hold on him.

"Come on then!" Barton’s bellow carried out to them. His voice sounded ragged yet resolute.

Armella and Reya shifted uneasily as Laurence stared into the dark doorway, heart hammering against his ribcage. Barton sounded as if he were dispatching foes with the ferocity of a cornered animal.

But all beasts grew tired eventually.

Barton once again came stumbling outside, but not of his own volition. He was being forced back by several assailants teaming up to push against his considerable might.

"Enough!" Barton's growl of defiance split the air, but his stance wavered, his breaths coming in labored gasps. A sword found its mark, slipping past his guard to bite deep into his side. He grunted, faltering, but did not fall. 

Instead, he rallied, taking down the attacker with a vicious swipe before succumbing to the numbers that swarmed over him like shadows.

"NO!" Laurence's cry pierced the turmoil, raw and ragged. Avril wrapped an arm fully around his waist, forced to lift Laurence off his feet to keep the prince from diving straight into danger.

As Barton's form disappeared beneath a tide of violence, the possible finality of it all settled upon Laurence with an oppressive weight.

"Avril, do something!" Laurence pleaded desperately as he struggled frantically against Avril’s hold, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose and tears rapidly filling his ruby eyes. "HELP HIM! Why aren’t you helping him!?”

Avril's gaze was empty as he watched Barton’s defeat. “Your Highness," he started slowly, his voice blank. "My task is to protect you. Only you."

"Damn your task!" Laurence snapped in fear and frustration, reaching out helplessly toward his dear friend.

"He is certainly dead already," Avril stated, watching unblinkingly as the assailants slowly rose, streams of blood leaking out past their feet as they slowly stepped away from the hunk of gouged flesh that was once the Captain of their royal entourage.

The attackers, their blades still dripping with Barton's blood, turned their attention to the small group still huddled near the inn's back entrance. Moonlight glinted off their weapons, casting eerie shadows across their masked faces as they advanced with predatory resolve.

With a swift motion born of both necessity and instinct, Avril swept Laurence further up into his arms. The prince was caught off guard, his body tense as if resisting the impulse to keep flailing against the restraint.

They moved, Avril dashing several meters away to gain distance.

"Wait! Reya! Armella!" Laurence shouted over Avril's shoulder, straining to keep sight of the two women. "You left them!"

Avril wordlessly carried Laurence over to a pile of discarded barrels, shoving the prince behind them.

Before Laurence could protest further, the cold inflexibility of fate came to pass. 

It happened swiftly—far too swiftly for screams or pleas, as the blades of the heartless enemy met their marks without mercy.

Reya's eyes widened in shock when her heart was run through, her mouth opening in a soundless gasp as her legs buckled beneath her. Armella reached out, her eyes filled with terror, only to collapse alongside her with a sword piercing her stomach, her dark hair splaying across the dirt like spilled ink.

Laurence's wail tore through the night, raw and despairing. He collapsed to his knees, shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs, as the weight of all the tragedy surrounding him became too much to bear at once.

Standing above him, Avril only had eyes for the remaining four assassins that were now closing in, seemingly eager to finish the massacre they had started.

Raising his rapier once again, Avril neatly stepped around the barrels and stood ready to put them all to a hellish rest.

The first assassin lunged, their dagger aimed toward Avril's heart, who parried with ease. With a swift return thrust, the assailant crumpled to the ground, a gurgling breath his last.

It had been the enemy’s sheer numbers and initial sneaky tactics that had given them the advantage over everyone else. Now, with the rest of the Loros entourage having at least managed to whittle the enemy down, Avril could mop up the leftovers rather quickly.

Meeting the next attacker's swing with a deft twist and thrust, Avril’s rapier pierced through their flesh as if it were butter.

The last two opponents came together, coordinating their assault. Avril pranced between them, sidestepping one’s fierce downward strike that resulted in their weapon embedding itself into the earth. Avril responded with a lethal jab to the exposed underarm, all the way through to the lung.

As the final enemy hesitated, Avril’s smile stretched into one not of joy, but of grim satisfaction as he dispatched them with a clean slice across the throat.

Sweating only slightly from the exertion, Avril stood amidst the carnage, his amethyst eyes scanning the area for any more threats. 

Laurence remained motionless, his own empty gaze reflecting nothing but the stark reality of immense loss.

They were alone now, the only sounds being that of their breaths and the faint crackle from the still burning carriages on the other side of the building.

Avril turned to Laurence with blood splattered across his tight smile. "Hopefully that’s the last of them, eh, your Highness?" He quipped, a lightness in his voice that clashed with the grim setting around them.

Laurence's response was a strangled sound of disbelief and grief. "How can you stand there so nonchalant?" His voice cracked, raw with emotion, as he swept an arm towards the bodies of Barton, Reya, and Armella. "They're dead, Avril! Why—why didn't you help them?"

Avril's smile faded, not out of remorse, but as if the question bored him. "Help them?" He repeated, tilting his head to look down at the prince as if considering him particularly daft. "Since when was the safety of anyone besides yourself my concern?"

"But they were our friends, our people!" Laurence's hands clenched into the dirt, his composure beyond shattered under the weight of his despair.

Avril raised an eyebrow.  "I did what I was obligated to do. Protect you. That's the long and short of it."

"Obligated..." The word seemed to echo in Laurence's mind. 

He could not reconcile the Avril who had joked and lightly flirted with him earlier that evening, with the cold executioner standing before him now.

"Obligated," Avril repeated with finality. "I informed you when we first met that I am NOT a Loros knight. I have neither sworn allegiance to the King nor the throne. I exist to be your —Prince Laurence’s— knight, and nothing else,” he reiterated with an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know how to make that any clearer." 

The words sliced through Laurence, each one a verdict, severing him from any delusion of camaraderie that might have lingered. 

In Avril’s eyes, there was no flicker of regret, only the stark reality of his purpose.

In that moment, Laurence understood the true cost of his survival. It was a lesson written in the bodies of those he had respected and held dear, and a chilling reminder of the throne's isolating grip.