Veran

I woke up to find an ice cold hand press against my neck. 

Instinctively my mind blanks as I try to sort my groggy dreams from the memories of where I am. Not an easy task when a stranger is gripping onto my windpipe.

I come to the harsh realization that I should have been in my room alone. Cold, fierce adrenaline quickly follows. It rushes through my bloodstream like a tsunami that I can’t escape. With it comes the strange heart pumping sensation that makes every hair on my body stand up and my hands sweat in anxiety. I have to decide, run or fight. The first doesn’t seem likely.

I trail my eyes from the arm to the body of the uninvited guest whose head turns toward the window. There beside the thin pane stands someone else who is being very careful to hide behind the red curtains that frame the glass. Their eyes skitter in the moonlight as they survey the guards below who patrol the castle walls. I can hear their distant voices yelling in growing fear that their Prince may die.

The person who holds my neck notices my open eyes and quickly covers my mouth with the hand that was clenching onto my neck.

“You need to hurry.” The man by the window says in a harsh whisper. 

The man by the window is nervous as he fidgets with the silver hilt of his sword and then rubs the back of his neck with a gloved hand. He has a very good reason to be nervous, he is trying to kill the Crown Prince of the Empire.

The sound of a guard shouting from the parlor room reaches my ears. The attacker notices and it is enough of a distraction to pull one of my arms free from under the person’s leg and punch them across the chin. He grunts then gives an expression of utter horror at the realization that I am reaching for something beneath my pillow. He thrusts his blade toward my neck and I retract my hidden dagger aiming for his side as I turn my body avoiding the slice to my jugular. My silver dagger makes contact with his thigh. With the upper hand I just acquired, I use all of my strength to grab a fistful of his shirt and throw him off of me. I roll out of bed and stand in a low position balancing on the balls of my feet. One of my hands holds onto the bloody dagger while the other is up in a coaxing way that asks everyone to wait. 

Now a third figure who has been standing next to my bedroom door looks at me. It is a girl with hair that is pulled into a tight ponytail and eyes that are aflamed. She has been standing in the corner of the room making sure the guards did not enter.

She takes a step forward but stops as guards start to pound against the mahogany wood. “Open this door or prepare to die!” One yells from beyond the door.

I curl my lips. “Who sent you?” I demand not expecting an answer but use the opportunity to catch my breath. “I see your employer sent three.” I nervously chuckle, trying to ease the nerves that eat away at my confidence.

The girl reaches into her sleeve and throws a metallic weapon that glistens in the little moonlight. I gasp for air as I move my head just enough that only my ear is nipped. I hadn’t been expecting throwing knives but then again I wasn’t expecting a regicide attempt in my own room. She throws another one that misses and then leans against the door as guards slam into it. The sound of their grunts and yells reverberated through the whole castle awakening anyone else who had been asleep. 

The girl turns around and presses both hands against the door that is bending. “Hurry!” She growls while obviously using all her strength to keep the guards at bay.

I scowl at the assassins, and force a mischievous smirk to appear on my face. “Unfortunately gentlemen and lady, I will not be dying tonight,” I assure them with a confident shake of my head. 

“We shall see about that!” The first man says standing back up. 

I am surprised to see him do so after such a deep wound to his leg but adrenaline and the fact that if he doesn’t kill me all of this trouble will be for nothing is a good motivator.

The man by the window draws his silver sword and rushes toward me. He effortlessly jumps over my bed then directs his blade at me. 

Now here is the problem with swords and daggers. Daggers are basically useless in a sword fight due to the fact that they are small and primarily used for closer combat while a sword can simply overpower a dagger. So what is my solution?

I grab a nearby candlestick and use it to block the sword. He retracts his blade and swings harder in an arching motion. The blow makes the candlestick shake with a frightening force but still it thankfully holds in one piece. Well, for the most part. It is progressively being dented inward which makes my heart seize up in fear of it snapping. 

The man notices the progress he makes on it’s not so invincible body and smirks.

Every time he swings his sharp blade I block it with the candlestick and use the momentary opening to try to stab him with my dagger but it is quite hard when I am at a weapon disadvantage. At most he receives a nip to his abdomen that barely draws blood. I take a step back and find that I am progressively being cornered and if I don’t escape I really am going to be killed. 

The man I had initially stabbed now climbs onto my bed and draws his own sword from its sheath. Last time I checked a two against one fight isn’t exactly even so I had to think of something fast.

I peer closer at the man while I still try to block his associates strikes. His wound looked rather painful as blood oozed down the man’s injured leg and then onto my starch white sheets.

I sigh as I take another step back and look at my bloody bed. “We just washed those sheets.” I recoile in disgust, unsure if I wanted to sleep in my bedroom ever again.

It seems that the injured assassin doesn't enjoy my joke as he slashes his blade mere centimeters from my nose. The other one then lifts his blade and fluidly cuts the air where I had once been. The girl quickly leaves the door drawing her own sword. 

Out of pure fear, I grab the girl’s throwing blade that had lodged in the wall behind me and unsympathetically aim it at her. Her final expression is fearless as it lodges into her chest. That wasn’t my intention, her head was, but at least I succeeded in wounding her. 

She clutches the dagger and then pulls it out of her chest, she is now absolutely infuriated and ready to kill me. Not a very good thing especially when I thought the hit would take her down. 

The guards viciously pound against the sturdy door like a pack of wild dogs begging to be freed. “Prince Veran,” One screams out.

“I’m still here,” I scream while blocking the stab of a sword. “Just a bit too busy to talk.” I mumble to myself while I block two jabs at once.

The sensation of warm blood rolling down my ear forces me to realize that I really am running out of time and I can no longer delay my perpetrators hoping that someone from outside will come in and effortlessly apprehend the three. That much is obvious. 

Even though I wounded two assasiasians that doesn't change the fact that the man still moved just enough to thrust his sword at me.

I gulp, focusing my attention on the two men who are much more mobile than the deteriorating girl. She can't even hold her sword properly.

Another stab occurs that I barely block before I am kicked against the wall of my room. My head hits the wood and I let out a low groan as I duck under the blade of a sword. I thought I was being attentive with them as I kept them as far from me as possible with just a candlestick but I guess not. Who would have thought you couldn’t win a sword fight with just a candlestick. Certainly not me. 

I quickly take into account all my final options concluding there is only one that can possibly keep me alive with minor scratches.

Without another thought the wheels of my plan start to move in motion. I block another slash before slicing the forearm of the man I had yet to injure. He jumps back gripping the crimson blood that drips down his arm. 

The man sends a glare at me and that single look pushes me even further on edge not because it was a freighting glare that called upon death but because it was lifeless and verglas cold. He must have seen my growing freight because he casually begins to spin his sword. If he was skeptical about killing me before, he was now determined to slit my throat himself.

I take a deep breath showing that my confidence is slowly turning into panic. Heart hammering, palm sweating, leg weakening, panic that I am struggling to keep under control.

The assassin swings his sword and misses my head by just a hair. 

I couldn’t beat them alone, that was always obvious, but I also don't have many options for escape. I hold my breath as I realize I have to execute the crazy part of my plan, the part I was unsure I could do. 

He stabs his blade and I swiftly spin around, ducking under the sharp point of the assassin’s knives as I curve past my bed. The cold tip of the injured man’s sword makes contact with the back of my neck making me gasp and stumble. 

Instinct breaks through the panic giving me the extra courage to sprint faster across my large room without tripping over my own feet. I shut my eyes, bracing my arms in front of me as I hold my breath and run straight into the glass window that overlooks the yellow rolling plains. Plains I have known my whole life. 

The glass of the window gives way as I throw my candlestick and hit it with the full force of my seventeen year old body. It splinters into a thousand sharp, glittering fragments that catch the moonlight. For the slightest moment it looks quite beautiful. 

Then gravity beckons me, advocating for me to completely forget the idea of moonlight that basks the shards of glass in it’s loving embrace. 

Panic replaces my astonishment as the pull of Terra creates a series of hard knots in my stomach forcing me to acknowledge the truth that I still have to fall from the four story height. 

The feeling of the wind seems suddenly surreal as it rushes past my ears forcing me to listen to it’s shrill screams. My short hair whips above, tangling itself in knots only to fall away from one another. That's when I wondered if these feelings of the wind pricking my face and whipping my hair will become my final ones. Maybe my fate is to die to the song of the winds.