"You have come to kill me, have you not?" It wasn’t a question. His voice was calm and controlled, with a slight hint of amusement. His deep purple eyes with a blue hue looked sad, no, not sad. Something else. He looked… Resigned?

He was sitting down on a chair, looking unbothered by the turmoil and chaos around him. There were no servants near him, but then again, I didn’t expect there to be. And yet, him sitting there alone did not make him seem frail and lonely. It did not make him seem like a victim.

In fact, he made the ordinary chair look like a throne.

"... I have,” I answered, honestly. I could not lie to a man I was about to kill. I might have thrown away my honor a long time ago, but something about him made me want to send him off without any lies.

"Please tell me you are at least being fairly compensated for the trouble?" He asked and then looked directly at me, true curiosity glimmering in his eyes. I supposed he wanted to know because it could be fun to know how much one's own life was worth, if it was indeed worth anything. Unlike my own.

But I shouldn’t suppose, and I couldn’t guess at his thoughts. He had always been an odd one. One of the few people I never understood.

The Sixth Prince. Though he was a thoroughbred with no questions about his bloodline, he was the one who least seemed like what I knew as ‘a royal’, not counting the undoubtable royal air he held himself with. 

He had never coveted the throne in the way most of his half siblings had, and never played the game of bloodshed and politics.

Or maybe, that was what had made him the only true royal. 

I could only guess. I wouldn’t dare ask. I didn’t deserve, nor had any right to.

"... I am,” I trembled a bit as I gave my answer. I would have nodded, but the way he looked at me with those purplish blue eyes held me captive. I couldn’t move my head at all.

He knew why I was here, and yet there was no hate in his gaze. No anger.

In my heart, I knew I wouldn’t ever be compensated enough for the sin I was about to commit, but equally, I owed everything to The Fourth Prince. 

I could not decline an order. Serving him was compensation enough.

Without him, I would not have survived. I needed to do everything he asked, no questions. There was no need to consider my own feelings in the matter. No need to have feelings, nor thoughts. I was simply his sword. No more, no less.

Swords did not have feelings. Swords did not think.

"Well, if that is the case, I will be able to rest in peace. May your life be long and happy, Sir Mallis." He spoke my name like he had said it a hundred times before. He hadn’t, of course. I was surprised he even knew it.

The Fourth Prince usually called me by whatever suited him in the moment, with a certain tone of command that didn’t let me question he was speaking to me. Sometimes he would use my name, yes, but in that tone of his…

It was the same tone one might speak to a dog when it was barking out of turn. Only… I would never dare to do anything out of turn. It would cost me dearly, and I had nothing of value to pay with when my life was already his.

"I'm sorry,” I whispered, not meaning for him to hear me. I had sworn to protect the royal family, and here I was, about to kill a member of it, “may the gods never forgive me for what I'm about to do.” I added, loudly. I needed him to know that I did not enjoy this task. I needed him to… No, this was pure selfishness.

I did not care for the gods.

I simply wanted this man, whom I was about to kill, to forgive me for being too weak to resist my orders. Too weak to decline and die, like I had ought to do.

Because despite everything, despite how wrong I knew this was, I did not want to die.

I knew I did not deserve his forgiveness, so I would not ask for it. This man who faced death head-on with eyes that did not waver.

"I may be able to put in a word with the gods?” He chuckled. Not a forced one. A genuine chuckle in this situation?

I had no idea what to make of it, nor how to react. “It seems I will be seeing them soon.”

There was an amused glean in his eyes. The resignation had dimmed, somewhat.

"Surely you are not jesting at a point like this, My Prince?" I asked, dumbfounded. I didn’t mean to speak, I didn’t mean to ask questions, but the words poured out. I could not understand this man, but a part of me wanted to try to understand at least a fraction while I still could.

"If I should not jest at the end of my life, when else would I have the time to do so?" He asked.

He was serious. In a situation like this, he was finally taking things seriously because I had questioned the timing of his jokes?

Before I could stop myself, my mouth once again spilled over with words I could not help but think, "you could run away."

"Would you let me?" He asked genuinely, still holding me captive with those eyes. He almost seemed to dare me to lie with the way he held my gaze, but I could not lie to him. I didn’t want to.

"No..." I almost whimpered, but my tone held strong. Barely.

The last time I felt this weak was fifteen years ago, when I hadn’t eaten a proper meal for days and had finally stolen a bruised apple that I thought nobody would want to buy, only to get beaten to a half-dead pulp when I was discovered. 

The bruise was shaped like a perfect little circle near the bottom stalk of it, and I remembered how that one circle had stared back at me like an eye as the owner picked it up after finishing with me.

I had sworn never to feel like that again. To do anything and everything I could to survive.

And yet…

"Then what good would running do?" He asked. The question interrupted my thoughts.

"You could at least try..."

Why did my voice sound like I was begging him?

"No, Sir Mallis, I much prefer to end with some dignity.” He smiled at me and then continued, “Can't you see? I am even wearing my most impeccable cloak. It is quite heavy. I could do nothing but fall in this, without a few servants carrying the train."

He was right. I knew he was. The cloak he was wearing was embossed with crystals and jewels, furs upon furs, and was so long it would pool at his feet if he stood. 

The two times I had seen him wear it, there had been three servants carrying the train after him, while the whole ensemble would go incredibly slow and controlled.

It was meant to be seen. A symbol of status. Not something to be worn while running for your life.

"But, maybe..." I tried, despite fully realizing that he had never even thought of running away. He had been waiting for his death, dressing for it in his finest, most extravagant clothing.

Not only that, he had not had the help of a single servant, as they had all fled, were dead or had switched sides.

I could almost imagine his calm and collected demeanor as he carried the heavy burden on his shoulders, fiddling with the chains and buttons and threads to make sure it was sitting exactly right. How he had to walk ever so slowly, lifting it at the sides, to be able to get into the chair.

How he had arranged it to envelop him perfectly, as he sat there. Waiting.

Waiting for his death.

Waiting for me.

"Sir Mallis, it seems odd for me to say this, but would you mind hurrying this along a bit? I would like to die with a smile on my face and your rather gloomy mood is contagious."

He was right. I had once again been stalled by my own indecisiveness. 

If he wished to die with a smile on his face, I could at least grant him that.

I had promised not to ask, but the words fell over my lips before I could stop them.

"Forgive me, My Prince."

He chuckled.

"No need for such formality. I was never your prince, was I? And there is nothing to forgive. You, like I, had no choice in the lot we had in life. It is simply how things were supposed to end.” A smile I could not quite decipher spread before he added, “Tell my brother farewell for me?"

He was right. He was never my prince, but in this moment, I wish he had been. Maybe then, I would have gotten to know him. Would have understood how he could live like he did. Why he chose death over running or even fighting.

It was something I could never understand.

But while I never would understand this man, I vowed to myself I would at least remember him. Until this request was fulfilled, however short it was, he would be my prince.

"I will. I promise." I vowed, going down on one knee, never breaking eye contact.

I knew The Fourth Prince would not appreciate the taunt. He wanted The Sixth Prince to suffer. Not send his greetings. But I could handle this much if it meant I would be able to do one thing for him. 

The first and final thing I would ever do for the prince who would greet death by dressing up in his finest clothing.

It was the least I could do.

"Thank you, Sir Mallis. Had I indeed been your prince, I… No matter. I am grateful to die by your sword. They say your skills do not even leave a blood stain. It makes me breathe a sigh of relief that my cloak will still look immaculate, with not a drop to taint it."

My name again. He said it with such warmth. Like it actually meant something to him.

I almost couldn’t bear it.

But I would.

Because just as he finished talking, he closed his eyes and smiled.

It was my cue.

There was nothing more to say. Nothing more to talk about.

I shut off my feelings and stopped thinking.

Instinct took over.

I rose from my knee and went to him, raising my sword while I spoke.

"I will make it fast and painless. Farewell,” I struck down before I added “…My Prince."

Not a single drop stained the heavy cloak.

He was just sitting there, still, like a doll with its strings cut, but smiling in such a natural and relaxed way that one could never mistake him for anything but a human.

(

(Art by Tiv - link to her in description)