Vendors called out to a cloaked figure, making it's way quickly through the thrall of stalls. Their eyes bore into the retreating figure, attempting to lure it to their stations. Scents of must and decay waft throughout the thread barren tables, enhancing the darker feelings that the market tended to invoke. The market itself is an unforgiving place, a place where criminals are free to roam the streets, fully shrouded by constant darkness. Corruption runs deep, as if it's in the veins of the streets. It spoils the blood and poisons the soul. 

Of course, it was a place the Queen found fitting to send her loyal servant alone. 

Rowan Hawthorne pulled the hood of his clock closer to his face, willing the vendors not to look carefully at his features. If they even caught a glimpse of his deep green eyes, he'd become a target. Rowan's line of work wasn't exactly adored by civilians, even those who worked in the recesses of the town. 

Rowan slunk his way through the stalls, finally laying eyes on a booth at the very end of the street, swallowed by the larger stalls beside it. A pudgy goblin sat at the dodgy table hidden by the swells, his bare feet resting on top of the cloth, a magazine with a picture of a half-naked Elvin woman adorning the cover. 

Rowan shook his head in disgust as he walked up to the vendor. "That's a great way to attract customers Barnabas." 

The goblin set down his magazine, a devious smile etching the lines of his face as he laid eyes on the young man. "Isn't it?"

"Tell me; does that actually work?" Rowan prompted, leaning an elbow on the table. "Or do people assume you're selling women and leave with a deep sense of sorrow?"

Barnabas laughed, his deep red eyes twinkling with mischief.  "I'll never reveal my secrets."

"Too bad." Rowan shrugged, winking. "I was hoping to get into the business. It seems fairly lucrative."

The goblin set out a short, sharp laugh. "i'm afraid you don't have the knack for it, hunter."

"One never knows until the try." Rowan said curtly, his forest green eyes sparking. 

"Trust me on this one." Barnabas said, giving the young man a pointed look. "Now, what can I do for my favorite customer." 

"I'm looking for poison." Rowan responded, pulling the hood lower on his face and pitching his voice down. 

Barnabas rolled his eyes. "That's what I sell, sunshine. You're going to have to be a little more specific." 

Rowan rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face flush. "Do I have to?"

"If you want what you're looking for." The goblin responded, a bemused expression crossing his face. 

"Fine." Rowan said, his heart racing in his chest. "I need Impuesto."

The jovial grin faded from the goblin man's face, he green cheeks paling. Barnabas eyed a vial on his table. For the first time in Rowan's life, he'd managed to stun Barnabas, and he'd bought countless poisons from the goblin in the name of the Queen. This was mostly due to the fact that the poison in question was the most lethal known to the country. Impuesto has the power to paralyze anyone who comes in contact with it. If it enters the bloodstream, there's no chance of survival. It kills instantly. The late King Arthur banned it, eons before. Yet, it was the Queen's favored poison for her victims. 

"You're aware it's illegal." Barnabas said after what seemed like an eternity of silence to Rowan. 

"I'm perfectly aware." Rowan responded, giving the pudgy goblin a pointed looks. "Since when have I cared about legality? And if it's so illegal, why are you selling it?"

Rowan couldn't help but feel largely unsympathetic to any protests that Barnabas might have. The goblin was a vendor on the black market after all, not the owner of some flower shop in the village. Rowan almost laughed at the image of Barnabas sitting behind  booth adorned with daisies. Whatever reservations the goblin may have had regarding Impuesto, he was still selling it. That meant that it was fair game. 

Barnabas sniffed, rubbing his tongue over sharp teeth. "It'll be seven byquis then."

"Seven?!" Rowan exclaimed, unable to keep his shroud of invisibility. Several buyers startled, turning in their direction. Rowan blushed, lowering his voice. "None of your poisons have been over three." 

The goblin tilted his head, his green skin almost shining in the dim light. "None of those poisons have been Impuesto, have they?" 

"I could go somewhere else to get it." Rowan shifted his weight as he eyes the vendor. 

"We both know that's not true." Barnabas laughed, smirking. "No one else it brave enough to sell it. You know that. It's me, or you don't get it at all."

"It's robbery." Rowan countered, his expression fierce, knowing that the goblin was right. Almost no one makes the poison, and even if they did, they wouldn't sell it to the Queen's huntsman. It was Barnabas, or no poison at all.  

"You're employed by the Queen. You have more than enough money." Barnabas countered, his expression challenging, daring Rowan to argue. "So what'll it be, sunshine. The poison, or your byqis?" 

Rowan grumbled, but reached into his satchel to pull out seven small coins. The green eyed man threw them on the table in front of the goblin. 

Barnabas grinned, exposing all his sharp teeth. "That wasn't that hard, now was it?"

"Just give me the poison." Rowan said through gritted teeth. 

"So impatient." The goblin clucked, shaking his head in disappointment. "Someone in your position ought to have more manners."

"Someone in my position is going to lose their head if you don't give me the poison." Rowan said, holding out his hand, unable to hide the small shaking of his hand. "Now, the poison." 

Barnabas grinned as he handed the vial to the huntsman, wrapping it in thick brown paper. "Make sure not to spill it. Wouldn't want my favorite hunter to die now, would I?"

"You just want my business." Rowan responded, rolling his eyes as he placed the package delicately in the leather satchel that lay flat on his hip. 

Barnabas surveyed the young man with keen eyes. "Whether you like or it not, Rowan, you're my best customer. What you do with the products, I don't care. But I lose you, I lose my business. I mean it when I say don't die."

"A feat in service of the queen." Rowan muttered. 

The Queen had found Rowan living in the market four years previous. Perhaps the Queen had felt pity for the freshly orphaned sixteen year old boy when she took Rowan back to her castle, hoping to provide him with a better life. However, the Queen's motives were much more than just saving an orphan. The Queen needed a huntsman. Someone that kept her hands clean of dirt. A sixteen year old boy who didn't know any better. 

Rowan emerged from the market, blinking rapidly as the sun bore harshly into his eyes. Rowan placed a hand over his eyes, looking around for the carriage that he'd arrived in. One embellished with the Queen's symbol. 

Rowan pulled the hood away from his face, allowing his chestnut brown hair to spill free from it's confines. Small sun lightened curls sprung out, framing his tanned face and gaunt face. A long white scar extended the right side of his face, starting on his temple and stopping just above his jawline. 

Rowan spotted the carriage, a dark cloud against the otherwise blue sky. He took a breath, stepping into the carriage. The Queen sat with her legs crossed on one of the satin benches, holding a string of sparking diamonds up the window that flowed of the ends of her fingers like water. 

"Rowan." The Queen's unearthly eyes bore into him as he entered the carriage. "Were you able to obtain it?"

Rowan bowed his head, the leather satchel on his hip suddenly feeling like led. "Yes, your majesty." 

"Barnabas." The Queen said in a statement rather than a question. 

Rowan bowed his head again, a sign of agreement. 

"Let me see it." The Queen's voice was a thick as honey. 

Rowan gulped, feeling sweat bead at the top at the edges of his hairline as he pulled the vial from his bag. Countless deliveries of poison should have made the task easier, but each vial felt like a link added to Rowan's chain. Guilt tugged at his heart as he held out the vial to his Queen. Whether he liked to admit it or not, Rowan was an accessory in countless deaths. Some warranted, and some unreasonable. 

The Queen's lips twitched slightly as she took the vial in her slim, pale fingers. Inhuman eyes stared at the vial as her dark, violet lips twisted into a satisfied smile. "Lovely." 

The Queen's dark wings bristled behind her in pleasure as she turned the vial in her fingers. Calla Moonwalker was the first fae to ascend the Kiford throne after eons of human royalty, taking the throne by force rather than blood. The entire kingdom kept silent, terrified of their new Queen, not daring to challenge or question her rule. Unlike her predecessors, Calla ruled with an iron first, favoring more violent measures than those before her. And Calla was eternal. Rowan could not recall another ruler. Calla had been there when his father was born, and when his father's father was just a lad. 

Yet, despite her cruelty, the Queen was undeniably beautiful. It's impossible to not see, even if you weren't looking. Long, almost icy hair fell down her thin frame. The Queen's lips were always painted a shade of midnight, painted as if it were blood staining her lips. However, for those who got close enough, it was easy to see that despite her beauty, it was inhumane. Sharp. Dangerous. 

"What are you planning to do with the poison, your majesty?" Rowan inquired, his words echoing in the silence of the carriage. 

The Queen's dark eyes were sharp as she surveyed her huntsman. "You are aware of my son?" 

"Antony?" Rowan questioned, nodding. The story of Antony was well known to the people of Kilford. Antony was the first son of the Queen, her only biological child. Six years before Antony had fled the palace, disappearing. No one knew the reason, though the village had its speculations. Some wagered he'd run away with a woman from another kingdom, one that his mother disapproved of. Others said it was because he was a bastard and loathed that he had no chance at the throne. Still others claimed that he'd crossed the queen and running away was his only chance at survival. Whatever the case, the boy was gone. Rowan had his own theories on the prince's disappearance, but none of the theories really mattered. Antony was nothing more than a cautionary tale to the villagers, merely a warning not to cross the Queen. "What of him?" 

"I need you to get rid of him." The Queen said, her voice betraying no emotion as she held the vial to the stream of light in the window, allowing the diamond bottle to glisten in the sun. 

"But, isn't he already gone your majesty?" Rowan pointed out, despite his best interests. "He ran away." 

" I do not need you to tell me events of the past." The Queen says sharply. 

"I deeply apologize, your majesty." Rowan responded almost immediately. "I was out of line."

The Queen gave him a dismissive wave. "It is no matter. I need you to kill him." 

Rowan blanched at the blatancy of her words. It was true that he had killed before for a variety of reasons, but this time it felt different. "But your majesty."

"You will not question my orders." The Queen's voice was cold as her dark pupils filled her entire eyes. "You will do as I say." 

"Yes, my Queen." Rowan bowed his head low. "How would you like it done?" 

"Dip your arrow in the poison." The Queen said coolly, surveying the vial again, a Cheshire like grin playing at the corner of her deep lips. "Pierce his heart. Then, take his heart from his body and return it to me." 

Rowan's own heart jumped to his throat, tightening in his chest, but all he could do was nod. It was no use arguing with the Queen. If he didn't do what she asked, it would be his own heart on her silver platter. 

The Queen regarded him, her elegant chin high. "You leave for Bourrault in two days time." 

"But how will I recognize him?" Rowan inquired. Rowan didn't remember what the prince looked like. Antony had run away before Rowan had become a servant to the Queen, and even when Antony had lived in the palace, he'd made minimal public appearances. Even then, Antony was now twenty-one winterfalls. The prince wouldn't resemble the boy he once was. 

The Queen pressed her lips tightly together, letting a sigh out through her nose, clearly annoyed with Rowan's persistent questions. "You'll know him when you see him." 

"But how?" Rowan asked again.

"He bears the mark of Ferallo on his chest." The Queen said icily. 

Rowan balked at her, unable to hide his surprise. The mark of Ferallo was almost unheard of, even for those royally born.  It bestowed the power over elements to a non-elemental creature. Up until this moment, Rowan assumed that the mark had just been a myth. 

The Queen nodded slightly, handing the vial back to Rowan. Rowan took the vial in careful hands, waiting in bated breath as he returned it safely to his satchel before tipping his head in a bow, suppressing his uneasiness. While the Queen had asked him to kill, it was the first time she'd asked him to kill one of her own. The Queen's own flesh and blood. Rowan couldn't help but feel this meant something greater, and yet he couldn't refuse her orders. He didn't have a choice. 

"Rowan -" The Queen's voice sounded as he opened the door to exit the carriage. 

"Yes, your majesty?" Rowan turned back to the carriage, unable to meet the Queen's eyes. 

"If you fail me, you know what will happen." The Queen said coldly, shutting the door and rolling way. 

Rowan shuddered, watching the carriage fade into the distance, the Queen's words echoing in his head. If he failed, the Queen would take his heart for his own. And it was already tied to hers.