#suddenlystories

She dropped the sheets on top of the pile of blankets, keeping a nervous eye on the prince. He hadn’t moved, except to pillow his head on his arms, and was staring away from her. She could see, through his loose white shirt, the vibrant, tribal patterns of those magic Kamean tattoos. She had to strike now, before he could use the spells, and wiped her sweaty palms on the front of her wide-legged pants.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, slipped the knife from its hiding place, and stalked quietly towards the bed. Tarquin, without even looking at her, said, “Do me a favor? Try again later.”

LeTasha froze. “I-I’m sorry, your highness?”

He let out an aggrieved sigh. “I’m too tired to be assassinated today. Can you come back later?”

She stared at the prince’s back. “I’m afraid I-I don’t understand, sire,” she squeaked. “I’m just the maid.”

Tarquin heaved another gusty sigh, then rolled over with an effort. LeTasha quickly stuck her hands behind her back and tried not to look like she had just been contemplating murdering the king’s brother. He frowned at her.

The prince did look exhausted. The circles under his eyes suggested that he and his lady friend hadn’t gotten any sleep at all last night, and probably not even the night before that. Fresh bruises cobbled the right side of his jaw and his neck. “What were you going to do? Pillow on my face? You know, you could’ve poisoned me last night when you brought up that dinner tray. It would have been much easier. Use a slow-working poison, and you could have been out of Lovensk City before I even felt sick.”

LeTasha felt both cold and sweaty, gripping the knife until her fingers hurt. How could he know? There was no way this debauched fop of a prince could have figured it out. She glanced over her shoulder, glancing through the bedroom door, but no guards lurked in the prince’s sitting room.

The bed creaked, and LeTasha jumped, whipping her head back to see Tarquin now standing. He didn’t approach her, though, but instead turned his back to her, picking up a water bottle from the windowsill.

He knew. This was her only chance. LeTasha switched the knife from her left hand to her right and took two long steps forward.

In the next moment, LeTasha was flat on her back, blood pouring from her nose and her head spinning. Tarquin stood over her, twirling her knife between his fingers. “You were going to stab me?” he guessed, and sighed again. “You really are an amateur. I also thought you’d be a little more considerate of whoever has to clean up after you. You’ve been picking up after me for a month, after all.”

LeTasha blinked, both to keep tears from her eyes and to rid herself of the temporary dizziness. She flinched as Tarquin tossed the knife - not at her, but over, and she heard it thunk into the wall. He offered her a hand.

That was his mistake. Her mistake was thinking that she could wrestle an inkmage into submission.

“You almost had me there,” Tarquin said, a minute and a half later. Stars, he didn’t even sound winded! With the prince sitting on her back, pinning her elbows to the floor, LeTasha involuntary let out a sob. The door in the sitting room burst open as a man ran into the room.

“Aw, geez, Tarq, you had me worried,” complained a man’s voice. LeTasha turned her head to the side, smearing blood all over the carpet and sending spurts of pain through her probably broken nose. She expected to see the steel-toed boots of the Royal Guard, but instead spotted a pair of sneakers instead.

Tarquin pulled LeTasha’s arms behind her back, and more of the cords that bound her feet together raised themselves from the tattoos on his arms, wriggling from his skin to wrap around LeTasha’s wrists. “No need, Rafe, I wasn’t ever in any trouble.”

“What!” LeTasha cried, angry and humiliated.

With a frown in his voice, Rafe said, “Quit playing with the poor girl and let her up, Tarquin.”

“I asked her to come back later,” Tarquin said, but his weight left her back. Both men, with surprising gentleness, lifted LeTasha to her bound feet and sat her on the edge of the bed.

Rafe, a black-haired man with olive skin, hissed in sympathy. “You did a number on her face,” he said, and LeTasha jerked back when he reached out to touch her nose.

Tarquin waved a dismissive hand while LeTasha tried not to cry. “I’ll ask my nephew to heal it later. You know, she was going to try and stab me to death?” He sounded offended, but more by the method, rather than the attempted murder itself.

“No, really?” Rafe shook his head at LeTasha. “C’mon, girl, you gotta be smarter than that. We both thought you were gonna poison him last night.”

Red-faced, LeTasha snapped, “I already knew that wouldn’t work, okay! A-And there was poison on the knife, I just needed to scratch you.”

Tarquin blinked, then trotted over to the far wall, where LeTasha’s knife had stuck, point-first. Rafe nodded approval. “That’s a little better, I guess,” he admitted. “If you have that kind of stuff, though, know what I would’ve done? Smeared it on their dinner utensils.”

LeTasha blinked. Behind her, Tarquin said, “Remind me to start checking my forks, then, Rafe. It’s a good thing they hired her instead of you, after all.”

The bed sank as Tarquin sat next to LeTasha and smiled at her. “It’s all right,” he told her, “you’re not the first failed assassin I’ve had to deal with.”

“You’ve had, what, three this year?” Rafe asked, leaning against the wall.

“Five, actually, counting hers.”

“Should we count hers? We’ve known about her for months.”

“Don’t be like that, Rafe,” Tarquin said. “She really did try, didn’t you?”

Unable to contain herself any longer, LeTasha burst out, “Can you just k-kill me already?”

Tarquin and Rafe exchanged surprised looks. “Must be the smell,” Rafe said, nodding sagely. “When’s the last time you showered, Tarq?”

“You know I haven’t had a chance,” Tarquin complained.

“Oh, look, now she’s crying,” Rafe said. “Geez, lady, please don’t, I can’t stand it when girls cry.”

Tarquin rolled his eyes. “We’re not going to kill you,” he said, losing the teasing tone. “I promise. If worst comes to worst, you’ll only be sent to Ember Island for life.”

LeTasha sniffled. “But - But I’m not a mage.”

“No, but you did just try to kill a member of the royal family.” Tarquin watched her with serious green eyes. “And trust me when I say that all those horror stories you’ve heard about Ember Island? They’re all true.”

Shuddering, LeTasha hunched her shoulders and blinked furiously. She was better than this. She would not cry in front of these bastards!

“Do you want something to drink?” Rafe offered. He looked stunned when LeTasha burst into tears.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, while both men looked distinctly uncomfortable. “They were going to kill me, I didn’t - I didn’t have a choice!”

“Now look who made her cry,” Tarquin hissed at Rafe. He slid a comforting arm across LeTasha’s shoulders, and she leaned into his chest, sobbing. She hadn’t wanted to kill him, she whimpered, she just didn’t have a choice.

They ate it up. “Who?” Tarquin asked, rubbing his hand across her back. She remembered the succession of women he had invited to his room since she began working at the palace, and barely repressed a shudder. “You can tell us. We won’t let them kill you.”

“B-But, you’ll send me to prison,” she wailed. “Y-You’ll put me in prison and then he-he’ll kill me there!”

“Not if you tell me who it is,” Tarquin said, his voice low and calming. “Look, LeTasha, I can tell you weren’t meant for this sort of thing. We’ve watched you for months - you’re not a killer. You were forced into this. Just help us catch the curs who want me dead, and I promise you won’t go to prison.”

With her face still tucked into Tarquin’s shirt, LeTasha couldn’t repress a smile. Prince Tarquin really was as trusting as they said. Stupid man.