Darkness offers too many places for those with ill intent to hide. Before I never thought much of them when I lived in my quiet home, but even though many men offer their hands to me in friendship, I can't readily accept them.
Maybe His Majesty knew about their plotting for his throne all along. It might have been what prompted him to choose a nobody like myself. I cast an uncomfortable glance about the candlelit room and pulled the cloak on tighter. Now that I am alone, or at least very nearly so, I don't know what to do with myself. The guards failed to protect the king before. It might happen again.
My musings are interrupted when a candle sputters and the lacy shadows dance along the pale cream walls around me and my back stiffens. I should be sleeping, but I can't. Every time the movements occur I remember all the whispers about the assassination, and just how deep a wound spelled His Majesty's demise.
A soft whisper drew my attention about again, this time over my shoulder where I thought it originated from. Nothing. I remember that the assassination took place at midnight, and I note that it cannot be far from that time now. Should I call my guards, or could one of them be responsible? I don't even know what an assassin looks like, but does anyone?
I stand and begin to pace the length of my room. I got this position whether I wanted it or not. I should do something about this mess. Hunt down the assassin so I could at least live without terror. As I move, a flicker passes in the black window and I hesitate. Part of me wants to rush over to the window to make sure the motion was only me, but my sensible side stops me.
Outside the guards' metal shod feet clank against the floor with monotonous rhythm as they walk a short distance away from my door. I tighten my fingers into fists until my nails pierce my palms.
That's when my candles sputtered and died, choking on the overflow of wax. I stumble in the middle of my strides and my heart throbs with awful strength against my ribs. My eyes struggle to adjust as I grope towards the candles. A breath of wind passes softly against my cheek and I jerk aside.
Something moves in the dark, I am sure of it. I reach for the dagger I use for eating. As a weapon it would do little good, but it has to be better than fighting a shadow with my fists.
Even if I cannot really see, movement still swishes nearby. Some of the patches of blackness stir unnaturally and I can feel the presence lingering nearby. My fingers clench over the warm wax of a candle and I jerk it towards myself with a rustle of my kingly robe. As I fumble with it, I manage to catch just enough of my breath to form words.
"Guards!" I call.
A soft brush of some cloth rushes alongside my face and an unknown object crinkles as the guards fumble with the handle of the door. Although I cannot be sure, I am sure that the assassin has left me even before the door opens. The raw orange torchlight sweeps across the room as the guard strides in, his unfriendly face cast in the copper glow.
"Your Majesty?" He asks, doubtful.
My claim as King is already under much scrutiny and I don't need any more trouble. "Please, relight these candles," I manage.
He complies with some care, sets the flickering objects back on my desk, and heads back out at my bidding. My whole body shakes and I brace myself on the desk before me. That is when I notice the note left behind.
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