*Disclaimer
This is my first story so hopefully you all will enjoy it. The first little bit of this chapter is mostly some character development and backstory, but stick with and you'll get to the fun stuff, I promise. Feel free to leave suggestions or feedback in the comments to help me out!
Xx,
Marie
*****
It's been a long time since I've felt such a rush. Usually being on the hunt is simply tedious, another job for another paycheck. People only ever want me to take care of the old, balding lords or annoying palace guards getting in the way of some planned robbery. I normally spend about a day tailing my target before I know, down to the last detail, the easiest way to take them out.
It's different this time, though. He's not some ugly old man. No, far from it in fact. He's young, perhaps twenty-five or so, about my age, and just come in to a large fortune. No one has ever heard of him until now, quite surprisingly given his good looks and easy charm. He seems to fit right in with the bourgeoisie, making it difficult to believe he's never set foot in an aristocratic society before. His fluid grace, tempting smile and practiced manners make me think that either he grew up in some other high society, or that he grew up like I did. As an assassin trained in all elements of society, so as to fit in wherever needed.
In that case, it will make my hunt so much more exiting. But he won't last long. No one ever does. There's a reason they call me the Queen of the Assassins, and it's not because I wear poofy dresses and sit on a throne pointing my scepter at scoundrels and mercenaries all day. No, it's because my skill is unrivaled, and I never fail. That what comes from being taken in by the King of the Assassin's at the age of nine, and trained for eleven years to be the best killer in the country.
As the young lord, Damon, enters back into his house, I watch for the light of candles flaring up before rising from my crouched position on the rooftop across the alley. After my second day of watching him, I still don't know exactly how to take him down. Old lords and guards have routines they follow, making it easy for me to plan an attack. This man, however, moves through his day erradicly, never staying anywhere for long periods of time and following no schedule. It does make my task more interesting though.
I walk to the edge of the roof, my movements oozing fluidity and a deadly grace. I leap off the roof, landing silently on the next, and take off at a run. When I leap again, I let myself slow, and walk back to the edge before dropping down and grasping a drain pipe affixed to the wall. Quickly and silently, I shin down it, and land with a small thud as my black boots make contact with the rain slicked ground. Thankfully the storm had moved past hours ago, put some puddles still remained on the ground. Taking off once again, I run through alleys between tall buildings and veer out of sight as tourists laugh and point to different landmarks. It's relatively dark out now, which favours me as my skintight black suit camouflages me well, and it's dark hood conceals my face.
No one knows what I look like, despite my well-known reputation, and I'd like to keep it that way. Nobody thinks that the Queen of the Assassins could be a barely twenty year-old girl with long, chestnut brown hair and wide green eyes. Without the suit, I could easily be mistaken for some beautiful court lady, or perhaps even a lady of the night from one of the many brothels in Curao. That's what many a man has thought anyway, until they wound up dead in a ditch somewhere. It's not that I like violence, but I happen to be very adept at it. I also hate men that get to handsy with me, and feel as though I owe it to them to let them use my body as they see fit.
As I take the last turn onto the Manor's driveway, I slow my pace. What comes next, I don't enjoy. While I may not let just any man put his hands on me, there is one man that I can't stop. The King. The man who found me starving and dirty, lying in a ditch when I was nine years old. He took me in, fed me, and taught me how to kill. Taught me how to walk without making noise, how to extract any information I want, and how to dispose of any unwanted evidence. When I was young, my payment for his saving my life was simply working for him, whether that be taking jobs from his clients to dispatch whomever they needed gone, or whether it be scrubbing the floors until they shone. As I got older though, my face narrowed and my cheekbones became more defined.
My breasts grew large and heavy, my waist narrowed while my hips flared . My legs became long and shapely, and suddenly, his attention turned from fatherly to something radiating more of a hunger. A desire. Being only ten years older than me, the King of the Assassins is still a gorgeous man, vied after by every female in his employ. Being that I'm one of the only female assassins, all the other women on his payroll are whores and showgirls, it's odd for him to want me. But he never pays them any attention. No, his insatiable hunger, every night, and sometimes in the morning or afternoons if I'm around, is turned on me. Never could he possibly consider taking one of them, no he reserves himself and his never-depleting stamina for me, making it an easy decision for me to be out of the Manor as much as possible.
Walking back toward it now, a cluster of feelings washes over me. Dread, resignation, and as much as I hate myself for it, a touch of excitement. I hate that I've become his plaything, but even I have to admit that he certainly knows what he's doing in bed. Tonight will be no different when I get back to my room. Within minutes, he'll be there, helping me out of my suit, ready to take me.
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