CAIN
My first day as a palace guard, and I already want to kill someone.
Not the queen—not yet. The other guards.
"New guy!" Marcus—yes, another Marcus, apparently it's a popular name—shoves my shoulder. "You're on throne room duty. Stand behind Her Majesty and look intimidating."
I'm always intimidating. That's not the problem.
The problem is I need to study Elara. Learn her patterns. Find her weaknesses. And I can't do that if I'm forced to stand still for six hours while she holds court.
But arguing will draw attention, so I nod and follow Marcus to the throne room.
"Few rules," Marcus says as we walk. "Don't look directly at the queen. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't touch her. Ever. Last guard who accidentally bumped into her got sent to the northern border for five years."
"Noted."
"And whatever you do, don't stare at her. I know she's beautiful, but she hates it when guards stare."
Too bad. Staring is part of my job.
We enter the throne room. It's bigger than I expected—black crystal walls, high ceilings, windows that let in cold light. Everything is sharp angles and hard surfaces.
Like the queen herself.
Elara sits on her throne at the far end. Even from this distance, she's striking. Long dark hair. Pale skin. Perfect posture.
But it's her stillness that catches my attention. She doesn't fidget. Doesn't shift. Doesn't do any of the tiny unconscious movements normal people make.
She sits like a statue. Like she's been sitting there so long, she forgot how to move.
"Take position behind the throne," Marcus whispers. "Left side. Don't move until she dismisses court."
I walk to my position. As I pass the throne, Elara's eyes flick to me for just a second.
Recognition. She knows who I am. But her face doesn't change. Doesn't react at all.
Good. She's better at pretending than I expected.
I take my place and become invisible. It's a skill I've perfected over thirty-two years—how to stand in a room and make people forget you're there.
Court begins.
Nobles file in with their problems. Land disputes. Trade agreements. Marriage proposals. All the boring politics that keep kingdoms running.
Elara listens to each one. Asks questions. Makes decisions. She's efficient, fair, and completely emotionless.
Like she's acting out a part she's performed a thousand times.
Because she has. For three thousand years.
An old man approaches the throne. "Your Majesty, my son wishes to marry the Duke's daughter, but—"
"The Duke refuses because your family lost status after the grain shortage ten years ago," Elara interrupts. "Offer him three breeding horses and rights to the southern mill. He'll accept."
The old man blinks. "How did you know—"
"I know everything that happens in my kingdom." Her voice is flat. Tired. "Next."
The old man backs away, confused but satisfied.
Another noble steps forward. Then another. Then another.
Elara handles each one the same way. Quick. Cold. Correct.
But there's something wrong with her eyes. They're open, focused, aware—but empty. Like someone scraped out everything behind them and left just the surface.
I've seen those eyes before. On targets who wanted to die. On soldiers who'd seen too much war. On myself, in mirrors, on bad days.
The eyes of someone who's given up.
After three hours, my curse flares. Pain shoots through my chest. I don't move, don't react, but sweat breaks out on my forehead.
Six months. Maybe less.
I need to solve this puzzle fast.
Finally, Elara dismisses court. The nobles file out. The other guards leave. I start to follow, but—
"You. New guard. Stay."
I turn. Elara is standing now, stretching slightly. The first human movement I've seen her make all day.
We're alone.
"Report," she says, walking toward a side door. I follow. "What have you learned?"
"You're very good at pretending."
"Three thousand years of practice." She leads me through a private corridor. No other guards here. No servants. Just us. "What else?"
"You're dying inside. Anyone paying attention can see it."
She stops walking. Turns to face me. For a second, real emotion flickers across her face. Surprise. Then it's gone.
"No one pays attention," she says quietly. "No one's paid attention in centuries."
"I'm paying attention. It's my job."
"Your job is to kill me, not psychoanalyze me."
"Can't kill you if I don't understand you." We reach her private study. She opens the door and gestures me inside. "The curse is tied to your emotions. Your past. I need to know everything."
Elara closes the door behind us. The room is full of books. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands.
"I told you everything last night," she says.
"You told me facts. I need feelings." I lean against her desk. "Why did you really love Marcus? What made Aldric's curse so effective? What keeps you trapped?"
"I don't—" She stops. Takes a breath. "I don't like talking about feelings."
"Neither do I. But we don't have a choice."
She's quiet for a long moment. Then she walks to her window and stares out.
"Marcus made me laugh," she finally says. "That's what I remember most. He was always joking, always smiling, always finding joy in small things. I was so serious back then. Worried about being a perfect princess. He taught me not to take everything so seriously."
Her voice cracks slightly. The first real emotion I've heard from her.
"The day he died, he was laughing. Even as Aldric cursed us, even as the magic started killing him, Marcus was trying to make me smile. His last words were a joke. Something stupid about how death was just another adventure."
She touches the window glass. Her hand shakes.
"I haven't laughed since that day," she whispers. "Three thousand years. No laughter. No joy. No... nothing. Just existing."
Something twists in my chest. Not my curse. Something else.
Sympathy.
I don't do sympathy. Sympathy makes killing harder.
But looking at her standing there—this powerful, immortal queen who's forgotten how to be human—I feel it anyway.
"The curse feeds on guilt," I say. "You blame yourself for Marcus's death."
"Because it is my fault." She turns to face me. "If I'd loved Aldric instead, if I'd been kinder to him, if I'd seen the signs—"
"You can't control who you love."
"No. But I can control the consequences." Her eyes are hard now. Determined. "Which is why you're here. To end this. To finally give me what I deserve."
"Death isn't what you deserve."
"How would you know?"
"Because I deserve death too," I say quietly. "I've killed two hundred and forty-seven people. I've destroyed families. Ended bloodlines. I'm not a good person. If anyone deserves death, it's me."
We stare at each other. Two people who want to die. Two people counting down their final days.
It's the saddest thing I've ever seen.
"We're quite the pair," Elara says with a bitter smile.
Before I can respond, glass shatters.
A window explodes inward. Three figures in black masks swing through, blades drawn.
Not palace guards. Not servants.
Assassins.
My assassins. From my guild.
And they're here to kill the queen.
Without me.