As Harold slept, Lyra was pretending to be interested in some bruised oranges in the market district of Stadrhym. She'd just arrived and was trying to decide whether to enter the palace tonight.

The whole incident with the queen’s death was glossed over and the rumors were too varied for anyone to know the truth. What the royal family lacked in military and political power, they made up for in controlling the information passed to the masses.

With the Jarls constantly breathing down the High King’s neck, waiting for the opportunity to take his place, it was no wonder they kept the incident under a tight lip. No doubt Eirik had done the same with their last conversation.

It'd been five nights since her first visit with the prince and she wanted the timing to be perfect. Eight days until the border negotiation meeting. Yes, it was better to do it sooner rather than later.

Lyra left the stand, an orange appearing from her pocket and she peeled it, tossing the brown-spotted rind to the cobbled streets and biting into one of the sections. It was sweet and refreshing despite it's questionable exterior. She walked up the main road towards the palace. He'd certainly have barred his window. With a few words under her breath, Lyra began a chant and turned invisible. She carefully walked past the guards.

She wouldn't be able to use magic in the main parts of the palace. The royal mage would notice. Her family had been lucky he'd been gone when they'd assaulted the place. She popped back into visibility in one of the servant halls. A woman carrying a large vase walked down and Lyra jumped her, grabbing the vase, setting it down, and roundhouse kicking the woman in the jaw in one smooth movement. The maid crumpled and Lyra dragged her out a doorway, stripping her down and throwing her unconscious form behind a cart of hay.

The woman was bigger than Lyra and the dress hung easily over her fitted leather. Lyra tied the apron around her waist and picked up the vase, walking confidently down the hall.

She carted the vase around for hours, scoping the place. The tall flowers hid her face and no one stopped her not wanting to risk her dropping her load. She learned the prince was still in the same room and two guards stood outside it. Deciding there was no time like the present, Lyra stumbled in front of them, the vase tipping.

"Careful!" one guard shouted, lunging forward to steady her. She let go of the vase and the guard was forced to catch it.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! My arms just gave out, I never should have tried to carry such a heavy thing," she said in a tired voice.

The guard shifted his grip on the heavy flower arrangement as Lyra leaned against the wall. "Oh my, I feel a bit dizzy, and I have to get it to the throne room." She breathed hard, fanning her face.

That was two long hallways down, the guard took a look at her panting and sighed, hefting the vase. "I'll get it there. Hey, Ford, I'll be back in a second."

The other man nodded and Lyra clasped her hands together. "Oh, would you! Thank you so much."

The guard grunted and walked slowly around the corner, the vase and his armor slowing him down. She pushed herself off the wall, took a few steps and collapsed. Ford ran to her. "Hey miss, you alright?"

Her eyelashes fluttered. "A bit light headed. But don't worry, I'm sure I just need some water and I'll be right as rain."

The guard eased her against the wall and glanced around. "Okay, you stay right there. I'll just get you a drink." He weighed his options and carefully opened the door to the prince’s room.

She watched him and when his back was turned, smiled as she glanced into the prince’s chamber. Perfect, he wasn't there. As soon as Ford crossed the threshold, Lyra leapt to her feet silent as a cat. The guard looked around for some water and crossed to the prince's bedside to get some. Lyra slipped through the door and into the wardrobe before he turned around.

From inside, she heard the door shut and stay that way as Ford wondered where the girl had gone. No doubt puzzling over it with his partner when he returned, completely unaware that Lyra was making herself comfortable behind the prince's tunics.

Lyra was patient and eventually heard the door open and close once more. This was followed by the sound of a manservant helping his prince change, even opening and closing the wardrobe, unaware of Lyra's presence. In the brief moment she could see, she noticed a guard sitting by the prince's bed.

Perfect. She waited. Hours passed and until, slowly, she opened the door. The guard was staring out the window which indeed had thick iron bars plastered on the inside. She raised a thin tube to her lips and blew. The dart hit the man in the neck and he slapped at it.

"What the—" he muttered checking his hand for a squashed insect. After a moment, he wobbled and collapsed at the base of his chair. Lyra stepped out of the wardrobe, stretching her back and cramped limbs. She checked the guard. The poison dart had hit his artery, he would be dead in hours without a cure.

She unwound the rope she had fastened around her waist and carefully made loops around the prince's ankles. Expertly she weaved the rope around the bed and at last, crept above the prince. In one movement, she dropped atop him and pulled the rope. It tightened around his ankles and fastened them secure and outspread against the bed posts. Her hand flew to Eirik's mouth and the prince's eyes shot open. His arm grabbed her, but she said, "Let go, or I kill that poor man."

The prince froze and turned to look at the crumpled guard. Her firm hand curled until a single finger lay on the prince's lips. "Hush now, I told you I'd be back. Now that you've provided a third party, we can actually have a conversation. You stay quiet and I'll keep this short so we'll have time to give the poor lad an antidote before his heart stopped beating."

Eirik just noticed his tied ankles. "Untie me," he hissed.

"Uh, uh, uh. You haven't earned that yet. Now then, for your hands.” She reached for his hands and he shoved her off the bed. She rolled and grinned drawing a knife.

"Now that wasn't very polite. Make too much noise and your other guards will come in and it'll get violent. You know perfectly well how quickly I could kill two men. This fellow, though," she kicked the guard over, his eyes still open and stared glassily at the ceiling, "he's not dead yet, just paralyzed. Funny thing is I really could do anything to him and he wouldn't move. He'd feel it though. Imagine that, feeling a knife cut through your flesh and not being able to move an inch to stop it. So, how about this? You give me your hands or I take his."

She put her foot on the man's wrist and spun her dagger. Eirik glared. "You're sick."

Lyra chuckled. "I'm cautious and like to be listened to."

She leaned down and pressed the point of her dagger into the top of the man's hand, humming softly.

"Stop it."

She looked up and Eirik held his hands outstretched. She stood up and examined them. They were flawless, She flipped them over. "You've healed up nicely. A little magic I would guess. Since you were so quick to listen you can keep your hands." She pressed his hands together with a laugh.

"Now there are a few things we've got to get straight." Lyra continued, leaning against the bed frame. "I'm going to continue visiting you and you're going to stop trying to stop me."

"Or..." Eirik growled, "I send my best men out and have you killed."

Lyra sighed and tossed a dagger into the frozen man's leg. She had a fresh dagger in her hand instantly and Eirik jumped.

"Oh, clumsy me. I just get so butterfingered when someone threatens me." She swung around the bedpost planting a foot between his legs. "Look, the sooner you accept that you're mine the less people die. It's pretty simple."

Eirik leaned forward to untie his ankle. "I'll see you dead."

She swiped at his hand and he pulled back, blood dripping.

"You'll see death alright, but not mine. Here's step one. Every night your window is barred and there are guards at your door, somebody in the palace will die. You'll know it's your fault. Sure you could make things difficult, but I like a challenge and be ready for reciprocations. You want to up the stakes then so will I." She walked to the window and picked at the hastily applied mortar.

"You know, this would be really tough to remove from the outside, but from here..." She ripped the bars off and opened the window. "There we go."

Lyra jumped onto the window sill. "Oh, I almost forgot. Here's the cure. You have to get it into the artery on his neck to deliver it fast enough. See you later, my sweet prince."

She tossed the vial and it landed on the frozen man's chest. Eirik leaned forward and when his ankles twisted he shouted, "Guards!"

The door burst open and Lyra jumped. She turned invisible and caught herself on a small balcony. Quickly, she scaled down the walls and disappeared into the darkness.

The next night, the bars were back and a stable boy was found with his throat slit hanging in the prince's horse stall.

The following night a curfew was ordered and patrols watched the streets. The bars were in place. It was difficult, but Eirik's manservant never arrived and was found floating in the moat.

The third night there were still bars. Two guards were found by their replacements in a pool of blood.

The fourth night the bars remained, rumors of Brimstones invading the castle circulated and the curfew and patrols only made the rumor grow. No one believed word of a single assassin. Brimstones were just a better story.

A courtesan's daughter never returned from a dinner party, her body was found in the garbage pile of The Prince's Inn.

The fifth night the bars were gone. Lyra didn't appear, instead the city's most famous tailor was killed in his home.

The sixth night the bars were gone and the prince stood at the window. Lyra watched him from the dark. It had no doubt taken him hours to convince the mage to remove the spells and traps on his room, but Lyra wasn't going to risk it yet. She nocked an arrow and aimed, the message flew over the prince’s shoulder and he turned to get it. Lyra stalked off.

Eirik read the note with trembling hands, the words blurring in his sleep deprived eyes.

Six. You're a terrible prince. I would've thought one or two would've been plenty. I'm sure you're getting all sorts of advice on how to corner me and I wonder if you know how many rumors are spreading of the cowardice of Prince Eirik. Here's what I propose. I'll leave you one last body. This time it won't be anyone you'll miss. A villian you can blame and put everyone's minds at ease. Then you go on a hunting trip, get a little lost in the forest, and I'll find you so we can talk.

The note wasn't signed and Eirik rubbed his eyes. She was right on each account. He'd been ready to corner her after two murders, devastated they hadn't caught her by the fourth. By the fifth he was live bait, the sixth he'd had enough.

His tired mind reasoned she was gone now and he could sleep. He tried to defy it, but was woken in the morning by an anxious guard. Yoriv, the court mage, stood beside him.

"Did she come? Are you hurt, Your Highness?"

"No ,Yoriv, nothing."

Eirik went through the day in a daze until Yoriv whispered in his ear and pulled him away from the court. He shushed Eirik's questions until they were down in the man's laboratory. The corpse of a woman in black clothing with daggers strapped to her waist lay on the table.

"Yoriv, what in the god's names?"

Yoriv chattered excitedly, "Is it her? She was delivered to me this morning with this note.”

The terror is over. Contract fulfilled.

Eirik looked at the woman, she had dark hair, pale skin, and two old scars on her face. He wondered if she was really someone nobody would miss like Lyra claimed. His shoulders lowered and he muttered, "Yes Yoriv, that's her."

He wasn’t going to have Lyra continue to murder innocent people because of him. He was going to have to handle her himself.

The man clapped his hands then brushed them together twice. "Good. I'll dispose of the body. Glad that's over, no doubt we'll find a bounty hunter seeking payment in a few weeks. Or perhaps someone else paid and we won't be bothered at all. I hope this wasn’t Korite work, the rumors are bad enough."

Yoriv chatted on, happy to put the incidents behind them and get things back to normal—the way he liked it. Eirik returned to court, but found himself unable to focus on the news being presented to him and his father.

As soon as he could, he slipped away. He found a few younger nobles and pitched the idea of a winter hunt. With the right prodding, enough enthusiasm was reached that it was organized for the morrow. Eirik slept fitfully that night.

As the hunt dragged on and the noblemen began to bicker about hunting in the cold season, Eirik wandered off. The guards were few and bored, well aware they would find nothing this late in the year. Eirik rode quickly once he was out of sight, knowing his absence would be discovered quickly and the true hunt begin. He rode deeper into the woods and she appeared. Leaning against a tree, her black leather like a burn mark on the grey trunk.

"Good to see you again, Eirik. Leave your horse and walk with me."

Warily, he dismounted and tied his horse to the tree. He followed Lyra, dreaming of attacking her but knowing he'd lose. She led him to a hunter's lodge, opening the door and gesturing him inside. A small fire was in the hearth and the floor was covered in soft furs, trapping the heat nicely.

She grabbed a kettle off the fire and poured two steaming cups, handing one to him. "Drink that and warm up."

He sat at the offered chair and held the cup in his chilled hands. "What do you want?"

She laughed and drank her drink. "Mmm finally asking the right questions." He sipped his, the drink was creamy and warm. "I want you, Prince Eirik. I have from the moment I saw you. The first thing you should know about me is that I always get what I want."

Eirik frowned and leaned back as she continued putting her cup down, "Yes, I know, I have a strange way of courting you but it's not as if the traditional routes would work after such a sour first meeting."

He balked, her words finally setting in. "You want me to marry you?"

"Marry the prince, become the queen. Isn't that how it works?"

Eirik stood, he shouldn't be here. "You're insane. It would never happen, the courtesans alone wouldn't accept it."

"Surely if you insisted. Or perhaps you're right and we'll have to find a good angle."

Eirik shouted, "There is no we. You're a murderer and I'd die before even giving you the slightest chance at the throne!"

Lyra stood and stepped closer to Eirik, her green eyes glittering. "Oh you'll get used to it. You know as well as I that your position in Valhym is already tenuous at best. Why hardly anyone knows what happened to your mother or father, the truth would disgrace the entire palace. Easier to pretend nothing happened, right? I'm sure that made you unbearably angry. To attend a funeral, to tend your father, all the while knowing that you'd have to pretend such horrors didn't even occur."

Eirik tried to step away but found he couldn't. Lyra purred and placed a hand on his chest. "A prince who's cursed, death following him wherever he goes. If I can't have you, then nobody can and you will die alone and the throne will fall, the strongest Jarl taking over. If you choose that path then maybe I'll become that Jarl. But that would be unfortunate, since I want you."

She kissed him and he panicked unable to move his body, muscles refusing to respond. She laughed, pushing him to crumple on to the soft furs as she fell atop him. She kissed him again and again, he couldn't breathe.

To his surprise he managed to groan, "Wh-what..."

She stroked his cheek. "I told you, the sooner you realize your mine, the easier this will be."

She took out a dagger and cut off his shirt, running an appreciative hand over him before sliding off his pants. "There we are, now let's see if we can't have a little fun."

She kissed him again, this time her hand reaching down to stroke him. He shuddered and felt her smile. Anxious ripples coursed through him as she toyed with him, rubbing him, kissing him, and massaging his skin until he was forced into an erection.

Lyra unbuckled her shirt and undressed, pressing herself down on him and he groaned, feeling every curve as she twisted on top of him tracing his body. She fingered his erection. "Hmm let's see how badly you want me."

She rode him, rising and dropping. With no control over his body's impulse, he bucked with her movements, his eyes rolling as he felt himself near the brink. Then she stopped and he groaned. He didn't want this but she'd taken his body away from his control through poison and practiced touch. It was agonizing and she slithered up his chest leaving little bite marks up his neck.

"Remember, you're mine and mine alone," she whispered.

She gave his swollen member a squeeze and settled back on top, his legs twitched and he could take no more. She gasped as he finished and hummed. "There you go, not my best by far but you seemed awfully eager."

Rolling over to lay next to him, Lyra ran her fingers over his arm and shoulder. "I'll think about what you said. It won't be easy, but as I mentioned, I like a challenge. Well, sweet prince, I will find you again soon. Perhaps, if you are good, next time I'll let you hold the reins." She kissed him again and disappeared from his sight, his unmovable head, staring at the wooden ceiling.

"Oh and don't worry, you won't die of what I gave you. If it's been lethal, with the way your blood was pumping, it'd have killed you far before you peaked."

She threw a fur over his naked form and left the hunter's lodge. Eirik lay exhausted and humiliated. It seemed like ages until he could move even his finger. Ages more until he could crawl along the soiled furs to his clothes.

His shirt was tattered but he put it on anyway. Her bite marks seemed to glow red on his neck and collar and he changed his mind, twisting the shirt into a scarf. His coat, set on the chair, covered his bare chest and he pulled on his pants and boots. He couldn't believe what had happened. It was so wrong...so unreal.

He started at the sound of water on leather and he realized he was crying, the tears bouncing off his boots.

In a fit of rage he tossed the condemning drink, cup and all, into the fire. The fire flashed and settled, the only observer to what had happened.

A snowstorm had started and when he returned to his horse, the worried hunting party was there. He was greeted with open arms and when questioned just said he'd gotten lost and found a hunter's lodge to wait in. Eager to get out of the cold, the men accepted this and soon the party returned to the palace.