Datura hovered in the shadow at the corner of the ceiling. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness cast by the lamp on the king’s bedside table. The fire of the fireplace flicked its darkness across the floor and walls. The brightness of the shadow cast on her side of the room was the only pure light in the room to her besides under the bed. She briefly considered slipping under the bed, but the darkness cast by the fire would be light to the king and he lay awake in his bed. Patience was an assassin’s friend and one that Datura was well acquainted with. She slowly crept down the wall careful not to slip into the shadow where she would be visible.

The king picked at his blanket. He had been deep in thought for more than an hour. Datura had been sitting watching him at the furthest end of his room the entire time. He had come in brooding and sat his lamp down beside his bed. Then lay down to read from the scroll he carried with him always. She had thought he would doze off while musing the writings. He nearly had, until his brow furrowed, and he sat up to read more closely. Datura slid back up tight into the corner of the ceiling at that point afraid he would turn up his lamp and cover her with its dark blanket. He instead rolled it back up and lay down in troublesome thought that she had to, unfortunately, watch until her feet fell asleep.

She slowly stretched out her cramped legs looking down the wall to be sure they did not stretch beyond the dark light she hid in. She reached up and instinctively checked the small black stone that dangled from her neck. The Imp stirred inside. Eager for her to use him so she would owe him another sacrifice. She would not if she could avoid it. There wasn’t much left in her life to lose but Imps were endlessly creative. She had asked for night sight. He asked for her husband. A little poison of the Belladonna flower had satisfied the Imp’s craving, that and her having to watch her loving husband die. She wasn’t really built to be a wife anyway. Life had a different calling for her.

The Imp had honored their agreement giving her perfect sight in the darkness, though now the light was darkness to her, and the greater the darkness the brighter she saw. The shadow she stretched out in now looked as bright to her as full moonlight, while the fire cast shadow nearly too dark to see in. Daytime was as a moonless night to her, and the new moon was as the noonday. Clever Imp.

It earned her far more coin though. An assassin she had always been, but now she was a legend. Trained since she was a small girl by her father, she had become exceptionally adept at mixing poisons and slipping around castles unnoticed. Twice before she had found the Imp she had even slipped up behind her target and slain them with her own dagger. An up-close kill was always more exhilarating but far more difficult to pull off. Particularly as a woman. Rarely did a client desire such a kill, unless they wanted to pin a murder on someone. Such as those two murders had been. This one though was personal and professional. She wanted the King dead as much as her patron did. She had to make it look less like a professional assassination and more like a violent murder. It couldn’t look like a small woman had done the job it had to look like a capable strong man had done it.

This would be her highest payoff yet. Her patron had all the motivation needed to pay her large sums of coin. Prince Baron had several reasons to want his father dead. One and most obvious was to make himself king. That was not the real reason he wanted his father dead though. Only Datura knew the real truth. She had followed the prince on more than one occasion. Practice mostly. That and discovering the true potency of her recently acquired Imp gift. She had wanted to see how close she could get to the prince without being seen. Now color blind she had to trust a merchant that the clothes and scarf she wore were all true blacks. Black boots, Black pants, and head covering. Then it was just a matter of testing. It had enabled her to trail the prince and King Terin close enough to touch.

When the King’s grandson, Terin the second had been born, she had been only a breath away from King Terin. She had heard his whispers to his wife. He was not impressed by his son’s flattery. She had followed Prince Baron out onto the balcony that night as he raged at the stars over his father’s cold demeanor. This was still not why Prince Baron had decided to kill his father though. Several years had passed since then.

Prince Baron had an affair. The most dishonorable type. He had been seduced by the primal beauty of a Crull woman. One with dark hair and tan skin. Her name was Abigale, and their deed was a scandal waiting to be revealed. King Terin had nearly burst blood vessels in his eyes at the discovery. He struck his son across his cheek twice in the confrontation. Prince Baron had merely clenched his teeth and took the berating. King Terin insisted the bastard child be dealt with by none other than the royal assassin. Later that night prince had sought Datura with an offer. He had used her on a smaller task months before and she had satisfied his request with flair.

She already knew what had set him off but gave no hint of what she knew as he also kept his reasoning private. She merely cut her palm and accepted the pact. They had agreed to wait until the king had finished his negotiations with King Zanakht of Larsa. Again, patience was exercised. It had taken nearly a year.

Princess Jabina and mistress Abigale had turned up pregnant, nearly causing Baron to rush the order but Datura had cautioned patience and promised she would keep an eye on Abigale personally. Prince Baron distanced himself from Abigale in shame. When he overheard his wife commenting on Abigale’s pregnant belly, he had her removed from the castle servant staff for fear she would reveal him. Datura had followed the crying girl home in the darkness that night, with a smile on her face.

She had agreed to kill King Terin, but she also had other reasons for her agreement. Reasons other than the financial benefits, not that materials weren’t expensive. She collected expensive plants and powders from all over the seven kingdoms. She had her own personal reasons for her personal interest in the Tarsh family. She was doing the work of her father. They were the targets her father had trained her from childhood to kill. She enjoyed her work. She loved it. The power of taking a man’s life was more intoxicating than any drug she could mix up. There was only one problem with her assignment though. Prince Baron. He had the most arresting eyes and jaw. She watched him as her father had trained her looking for his weaknesses and devising the perfect death for him but found herself fascinated by his raw masculinity.

A knock sounded at the door just as King Terin shut his eyes. He stirred with a snort. “What is it?”

“Princess Jabina has gone into labor, my king.” The servant called through the door. “Would you like me to come in and help you dress?”

“No, I will come down shortly thank you.” King Terin stretched.

Datura snarled; she was out of time. Patience, even for her was wearing thin. She had already waited a year. She would not wait another night. She had to strike before the opportunity slipped away. If she just charged him from the shadows the mighty king would strike her down as if she were a child. She had to use the Imp. She cursed under her breath. Grabbing the black stone around her neck she whispered her agreement softly. A vow was all he needed. He would feed off of her pain and give her what she requested. The stone vibrated against her chest, and she fell deeper into the bright shadow she sat in. She fell backward into it and reemerged under the bed. The king placed his foot on the floor beside her. She drew her dagger. His other foot hit the floor and she slashed viciously across the backs of his ankles. The king gasped in shock. Datura burst from under the large bed and dropped her knee between the king’s shoulder blades. She lifted his chin with her free hand and drew the thin blade across his neck with her other hand.

Commotion in the hall meant someone had heard the king hit the floor. Banging at the door confirmed it. Datura sprang for the bright corner sheathing her blade. She slipped into the brightness as the door swung open. Several guards stumbled into the room. They looked at the bloody king and then around the room. Datura grabbed the stone again. It vibrated. She fell backward. Then all was bright as she emerged back into her unlit room. Deep in the recesses of the castle. Hidden passages were only known to her and her father, they spidered out from this room but none of the passages lead to the king’s chambers, yet. She would make that priority number one once Prince Baron had paid her the coin. That had been too close. The vibrating of her necklace sent a reminder down her spine that churned her stomach. Two sacrifices she would owe for that night. The Imp would be relentless until he got what he craved.

She stood and walked across the room toward her desk in the corner. Shading her eyes from the moon she looked down at the unopened letter that sat at the desk center. The seal that held it closed had the signet of her father, but the letter was not from her father. He had been the perfect mentor and assassin. Even when he drew the rune for a kill too large for him to handle alone, he still dawned his cloak and went into that night. She often fantasized about finding the man that had cut down her father and sent him to the shadow man. She imagined herself slipping from the shadow behind him and sinking her blade into his spine so she could carve her revenge into his flesh while his eyes were still open, but he was incapacitated.

She picked up the letter and slid to the corner of the room that blocked most of the moonlight. The place where she could see it best. She popped the seal. When she opened the scroll, she saw the name she had long expected to see at the bottom. Brutus Marcus. Her brother. She reached up and felt the stone again vibrating at her throat. The Imp knew she had two nieces. Two sacrifices. She had avoided him since their father's death. That would mean one of them was a teen now. The other would be only eight. Datura sank to her butt on the floor. Her guts hurt too much to read the letter. She let it fall out of her hand onto the floor beside her. She would have to leave in the morning. There was no escaping a debt to an Imp. It was madness to resist them once you had made a vow.