Dan's POV
Donavin was rudely awoken by a blow to the chest. He gasped for air as pain registered in his brain, his eyes flew open to see a startled young man he'd never seen before in servants' garbs holding a dagger in both hands over him.
The servant recovered from his momentary shock, and he raised the dagger higher preparing to stab him again. Understanding dawned on him and he became instantly alert. He rolled away just as the dagger came down grazing his arm. The man looked all around in a panic, but he must have figured his best chance of survival was to kill him and escape unseen since Dan had seen his face, because he rushed around to the other side of the bed, knife swinging wildly.
Fighting to untangle his legs from the sheets, Donavin managed to free one just in time to deliver a kick to the man's stomach. The man stumbled back, giving him time to free his other leg and toss the sheet over the man. He slashed at the sheet, brandishing the dagger blindly with one hand as he fought to uncover his face. Dan took his chance and twisted the knife from his hand which was surprisingly easy until he looked up and saw the wide shocked eyes of his attacker. Eyes he did not know but with a look he knew, and could never forget.
The man went pale and let out a choking gasp. Donavin dropped the dagger as if it had caused this and grabbed the man lowering him to his knees. "What- who- who sent you?" he managed his thoughts spiraling. The man looked up at him, confused. He asked again more forcefully.
The man took another gasping breath and wheezed out the word "Prince Ahglg-" before coughing and choking. Fine droplets of blood splattered the floor as he bent over clutching at his chest. He lifted the man's head to look at him again and he asked a one-word question in the form of a name. There was a brief spark of recognition and fear in the man's eyes at the sound of the name but it faded almost immediately as the pain or lack of air consumed the man's mind. He was coughing again, then with a sick choking noise as the man attempted to gasp in air, he collapsed in on himself clutching his chest and convulsing.
Dan jerked away sick and horrified and not knowing what to do, he hesitated, staring at the struggling man. There was no chance of saving him even if he had wanted to, which he wasn't at all sure he did. Finally, after a long moment of inner turmoil, he placed his hand on the man's shoulder trying to avoid looking at the blood spilling out a hole in his back. "It" he started, his quiet voice breaking. "It's okay, go with the spirit… in peace." The man stilled and relaxed one last gurgled sigh escaped him and he knew the man was dead.
"He didn't deserve that you know," Mark said drawing his eyes away from the carnage. "And it's not your fault," he added.
Dan nodded dumbly and pushed himself up off the floor, warm liquid squished between his fingers and he cringed as he stood. He whipped his hands off frantically on his nightshirt simultaneously registering the mess he was making and the small gash in his shirt revealing the glint of steel chainmail underneath.
Shortly after his trainer Stone started making him wear chainmail half the day every day to get used to the weight he'd been attacked in this very room, luckily the attacker fled so he only suffered a broken rib and a small gash, the chainmail he'd worn to sleep as a way of cheating his assignment had saved his life. He wore chain mail to bed religiously for a year every night after that. Now, he only did so when he felt like he may have pissed someone off as he had last night. And he was again grateful as he stared at the spot he'd been stabbed in a mixture of shock and relief.
"Are you ok?" Mark asked.
He nodded not quite trusting his voice.
Do you want to go clean up or see a healer?" Mark asked trying to distract him with decisions.
"I,-" he paused trying to think "I should confront my brother,"
"Are you sure now is a good time? You might want to take a moment to gather yourself, go clean yourself up and I'll get this taken care of." Mark offered.
Dan nodded and took a deep breath, then walked to his washroom.
Several links in his chainmail were twisted or missing and there was a small gash on his chest; already the skin around it was darkening into a bruise. It would hurt more, he knew, when the shock wore off. It was also too far to the right to have pierced his heart, the man was not trained in killing and if he'd succeeded in piercing his sternum, the knife would have pierced his lung… and he would have drowned in his own blood like the man who'd just died in front of him. He suddenly felt sick and threw up in the waste bin.
He washed quickly, bandaged his arm and chest, and changed into clothes that had appeared by the door while he was washing in a daze. He wasn't sure if it was Mark or a servant who brought them, but he knew he should have been more aware of his surroundings, especially after something like… that. He shivered at the thought and forced himself to get moving, he'd wasted enough time already and he couldn't let this derail him from questioning his brother or his attempts at peace talks this morning.
When he came out of the washroom, the body and Mark were gone, along with most traces of the blood. He forced himself to look away from what remained and to think of anything else.
The sun was rising through his window so he decided going to the dining hall for breakfast would be a good excuse to be anywhere but his room. Usually, he slept in and grabbed something quickly from the kitchens on his way to training, but Helana would know something was wrong and he didn't want to talk about it. So, he went downstairs to have breakfast with his family, building up his mental walls as he went.
No one else could be allowed to see him so weak and shaken from a single death when he was supposed to be able to lead thousands into battle if there was ever to be a war. This was why he worked so hard at peace. He just wasn't cut out for a life of gore and death.