If you ever have the audacity to refer to me as 'shorty' one more time, I swear that I will bide my time until the war claims you as its own. When that moment arrives, rest assured, I will take measures that will forever preclude your ability to sire offspring."
The knights, those valiant warriors of the realm, persistently taunt me with the moniker 'shorty,' but what if I happen to stand at a mere five feet in stature? My merits are legion - I am skilled, astute, striking, and audacious. There's much more to me than meets the eye, yet all these individuals seem fixated solely on my height.
"Rooh, please come here and lay your eyes upon this."
It's Orlok, the Senior Doctor, who oversees everything from tending to war-wounded patients to concocting remedies in the kitchen. His voice resonates through the tumultuous atmosphere as he beckons me over. I make my way to him.
"What is it?"
He directs my attention to a war-weary patient, gesturing to a grievous wound on the man's chest.
"Take a look at this. It appears to run quite deep."
"Yes, indeed, it has penetrated deeply. Plunging this arrow into his chest will cause him immense pain."
"So, what is your recommendation?"
I lift my gaze, casting it in some arbitrary direction.
"Let's prepare a pain relief potion. Numerous patients are succumbing to their agony, and..."
In an instant, my gaze locks onto someone. All other sounds seem to fade away - the agonized cries of patients, the clatter of knights hurrying about. Our eyes meet, and he stares at me with his lavender eyes, distant though he may be. Even if I attempted to speak, my voice would never reach him. He parts his lips, locking onto me with an unwavering gaze, as if fearing he might vanish should I blink. It's an unfamiliar sensation, keeping my gaze so steadfastly fixed on another.
I scrutinize his lips closely, attempting to decipher their silent message when I'm abruptly pulled back to reality.
"Rooh, the Commander has returned with his troops. Are you paying attention?"
"Yes, I am. It's just..."
A substantial contingent of knights enters my field of vision. My stature, alas, leaves me unable to discern the commander's presence, and, as expected, he vanishes when I divert my gaze.
"Please proceed to prepare the pain relief potion. We require it urgently."
"Alright, alright. You've already shattered my reverie."
I stride towards the kitchen, quickening my pace in the hopes of avoiding any additional assignments or distractions. I am currently in a military encampment, diligently crafting a pain relief potion for the wounded knights who have suffered on the battlefield, ensuring they at least have a chance at a restful night. Assisting me today is Any, my trusty sidekick. I came to this camp after discovering a royal missive bearing the regal seal beneath my clinic's door three days ago. The letter requested my voluntary aid in the ongoing war.
I presented the letter to the authorities, and one of the knights studied it closely before turning his attention to me, inquiring, "How old are you, young one?"
"Twenty. Is that of concern?"
"Not at all. Why would it be? Did your parents consent to your presence here?"
"No."
"So, you ventured here without informing anyone?"
"No. I mean, I don't have parents."
"Oh my! You're self-reliant at such a tender age. Young one, your commitment is commendable."
He then motioned to another knight, saying, "Aster, show her the way to the war patients."
"Yes, sir," and they escorted us to Orlok. Subsequently, a knight instructed me to prepare the pain relief potion, a task I have completed countless times, mainly for assassins. Yet, there are still those who err by neglecting to adhere to the precise measurements. I selected the largest available container and handed the herbs to Any for grinding, all the while filling it with water and setting it to boil. The process takes approximately two to three hours. Once it's prepared, Any calls for a knight to distribute the potion, and we, too, partake in it, much like sipping tea. The clock had struck midnight, so we decided to spend the night at the camp.
However, peaceful slumber no longer seems to be in the cards for me. A young lad with blonde hair enters the kitchen. The moment I lay eyes on his golden locks, I know he's of royal blood, as Miss Juliat had forewarned me. It's the prince, bearing his golden hair and emerald eyes, and his gaze locks on me. He parts his lips like a blooming rose and asks, "Are you the sassy kid one responsible for the pain relief potion?"
I would have preferred it if he had opted to keep his mouth sealed.
"Your father is sassy."
"You, young one, pay heed. You've just maligned the Emperor, and you're well aware that such an act carries grave consequences."
Another lad enters, a striking figure with blonde hair and deep ebony eyes - it's Crown Prince Edward.
"Are you the creator of the potion? Where did you acquire such skills?" he inquires.
I have no intention of revealing that I learned from the most esteemed herbalist and magician in history, who shared all her wisdom with me throughout her lifetime, only to pass away from old age. Yet, I cannot claim to have learned from books or in isolation.
"An elderly woman who took me in when I was seven. I don't know her name, and she passed away a year ago."
"My condolences. Would you consider accompanying us to the Imperial Palace? You possess..."
I knew they would be inclined to take anyone who displayed skills or usefulness, but I held no such aspiration.
"No, I have a clinic to manage. I came here solely to volunteer for the day and plan to depart early tomorrow."
"I'm not finished. At your age, you should know it's impolite to interrupt royalty when they are..."
"And royalty should refrain from engaging me when I have no inclination to engage with them."
"You may depart in the morning, but remember, the doors of the royal palace remain open to you."
With that, he departs, leaving me to watch him exit, while the Third Prince, before leaving, places his hand atop my head and remarks, "Hey, shorty, there's much to learn within the Imperial palace. Consider it."
As he nears the kitchen's exit, I mutter, "If His Highness, the Third Prince Theodor, dares to address me as 'shorty' once more, I'll take action that will leave him with regrets."
I hope I never have to endure the presence of these privileged individuals and their condescending attitudes again. However, my search for the lad with lavender eyes still beckons. It's the first time I've felt compelled to seek someone out, but do I genuinely desire to find him? I glance at Any, who had hidden himself when the royals entered, quietly sipping tea in a corner. I release a deep sigh. Let's cast this matter aside. There is little good that can come from pursuing it.
"Come, Any," he nods, setting his teacup aside.
"It's still the dead of night, and it might appear daunting at this hour," Any cautions.
But why should I dread the darkness? It has always been a reliable companion. On occasion, it may send a shiver down my spine, but within its embrace, I find a sense of security that no encircling host of knights can match. "Let's proceed," I insist. "Who knows, there might be someone awaiting my return at the Assassin's living."
I step out through the kitchen door, standing in silent anticipation as I wait for Any, my eyes riveted to the moon. There's an inexplicable allure to the moon, something that bathes me in warmth even deeper than the morning sun's gentle rays filtering through my window, as though it's there to ensure my continued existence. I find myself whispering, my gaze lost in the dreamy expanse of the starry firmament, where the moon's serene, azure radiance hangs like a luminous orb, keeping a silent vigil over me.