The first light of dawn crept through the high windows of the royal palace, painting the bloodstained chamber in hues of gold and crimson. Asher leaned against the far wall, his arms crossed as he watched Alaric address Captain Marlow.
"You'll double the guard," Alaric ordered. His voice was sharp, commanding. "No one gets within a hundred feet of my chambers without your approval."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Marlow replied, though his gaze lingered on Asher, distrust evident in his eyes.
Alaric noticed but said nothing, his expression calm as he dismissed the captain. When the heavy doors finally closed behind Marlow, the king turned to face Asher.
"Not much of a morning person, are you?" Alaric asked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
Asher pushed off the wall, his movements slow and deliberate. "I'm still here, aren't I?"
"For now." Alaric's tone was playful, but his eyes held a seriousness that Asher couldn't ignore. "Though I'd prefer if you weren't lurking in the shadows like a ghost."
"Habit," Asher said simply.
"An effective one, I'm sure," Alaric replied, walking to the desk. He picked up a folded letter, sealed with a wax crest Asher didn't recognize. "But if you're going to protect me, we'll need to establish some ground rules."
Asher raised an eyebrow. "Rules?"
"Yes. Rule one: no killing anyone without my permission."
A dry laugh escaped Asher. "You're joking."
"I'm not," Alaric said, his tone firm. "If you're going to be at my side, you represent me. And I don't solve problems with unnecessary bloodshed."
Asher's smirk faded. "You're a king. Sometimes bloodshed is necessary."
"Not unless I say so," Alaric shot back, his voice cold now. "Do you think I don't understand what it means to rule? The decisions I've had to make? The people I've lost?"
For a moment, silence fell between them, heavy with tension.
"What's rule two?" Asher asked finally, his voice quieter.
Alaric relaxed slightly, though his expression remained guarded. "Rule two: if you have a problem with my orders, you bring it to me directly. I won't tolerate insubordination."
"Fair enough," Asher said, though his tone was nonchalant.
"And rule three," Alaric continued, stepping closer. "You trust me."
Asher stiffened. "That's asking a lot for someone who was holding a dagger to your throat a few hours ago."
Alaric met his gaze, unwavering. "Perhaps. But if this is going to work, we need to trust each other."
For a moment, Asher considered his response. He could see the sincerity in Alaric's eyes, but trust was a luxury he hadn't been afforded in years. Still, something about the king's conviction made him want to believe—if only for a moment.
"Fine," Asher said at last. "But don't expect me to follow blindly."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Alaric replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Later that morning, Asher followed Alaric through the palace halls, keeping a few paces behind as the king met with various advisors. Each interaction was a carefully choreographed dance—Alaric's charm disarming even the most reluctant nobles.
But beneath the pleasantries, Asher could sense the tension. Every word exchanged was a veiled threat, every smile a calculated move.
"You don't trust them," Asher said quietly as they left yet another meeting.
Alaric glanced back at him, his expression unreadable. "Trust is a rare currency here, assassin. It's spent carefully."
"And yet you demand it from me," Asher pointed out.
Alaric's lips twitched in amusement. "Perhaps I'm a gambler at heart."
Before Asher could respond, a servant approached, bowing low. "Your Majesty, a messenger arrived. He claims it's urgent."
"Bring him to the council room," Alaric ordered. "And ensure we're not interrupted."
The council room was a stark contrast to the rest of the palace—plain and functional, with a single long table and high-backed chairs. Asher took his place by the door, his eyes scanning the room for potential threats.
The messenger was a wiry man with a nervous energy, his hands fidgeting as he handed Alaric a sealed letter.
"This arrived at dawn," the messenger said. "It bears the mark of Lord Valden."
Alaric's jaw tightened at the name, but he said nothing as he broke the seal and read the letter.
Asher watched the king's expression darken, his grip on the parchment tightening. "What is it?"
Alaric looked up, his golden eyes blazing. "Valden knows about you."
Asher frowned. "And?"
"And he's issued an ultimatum," Alaric said, his voice like steel. "Surrender the throne within a fortnight, or he'll expose my alliance with the Shadow Court's assassin to the entire kingdom."
Asher smirked, though his mind was already racing. "Let him. By the time anyone believes him, I'll have slit his throat."
Alaric shook his head. "It's not that simple. Valden's influence runs deep—if he stirs the nobles into rebellion, it won't matter what proof he has. They'll rally behind him just to see me fall."
"So what's your plan?" Asher asked, crossing his arms.
Alaric set the letter down, his gaze meeting Asher's. "We're going to Valden's estate. If he wants to play this game, I'll deal with him directly."
Asher raised an eyebrow. "You're dragging me into enemy territory?"
"You said you'd stay," Alaric reminded him. "Consider this your first test."
Asher sighed, a mixture of irritation and reluctant admiration swirling in his chest. "You really are a gambler, Your Majesty."
Alaric smiled faintly. "And you, assassin, are my ace."