The forest was still, the night air thick with the scent of damp earth and the rustling of distant leaves. The moon, pale and distant, cast an ethereal glow through the canopy above, painting the forest floor in shades of silver. It was a place of quiet, untouched by the noise and chaos of the world beyond its borders. But the silence in the woods tonight was disturbed by the heavy, labored breaths of two men, their footfalls crunching on the leaf-laden ground as they carried the body of Queen Namia.
Her body was limp, her limbs heavy and unresponsive from the poison that coursed through her veins and the wounds inflicted upon her by the assassin who had attacked her in the castle. Blood, dark and thick, had soaked through the rough ropes that bound her wrists and ankles. The assassins, draped in dark hoods and armour, moved slowly, their strength worn thin from the journey. They had been carrying the queen for the better part of three hours, her dead weight a constant reminder of the task they had been assigned—and the consequences that awaited them if they failed.
The first assassin, the one who had struck the queen in the castle, grunted as he adjusted his hold on her. His name was Ivar, a man with a face as cold and emotionless as the steel he wielded. His breath came out in ragged puffs, but his focus never wavered. He had been the one to capture the queen, and now it was his responsibility to dispose of her in the manner his employer had demanded. He had no mercy for her; she was just another casualty in a war that demanded blood.
"Let's just get it over with," Ivar muttered, his voice low but sharp with impatience.
His companion, Brunner, gave a short laugh, though it lacked humour. Brunner was younger, his face still carrying the flush of youth, despite the hardened look in his eyes. He had been the one to offer counsel when they were planning this. He had always been the one to ask questions, to ponder over the details that others would have ignored.
"I don't know, Ivar," Brunner replied, his voice quieter than his companion's. "I'm not sure about just throwing her into the sea. What if it's not the right thing to do? We should bury her properly."
"Bury her?!" Ivar snapped, a harsh laugh escaping his lips. "We're not going to bury her like some common thief. She's the queen. What good would that do us? No one will find her in the sea. The tide will take her away, and no one will be the wiser."
Brunner frowned. His hands, covered in the queen's blood, flexed uncomfortably around the ropes. The weight of her body felt like a curse upon his shoulders. He had heard the rumours about Aberdale—the village by the sea. His mind kept drifting to them, despite his rationality telling him that magic had no place in their world.
"The sea," Brunner murmured. "It's... it's different. You don't understand. You don't know about Aberdale. The villagers there—they have an ancient connection to the sea. It's said that their ancestors could command the waters. The sea can heal wounds... or at least, that's what they say. I... I don't think we should just throw her body into the sea."
Ivar stopped walking, his eyes narrowing beneath his hood. He dropped the queen's body to the ground with a grunt, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Magic? You believe in that old nonsense?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "There's no magic left in this world, Brunner. Only blood and coins. Nothing more."
Brunner met Ivar's eyes with an intensity that betrayed the doubts clouding his own mind. "I'm not saying I believe in it, but... there are things we don't understand. Maybe the queen's bloodline means something. Maybe the sea—"
"Enough!" Ivar snapped, his voice rising in anger. "We were hired to do a job. A job that pays well, by the way. We weren't hired to entertain superstitions. You'll throw her body in the sea, and that's the end of it."
Brunner hesitated, his gaze dropping to the queen's pale, lifeless form. He thought of Aberdale—the ancient village, where the sea had once been more than just a body of water. The people there had been connected to the waters for generations, and it was said that those born near the sea had an affinity for its power. His grandmother had spoken of it often, telling tales of people who could call upon the tide and command the waves. But that was just stories. Just myths.
Despite himself, Brunner still felt a pang of unease. He couldn't ignore the pull of those old stories. The queen, after all, was from Aberdale. What if the magic still lived in her blood?
Ivar kicked a stone in frustration, the sound sharp in the stillness of the forest. "We don't have time for this. The longer we argue, the more likely someone will find us. We need to get rid of her before dawn. The cliffs aren't far from here. Let's end this."
Brunner nodded slowly, though doubt still flickered in his eyes. "Fine," he said, though his voice lacked conviction. "But mark my words, there's something about this. Something we don't fully understand."
Ivar said nothing more, but the tension in his posture was palpable as they began walking again, the queen's body between them. The forest seemed to close in around them, its shadows growing longer as they neared the cliffs. The air was colder here, a briny tang of the sea reaching their noses long before they saw the jagged rocks and the dark water stretching out beneath the stars.
When they reached the cliff's edge, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below filled the air. The sea roared in the distance, dark and unforgiving, as though it were a beast waiting to devour them.
Ivar dropped to his knees and began untying the ropes around the queen's wrists, his hands steady despite the tension in the air. Brunner stood behind him, staring out at the sea, his mind still wrestling with the idea of throwing her body into the water. Something about it felt wrong, he didn't know why.
"Let's just get it over with," Ivar muttered, standing back up.
"Wait," Brunner said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. Ivar paused, his hand still gripping the queen's limp body. "I still think we shouldn't do this. Not like this."
Ivar sighed in exasperation. "Why do you insist on dragging this out? She's dead. She's useless to us now. You're making it harder than it has to be."
Brunner shook his head, stepping closer to the edge of the cliff. "I can't explain it, but I believe this. The sea... it might do something to her. It might be more than just a burial."
"You're mad," Ivar spat. "We'll be seen. We'll be followed. This isn't a place for hesitation."
But Brunner, despite the nagging doubts in his mind, took the queen's body into his arms. He stepped toward the cliff's edge, his grip on her fragile form tightening. The wind whipped through his hair, and the sea seemed to call out to him. Something stirred within him—a strange sense of urgency.
"Whatever happens now," Brunner muttered under his breath, "we have no choice."
Ivar stepped up behind him, his voice hard. "Then let's end this. No more talking."
With a final glance at the cold, dark sea below, Brunner let go. The queen's body fell from his arms, tumbling into the darkness below.
The sea swallowed her without a sound.
For a moment, there was silence—save for the wind and the waves crashing below. Ivar exhaled sharply, wiping his brow, as if the act had released him from a terrible weight. Brunner stood still, staring into the dark water.
"Good riddance," Ivar muttered.
Brunner didn't reply. His mind was far from calm. He looked down at the sea below, where the waves had already begun to pull the queen's body into their depths, and wondered—if only for a moment—whether the old stories were true. Perhaps the queen's connection to the sea was real. Perhaps, in some way, the waters would claim her as their own, just as they had claimed so many before her.
And perhaps, just perhaps, there was more magic in the world than he had ever realized.