A Malice Heart

A week had now passed since the attempted assassination. No family or friend came to the palace questioning whether a redhead with a sword came stumbling by, so Malice decided to let her rot in the cell as a punishment. If he were to torture her, it wouldn’t bring him any pleasure given that she seemed to work all by herself.

All he had done was send interrogators to question her on how she breached the palace walls so easily. Redhead replied that there were simply no guards on duty at that same moment. Malice then decided that instead of searching all his guards, he simply had everyone that was guarding that area on that day hanged at the gallows. The assassin stilled at the news, from what Malice heard, but only ended up sending a prayer to the dead before falling silent.

She was bold, yet very, very foolish to think no one would be killed after such a mistake was made.

Now in the present day, he was stuck with his daily routine of meetings and discussions he did not care for. Once in a while, Malice got up to look outside his window, hands held firmly behind his back as he frowned at the view before him. At the sight of people rushing to and from work, the sight of children wearing dirty clothes and running around with ragged dolls. The way beggars layed on the cobblestones, either dead or dying, and the people simply walked past them as if there was no one there.

He did nothing but sneer at the sight, wishing he could simply kill them all at this very moment.

As the evening neared, the King realized he had no appetite for dinner. He already had an unstable diet, according to the royal physician, that could lead to problems within his body.

Malice merely dismissed the physician off. If his body couldn’t handle not eating three meals every single day, he didn’t want it. The day it breaks, the day this body kills itself and cleanses this world of him, will be the day he will yield to it.

Now he only heard the sound of his boots as they clinked on the stone floors of the dungeon, his long strides getting him closer and closer to the destination he sought. He had never been to the dungeons by himself, and never planned on doing so again.

This morning he had woken up with a sudden urge to question the assassin himself, to understand what her motive was. Those eyes that he saw had held so much confidence in them. For once, he had looked at someone who didn’t show fear on their face when staring into his eyes. It was a completely unexpected sight, one that caught him entirely off guard.

Malice believed that these kind of people ceased to exist once he had demonstrated his power as king, yet there she was. This young woman who so boldly held a sword to his throat with a true intent to kill.

There were no guards stationed outside of the assassin’s cell, and Malice didn’t call for any. He valued his privacy more than anything, even if it meant risking his own life in the process.

Today he had decided to wear the crown, unlike other days. He wanted to see the look on the assassin’s face as she watched how her plan failed and where it led her.

Everyone in the palace has been acting so well that he hadn’t had anyone to punish for weeks. It had become exceedingly boring to simply sit and judge everyone with every step they took. He knew his court was filled with scums and snakes, all of them gossiping behind his back and putting on masks to win his favor. That is why Malice stayed as far away from them as he could.

The cells inside the dungeons weren’t anything fancy. They were fairly cramped and had nothing but a hard-rock bed and a place for prisoners to do their business. No assassin deserved to get anything more than that.

As Malice took his final steps towards the cell, hands held tightly behind his back and head held high, he looked down at the limp body that lay inside the cell.

The assassin’s long, red hair was now matted and covered her like a blanket as she curled in on herself, entirely ignoring the bed on the right side of the cell. From what he could see, it looked like her shoulder had been fully healed by the medics, and nothing but a faint scar remained.

Malice gave the cell bars two hard kicks with his boot, startling the assassin awake. She quickly rose, her hand flying to her thigh only to find nothing there. The dagger she had strapped there was now gone and tucked away somewhere safe. The redhead cursed silently and looked up to see who intruded her rest only to continue cursing at the sight of her king.

“Princely Bastard, what is it you want now?”

“You’re one to talk, given your circumstances,” Malice looked around her cell for emphasis before staring daggers at her. “Who do you represent?”

The assassin seemed confused by the question at first but, with a sigh, stood upright and wiped the dust from her pants. “I represent no one but myself. I’m the me, myself, and I kind of person.”

“I see we at least have that much in common,” Malice said quietly, taking another step towards the cell. “What is your name?”

“Is this your form of interrogation, Your Highness,” she practically spat his title out. “I’ve already been questioned long ago, so don’t think anything had changed since then.”

The cell room fell silent as the two spoke, Malice not saying a single word. He didn’t remember the last time someone dared talk back to him as if they were on a much higher class than him. Usually, those kinds of people who dared speak up would be found dead in their beds by daylight. Gone from unnatural causes.

This assassin before him knew that nothing awaited her other than death at the gallows, so she allowed herself to speak any way she wanted. Allowed herself to do whatever it takes to have her voice heard, but why? No one cares for her, no one wishes for her to come home, so why fight so hard?

As the silence between them stretched, the two still maintaining eye contact, the assassin broke and muttered, “Drew. I go by the name Drew.”

Malice waited a little longer for a surname, but she didn’t say it. Only placed her hands on her hips and shrugged, “What? I told you my name.”

“You don’t have a family name? A lineage you come from?”

The assassin—Drew, scrunched up her face and started laughing. Malice didn’t understand what was so funny given that all he asked was for a surname, but allowed Drew to have her moment.

When she saw that he wasn’t showing any sign of emotion, Drew wiped a tear from her eye and cleared her throat. “I have no last name, princeling. That’s what happens when a girl spends her entire life on the streets.”

Malice hummed his answer, looking her up and down. She was extremely malnourished but looked like she would have been able to fit into some noble family with her hair and eyes. Those kinds of features weren’t something you see on a daily basis.

Her clothes weren’t too fancy either. The pants had holes in them, her belt was barely keeping the oversized cloth up and a small shirt was all she had to hide her top. The cloak that Drew wore was nowhere to be found, and given how cold the dungeons were during the night, Malice guessed that she would sooner die from fever than by hanging.

“Why do you keep calling me ‘princeling’?” he questioned quietly.

Drew took two steps forwards and encircled her fingers around the cell bars, cocking her head sideways with a slight grin. “Isn’t it obvious? You act like a little boy throwing tantrums. Those same tantrums are killing the people in this kingdom and making everyone’s life a living hell.”

There it was. So she does care for the kingdom, for the people inside of it. Perhaps she did have someone to rely on and they were simply killed. Malice tried remembering if there was ever a time that someone attempted to kill him, but realized that Drew was the very first one.

Malice straightened the sword at his waist and wiped an invisible speck of dust from his shoulder, “I believe I have seen enough. Good day, Miss Drew.”

The king found what he was looking for and was willing to continue with his day. As he walked off, Drew stayed silent from behind him. He could hear the sound of something heavy being dropped to the ground, probably the girl slouching onto the floors, and a small curse in pain.

Malice found himself grinning the rest of the day. Not one of those soft, sweet grins that his childhood caretaker gave him now and then. Not the kind of grin you would get from a teacher when you get the answer to a question right. The grin that struck his face was as vile as a murderer’s. It scared his servants and maids to the point that they’d stopped visiting his chambers. The palace had become quieter then the usual and that only made the king happier.