The day was bright and clear. The sun was casting a whitish light like the morning, and the dew remained on the grass. It was a cool reprieve from warming of the days. They'd had some rain recently, but now things were sweeter, lightly chilled, and yet still sunny. Summer would come too soon, and this was a lovely day.

Chammielle sat in the garden under the wisteria. Her poetry book in her hands. She'd decided to write a poem on purple flowers for Ianthe. Something to cheer her up when she came to see her next week.

They were leaving in the morning. She'd thought to pack, but the maids had insisted they could do it. Less ornate and expensive gowns had been made for her. Something closer to what she would have worn back home, but less noble. The next few days would be a great relief.

High Court had been a pain.

She'd never realized how much nobles argued. Her father had never been that way. He was more like William in all honesty. A good man with thoughts towards the well being of the economy and how the prosperity of all depended upon it. She hadn't realized how much until she'd read that book on poverty. And then seen them for herself yesterday.

Every person who came in wearing clean as they could get them rags was pitiful. She'd prepared herself as best she could reading. But seeing them, the only thing her heart could feel was agony at how well she lived. It didn't matter if they were lying or not. She'd granted every request. A few things had changed though...

The Capital's orphan houses had been granted expansion and higher wages for workers with the children. And any family that had brought their hungry children for show to earn their pity were parted from them so they could be cared for at the orphan houses and fed for six months. It had seemed cruel at first, but she knew that if they simply took the money and didn't feed the children it would be far crueler. The families were permitted to visit them at the orphanage on a weekly basis, and that gave her hope. But Will had informed her after that quite normally, they'd be abandoned there.

The only thing it seemed to accomplish was the health of the bony children... But she knew that wasn't true. They'd be better off without those who had stepped down from caring for them.

She found herself blocked in her poetry.

"Dainty blossoms wrapped in green

Feminine color light and unseen

When dew begets its lovely sheen

Purple petals all round do preen

...hmm...what else..."

She closed the book and leaned back upon the marble bench. It was curved and perfectly tucked away under the free form of the wisteria. A lovely hiding place. And the cool weather made her stretch out and look up at the light streaming through the tightly knit branches and tendrils of swirling vines. A few petals fell upon her dress. It was like the wonder of a street magician performing tricks for children. That sort of delight that brought nostalgia to the mind.

She closed her eyes, and breathed.

The breeze crept through the branches and she felt so comfortable. Her eyes took their sweet time, but they finally fluttered open once more. But once they had, she wished they'd remained closed.

"What are you doing here?"

Her head was propped up and she was looking up into the face of her most frustrating confidante and enemy. She must have fallen asleep and not realized it.

"Clearly your highness was in need of a pillow."

She moved to get up but found his hand resting across her throat. Her eyes widened.

"Bram..."

"I'm not going to kill you if that's what you're thinking. I'd never hurt you."

Tears of anger pricked her eyes and her lips became iron bars parallel and pressed tightly together.

"Tell that to your younger self."

He chuckled and she hated him for laughing at her pain.

His thumb brushed lightly against the throbbing vein in her throat. It was like he was toying with her. Being a threat even though he spoke words of assurance.

"What do you want?"

"You're so sweet and unguarded when you sleep. I used to seek you out when you were napping in the garden when we were children. I'd stare at you for an hour and tell myself I'd be nice to you once you woke up. But then you did and I just couldn't seem to control myself. You made the most passionate faces of wrath and terror and I wanted to see them all. I didn't know then what I know now..."

He continued to stroke the column of her neck and it was like a trance. She was paralyzed. Unable to do anything to remove herself from this situation. Where were her guards? If she screamed, would he choke her?

"Chammielle...there will come a day when you will hate me beyond what you feel now. When that day comes, scream and rage against me. As though we were never friends. Hate me, and I will be there for you still."

She didn't understand what he was saying. If he knew she hated him, what made him think she could hate him beyond this? It wasn't her nature to despise someone so much. She loathed his presence and what he'd done to her, how he tried to seduce her with things she'd never be tempted by. But those were all because of his actions. What sort of vile things was he inferring he'd do in the future? And what did he mean saying he'd be there for her?

"We've never been friends, Bram."

He chuckled lightly. His deep and gravelly voice somewhat kinder when he was soft spoken like this.

"No, I suppose not. But I still have hope."

"What are you hiding? What day are you talking about?"

His lips twitched up and she felt a light pressure on her throat. He squeezed and though she could breathe she was sure she'd pass out. She just got out his name.

"Bram..."

"It's a secret."

And then the bright day went dark.

She'd woken up later and sat up with a start. No one was there. She'd gone to the nearest guard around the hedge and asked where Lord Godfrey had gone and the guard had not seen him at all. None of the guards had. He knew how to avoid them. Like a ghost.

One that haunted her.

...

"How do you do that?"

Alfrina glanced at the now familiar sight of the Lord of Blood sitting behind her desk. She came around and motioned for him to stand. He did so and she reclaimed her seat.

"Do what?"

"Slip in and out of this room without me detecting it. It's like you don't even open the door."

She sighed and flipped a page from her reports. Things were going too quickly. She needed more time to make arrangements.

"I spent three years with the monks of Hadis Triollea. They've perfected the art of moving through walls."

He chuckled. He thought she was joking.

"Why are you here today, Godfrey?"

He sobered up quickly.

"The Prince knows."

She shot her eyes from her task to his pale face.

"What?"

"I had to tell him. I was about to lose my position, and he needed to be prepared."

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"This makes things more complicated. What if he lets this change how he acts now? It could tip off our enemies that we see them coming."

"He knows what's at stake. He won't do anything that could endanger Chammielle."

She let out a deep sigh.

"I wish you hadn't done that."

"I know."

She went back to her papers. Things making less and less sense.

"What news of our mystery opponent?"

"On the surface it would seem all myth and legend. Not a real threat. But I've verified a few things since then... It seems someone has come back from the dead."

It piqued her interest.

"Do we know who?"

"A woman. She claims to have a right to the throne. At least that's how the rumors go. I haven't been able to find her. She seems to be working through a third and fourth party."

She nodded.

"Good work. Any chance we can know when they will strike?"

He crossed his arms and leaned against the desk.

"Sooner than we'd like."

"Shame... There may be casualties if this goes much faster. There are too many lives at stake. We can't save them all..."

"May I suggest something?"

Her eyes widened. He hadn't done much input other than intelligence except for one day last week.

"Please."

"Their families. I'm sure they'd love to go and visit the suitors their daughters write to."

She smiled. Of course.

"I'll arrange invitations."

He got a dark look on his face and she wondered what was going on in that large brain of his.

"Spit it out, Godfrey. What's curdling your cream?"

"This person, they elude me."

It was probably hard for him. If she were looking for them herself she might have better luck. But the devious Lord was having difficulty pinpointing them and it irked him. For all his years in the drug, stolen property, and information circles, he was finding this task hard. And he rubbed elbows with the worst of them.

"Think nothing of it Bram. I'll look into it myself later. You've done well."

She shooed him off with her quill and got to writing those invitations. She had a copy of each of their letters to duplicate the handwriting. It was mere child's play.

He walked from the room and she heard the door click. Perhaps a little softer than usual.

...

Bram headed down an alleyway. His apartment within the capital was modest, his identity unknown when he came to this sector. Or at least, his wealth was. But they knew him. They knew his reputation. He'd worked hard for it.

He turned the corner and saw a man. A flask in his hand and a leer on his face. He watched a woman in the second story window as she dressed. Simple thing probably didn't realize anyone was down here or that her curtains were open. She was voluptuous.

"Ah, there's the Lord of Blood..."

His whisper slithered through the air and suddenly he knew who this was.

"He sent you?"

The throaty guffaw was slaked with another swig of the grog he was drinking.

"I don't look like I work for someone so illus-stray-us now do I? I'm sure that's the pointer of it."

The gruesome and narrow man hiccuped and he caught wind of what he was drinking. The fool didn't actually know the pointer of him. Just as well.

"What news?"

His slimy sneer looked daunting, but he was sure he was just trying to remember what he was supposed to say. That's how they all were.

"You'll have her. When he takes the throne you'll get your reward. So long as you comply with his one request."

He stiffened, was it as he hoped?

The dreary eyes swung to him and he saw the affects of the drink.

"Kill his cousin for him. It'd be a kindness to him if he never saw the brat alive in the palace."

Bram nodded.

"He'll have my answer when he rises up."

"Nah, nah... I'm supposed to...to bring your answer back...his highness..."

He could see him start to choke. He removed his dagger.

In one swift motion he put the garnet hilted blade through his ribs into his lungs. These kinds were all throw aways. Death awaited him the moment he took the job.

"You won't be saying anything to anyone anymore. That is the point of you..."

The eyes rolled back in his head as the poison in the expensive drink was robbed of it's kill. The heart quit beating and the lanky mess slumped backwards onto the barrel he'd been sitting on. Such a filthy mess to clean up. The alley already stank.

He withdrew his dagger and wiped it on his dark cloak. An unworthy death to stain his renown. But he hated drawn out goodbyes.

He snapped his gloved finger and his attendant came to his side. The dark figure just six inches shorter than himself had been a quiet and well timed find. The spy who owed him his life.

"Take him out to the heap. The one near the pub once it's dark. Let the constables find him. But be sure to rip out his purse beforehand. This should look like a robbery."

"Yes, m'lord."

The shorter frame of the black cape made the body disappear in a flash.

It had taken him a long time to find someone worthy of the position. But this attendant was well worth his salt. He smiled at the quick action and ascended the stair to his apartment.

A sinister sort of glee overtook his mouth. If anyone had dared looked his way they would have seen it and shivered. A dark miasma covering him to send chills down their spine at the deadly aura the Lord of Blood was exuding.

When the Earl arose to power, he wanted him to kill Prince William.

It was the best news he'd had all day.