“You… want me to kill the heir to the throne of Remir? You’re insane, right?” Loren retorted, rocking back in his chair as his dark brows furrowing at the noble’s inane request. The heir was heavily guarded, for one. Second, the whole entire country would be after him if anyone even got a glimpse of his face.

“Is there a problem? I was told you were the best in the country.” The Duke of Vasilr swirled his wine glass, the crimson liquid twinkling in the candle light.

Loren clenched his jaw, trying to keep his mouth in check.

“I am. I just don’t want to be shot down right when I get to the palace gates—”

“Fifty thousand gold.” The Duke interjected, narrowing his eyes for the assassin’s reaction. The man knew he needed it, which was obvious by the gobsmacked look on Loren’s face.

“Wh.. fifty thousand?? Gold?!” He repeated incredulously, sitting up in his chair. That would be enough to travel around the country… three times! He’d find his sister, reunite and—

“Deal.” He agreed without much thought about consequence. Which, in hindsight, he realised was not a bright plan.

He stood outside the Remiran palace in the dead of night, his gloves on tight, his short sword sheathed and his head concealed with the help of his hood. He took a deep breath and scaled the pillars and bricks of the fortress, recognising the window which lead to the heir’s sleeping quarters. He gently nudged open the window before stepping inside. Noticing that the heir hadn’t woken up, he crept closer, reaching for his blade.