Manipulator

A sample of my new piece.

He stepped forward and smacked her across the face, yet she didn’t let the pain slip out. Her dead eyes stared straight into his lust filled expression, watching as it contorted in violent joy as he smacked her again and again.

“No need to make that face my dear Lencia - come, let me hear your screams.” He took a whip off the wall, snapping it across her legs, causing her to flinch. For cruel men like him violence was intercourse and her surrender would be as pleasurable as a climax.

A slight cough sounded from behind him. “Excuse me Iven, Prince Myst from Kreshnia is here to seek council.”

Iven’s eyes turned from lustful excitement to a hollowed hazel as he faced the messenger. “Have him sit in the drawing room. I’ll be there shortly.”

He turned back, a slow smile spreading across his gaunt face as he surveyed his doll hanging from the wall, rope tightly bound around her slender wrists. Lencia’s expressionless demeanor made it seem as though she were dead, but that was what she wanted - needed if she intended to succeed in her task.

“I’ll miss you, Lencia,” his hand drifted, slightly caressing the swell of her reddened cheek, “I hope that every second I’m away you think of me, as I will of you.” She turned her face to the side, feigning indifference until the resounding click click of his boots faded from the room.

A small grin flittered across her deathly pale lips as she breathed in the purple bursts of particles floating through the air. As she breathed in, her face revived itself - ice blue eyes turned to blazing sapphire - pale lips to blood red - swollen face to prominent rosy cheeks. Another breathe and her strength came back, allowing her to easily break free of the ropes.

Lencia tapped her inner wrists, feeling for the hilt of the blades hidden beneath the skin. She took to the shadows, ghosting along the corridors, blending into the dark pockets cast by the sconced torches. Wading through the bursting particles of light held suspended in the air. Lencia moved into position behind the door.

Voices greeted her entrance as she breathed in the particles, masking her presence as she slipped into the notch of shadow cast by the roaring fire. Prince Iven was pacing back and forth before his guest, gesturing frantically towards the mounds of parchment strewn across the table. He never noticed her, never had time to feel threatened as she let the cool metal part his vile flesh, cutting through the nourishment of life. Lencia smirked in satisfaction as he dropped to the floor with a thud before turning to Prince Myst, who stared back at her from a face that could have been cut from marble.

His odd beauty was haunting, and intimidated her, but what caused her to halt was the way his stare pried into the empty pit of her soul - searching, trying to touch the desires she held tightly in check. Her muscles tensed slightly as she made to move, but her body remained in place. It took her a moment to realize that she was rooted to the spot, the particles surrounding her as if shielding her from the enemy. She strained against the invisible pressure holding her down, struggling to break free.

A long, drawn out sigh sounded from the royal guest, and stretched to his full stately height as he languidly approached her. He tilted her face from side-to-side, clicking his tongue against his teeth as if in pity. “It’s always the pretty ones that cause the most trouble.” His accent caught her off guard, it didn’t sound like the accent of an Alverian prince, but one that came from ancient roots - a crisp bite that soothed over the senses.

When he approached the table strewn with what Lencia could tell were issues of trade, she slowly released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“What will you do?” Her voice as silent and cold as the shadows that surrounded the room.

“To you? Nothing. To these,” he motioned towards the piles of parchment, “I needed his highness’ royal seal.”

He brought a wooden staff up to his lips, whistling across the rounded top that was covered in a smattering of symbols. The staff was gnarled together as if a multitude of branches had been forced to mate. Its length reached a foot above his waist and looked like any other walking staff, except this one was gathering particles.

The bright bursts of purple, gold, and pale light adhered to the pieces of parchment, creating the seal as they were absorbed into the documents. He gathered the marked papers before returning his attention back to her. As he waved the staff, Lencia felt the pressure that once held her in place dissipate as if it had never been.

Who was this man who could control the particles? What did he know about them? Lencia barely knew how to manipulate them, and for as long as she could remember, no one had ever been able to see them before.

She gasped as the bristle of his beard scratched against the smoothness of her cheek, his lips tickling the edges of her. “Take care of the body,” he whispered, a command that she feared to disobey.

She remained rooted to the spot even as he left the room. It was silent except for the occasional crackling of the fire that had begun to dim. His presence hadn’t left with him, making her feel his command all the more. It’s for my own safety she repeated to herself as she buried the body. Never had she hidden a body, never had she cared whether it was found, because those from the assassin’s guild were feared. She was feared.

Lencia glanced towards the sky, noting the full moon positioned past midnight as she reached the outskirts of her Crimson home. Without hesitation she leapt from pillar to pillar -a security barrier that meant death if one fell - until she was clinging to the side of a mountain cliff. This she deftly climbed, barreling down the other side to find her home stretched out before her.

Two miles from the cliffs, nestled against the willow was an old, run down dormitory that housed orphans like her: The elders had found and raised her as one of their own. There were fifteen separate rooms that housed a twin bed, dresser, and full length mirror. The bathroom was shared between the six girls besides her currently residing in the guild.

Wooden slates dipped and creaked as she made her way towards the mirror, checking for any lingering signs of her capture. Purple irises reflected back at her as she stared, wondering why she had been born with this abnormal quirk. Her hand lifted, finger finding and covering the reflected iris, as if she could extinguish its existence. When she removed her hand it was still there. Disgusted with herself, Lencia hoisted onto the ledge of the open window and gazed at the stars.

Head perched against the wall, she closed her eyes and let her drowsy mind mingle with the danger of an Alverian prince. If it were only in dreams, then maybe a knight with a wooden staff and charcoal eyes would be a welcome sight.

The sun had crested over the horizon when she was summoned by the elders. The newest member stood frightened, cautiously nudging her awake to relay the message. After washing in the cramped bathroom, Lencia donned a light pink tunic trimmed in rouge ribbing around the waist with embroidered hanging sleeves - a gift from her guardians. After lacing up the flat leather boots, she made her way over to the dusty, white brick mansion situated at the edge of the guild. Squeaking, the heavy wooden door lazily swung open. She took the marbles stairs to the top and went through a set of double doors whereupon she found - sitting at a round table - the four elders.

They are known throughout the community as the elders, but are actually four middle-aged men all wanting to have the distinguished wisdom of old age that was attached to the word elder. She entered with a yawn, watching as they turned to face her, first with smiles, then with concern.

“What happened last night?” Garret, the eldest of the elders asked. Lencia simply shrugged, not sure of what he meant.

Merek presented her with an announcement, a post calling for the execution of Prince Iven’s murderer. “You know we cannot have a conflict of interest within the guild.” Merek gave her a pointed look, one that was meant to show that he was chastising whatever it was that she had done.

It only ever became a conflict of interest if people found out that it was the assassin’s guild that had done the deed. Heads would roll if they found out who sent the request - like a snowball effect.

“We need you to hunt this man.” Arthur passed her the scroll. Lencia inwardly sighed, after last night she knew this man was not one to fool with.

Name: Mystogen Ivy

Status: Prince of Alveria

Occupations: Domestic Trading

Places of Interest: Lovelahck Port, Kreshnia’s Tower

“She’s not going anywhere near that vile man, just look at his stupidly gorgeous hair!” Claude always had one reason or other to try as he might to hold her back from her tasks. Lencia rolled her eyes as he reached out to hug her to his side, but she sidestepped heading towards the exit. “Don’t go! You don’t start until tomorrow, at least let me braid your hair like I used to.” She fingered the purple ochre of her hair without a care for Claude’s dramatics, the same hue as her irises, before continuing out the door.

“You can’t keep her from going Claude. You never have been able to.” Garrett shook his head at his friend and gazed wistfully after the girl he had raised.

© 2018 Attentive_Ambience

Author's Note

Just a little excerpt. Any thoughts, opinions, or feedback is highly appreciated.

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Reviews

sette

i like the plot, there is excitement there on what' s going to happen to Lencia's fate and of the prince. Will there be a change in the story? that i am looking forward to