Heir's of Tveriska

The job was meant to be simple, but gods, I never would've imagined it to end up going like this?

"You can't run forever, little songbirds," I say, glancing around the rooms. I note the door that was opened and begin walking towards it. I adjust my grip on the dagger I held. It'll be quick. A quick death of the two heirs to a throne, I can take my money, buy a nice ship, and leave. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," I say. I needed to get it down before the occasional thought that maybe this wasn't the right thing to do would truly take over my thoughts.

The sound of shuffling makes me pause. I glance around the darkened halls. The curtains were pulled over the windows, casting shadows, and I could hear it begin to rain. I begin to step closer to the opened door once more. One foot in front of the other. I adjust my grip on the blade as I carefully push the door open.

More shuffling.

I swing the door open fully and look into the darkened room. It looked like an empty ballroom. I guess there were two. I wait for anything to move. "There's only one way out, little Villrúlfar," I say, standing before the door. "So maybe, if you come out now without putting up a fight," I say, ignoring the burning pain in my jaw. That girl landed quite the punch. It was impressive for a nine-year-old, of course. A movement to my left catches my eye, and I look quickly. I move the blade behind me as I watch two figures step out from the shadows.

It’s a boy and a girl, a prince and a princess, two targets. Two kids whose parents want them six feet under. The young girl, no older than ten, has bloodshot eyes but a defiant look as well. She might’ve cried, but she’d put up a fight, too. This was Princess Ǫlrún Ásbjǫrn. She wore a dress nearly identical to her mother's, from the armor to the color. This girl was dressed just as her mother was. Her blond hair was in braids meant for the solstice’s, a necklace adorning her neck. 

My gaze flicks to the boy.

He had curly blond hair, which seemed to have been attempted to be brushed, only to get unruly once more. He sniffles as he holds his sister’s arm, reluctant to meet my gaze. This was Prince Víðarr Ásbjǫrn. He was dressed identically to his father, from the tunic to the blade that was at his hip. Or… the blade holster…?

I look back at the girl and realize she held her brother’s blade, her grip firm but trembling. 

“You’re here to kill us, aren’t you?” The girl asks, her voice trembling. 

I swallow, a sudden wave of guilt making a home in my chest. I sigh, glancing over my shoulder at the door and then back at the two children. I traced my thumb over the engravings in my dagger and thought about a memory from years ago, from when I was a child, just as these two were now. 

It had been a cold winter, among the worst winter ever. Food was expensive, as were coats and anything to keep you warm. I’d have done anything to ensure my little brother was warm and fed. I’d… I’d almost done anything. It was a situation a lot like this one. I’d been ten. I’d been training for this sort of thing by a man named Sindr. I never got his last name. He’d gotten a job, and he brought me along since I’d been his apprentice. I still remember the way the woman had begged. I knew, even then, at the naive age of ten, that that woman had been killed, not for pay nor for a job. It had been revenge for something somebody else had done. It had been a murder to hurt another. It had been an innocent life taken to hurt a stranger. 

I swallow as I meet the two royal children’s gaze. I thought about when my brother found out. It had been three years later, and he had been ten. I’d gotten hurt and had to explain how. He rarely spoke to me, and when he did, he always said the same thing: “Why?”

I sigh. I can’t do this. I look at the two kids, even with the pay and the prospect of being free from this. This would’ve been my last job, then I’d be able to never worry about anything involving money. But it wasn’t worth it. I’d only done bad people before, the murderers and criminals. Now I realize it didn’t matter. There’s a better way; there must be. 

“Did… did bandits pay you?” The prince pipes up from behind his sister.

My gaze swims to The Prince. I shake my head. “No,” I say quietly. “Do you want to know the truth? It’ll hurt to know the truth.”

The princess nods without hesitance. 

The prince nods, only after his sister.

I sigh, glancing over my shoulder before kneeling before the two. “You’re mother and father are paying me to kill the both of you,” I say. “They're willing to pay me fifty thousand penningar.”

The prince and princess both frown. 

“Mama wouldn’t,” The prince whispers. “Why… Rún?” His blue eyes look towards his sister, likely wanting to know if she believed me.

I look at the princess. She held my gaze, searching for the lie. 

She swallows, glancing at her brother, then back at me. “So… you are going to kill us?” She whispers. “Aren’t you?”

I sigh, glancing at the dagger I held in my hand. I glance up, noticing the princess lift her own blade at the sight. I look at the blade. “I…” I look over my shoulder again. “Let’s say I don’t,”

The princess raises an eyebrow.

“Let’s say I leave right now. What will you do? You know that your mother and father want you dead. What’s stopping them from just getting somebody else?” I ask.

The prince swallows, his grip tightening on his sister’s arm as his breathing grows heavy.

“And if I don’t kill you, then you’re parents will entirely take revenge and arrest me, likely hang me, for treason and murder,” I admit. “So what do you think I should do? What would you do if you were me?”

The princess swallows and shrugs. “You’re going to murder us, aren’t you?” She whispers, her voice trembling as she holds the blade up still.

I sigh once more, glancing at her blade now. I look down at mine, shaking my head. “I… I was going to,” I admit. I look back up at the two. I turned the blade this time so the dagger’s pointed and sharpened tip was angled towards me, and the hilt of it was towards her. “But why don’t we try this out? You come with me. You live with me. I’ve got a home. Nowhere near as nice as this, but you won’t be murdered there,” I admit. “I’ll tell your mother and father I killed you, and you will be considered dead.”

The girl looks at her brother, trying to think. She looks back at me. “Why would they believe you? Without our bodies?” She asks.

I point to her hair with the hilt of my blade. “Lock of hair. Pretty hard to cut that off somebody alive,” I admit. “It’s how we show the target’s dead without having to bring their body across the country.”

The prince shudders, and the girl looks back at me. She looks at the blade I still held out. She hands the blade she held to her brother, who takes it and puts it in the holster. The princess takes my blade now and looks at it, adjusting it in her hand. 

“You do this, though; you’re not royal,” I say. “You’re just going to be two kids, okay?” But I’d do damn well to make sure these two kids get a good life. 

The princess holds my gaze as she cuts a small braid from beneath her ear. “Maybe I just want to be a kid,” She says.

I smile softly, nodding. “I’ll do my best to ensure you get that,” I admit.

I’d brought the two locks of hair to the King and Queen, who both seemed relieved to see it. I never would understand how heartless people can be sometimes. I wonder if that’s how my brother felt about me sometimes? A blade of guilt drives itself deeper into my chest as I pull the chariot to where the little girl and boy sit on a log. “There’s clothes inside. Change into it in there,” I say, nodding my head to the chariot.

“You never told us your name,” The prince says. He’d barely spoken, but when he did, he had a curious tone in his voice.

I sigh as I look down at him. Somehow, even though I knew they were Tveriska’s royalty, there was a quality about them that seemed to claw for recognition: They’re children. “My name is Mýrkjartan. Mýrkjartan Seldys,” I say. “You can call me Kjartan. Get in.”

“Can I call you Mýrk?” 

I raise my eyebrow as I look down at the boy. “Do you want a ride? ‘Cause walking would take at least a month,” I say.

The boy hangs his head disappointedly before following his sister.

I chuckle. “I’m just kidding,” I say, smiling at the boy before he climbs into the chariot.