Forced To Kill The Prince Read online

  Once I spoke with Ronar, who seemed to be eager to find out how I was progressing with his brother. He described Aradin as a fool, being taken so fast by anyone who happened to have red hair and a vagina. Somehow, I don't feel bad at all, lying to his face. And he can't spot the deceit in my eyes, it seems. Or maybe he already has, and he's not revealing that he knows. Curse this. I can never be sure.

  “Good job, little assassin,” Aradin says, when I finally report to him of the last death. He's lounging idly in his glamorous chambers, and tosses a small pouch of gold to me. “And how did you feel, killing those people?”

  “Like they deserved it,” I say. I tuck the gold away. I have enough to just make a run for it and set up in a different country. I'm tempted to do so, the deeper I get tangled into this web of lies. “They are exactly the types of people I'm comfortable with killing. People who hurt, maim, and inflict suffering.”

  “Good.” He nods. “It's nice to have someone with a little sense of moral justice. The morality in a thief can be quite far reaching. If I were, for example, to send you to kill an innocent old man, who has done nothing wrong in his life, would you do it?”

  I consider this for a moment. “Yes. I wouldn't feel happy about doing it, but given that I either kill him or fail my contract and risk death, for me, it's about surviving. Though I will resent you for each time you make me kill someone who doesn't deserve it.”

  Aradin smiles, as if this makes perfect sense to him. It doesn't to me. A murder is a murder. No matter how much you try to dress it up. Some are easier to stomach... but it's still someone's life draining out in your hands at the end of the day. It's a sign you're stained, and there is no redemption for you anymore. I don't expect someone like him to understand that, though. The stains don't wash away. There's just some that you wear better upon your skin.

  “Not bad, lady Charlotte. We'll make a better use of you yet.” At that phrasing, I shiver. My memories flash back to our ill-fated romp together, which still leaves a dark, thrilling mark in my soul. I wouldn't mind experiencing more moments like that. I wouldn't mind being taken in that manner again. But right now, Aradin looks at me like I'm a tool. Nothing more, nothing less. I don't want to have such apathy trained upon me. “Your next task will be a little trickier. Ronar has a lackey in the court. He usually goes to a whorehouse every third day. I want you to assassinate him there, bribe one of the whores to do this with you with this gold.” He hands me a pouch of one hundred coins, which would probably be enough incentive for a whore to go on a rampage and kill everyone in their sight.” Aradin then makes as if he intends to leave, before he changes his mind. “When you finish later, little assassin, meet me in my quarters.”

  A lecherous glint enters his eyes, and I shiver.. perhaps he has more plans with me beyond petty assassinations. Though I'd be hard pressed to think of murdering one of Ronar's own as petty. Or hard to pull off. And he expects me to commit to it by tonight.

  Or risk him discarding me into the dirt. He seems to have a rather smug smirk upon his face when he leaves me in this mess.

  How am I going to keep this balance up? Is he just going to keep making harder and harder choices for me until I'm finally caught and finished?

  Or is he preparing me to eventually kill Ronar himself? Neither appeal to me. But now I have one more name to cross off my list.

  Chapter Five

  I stagger back to Aradin's quarters, heart palpitating wildly. I knock on the door, and when his servant answers, I'm admitted in afterwards.

  The prince sits there calmly in his armchair, reading a book, and cracks an eyebrow upwards, wanting to hear the results of my attempt. “Well?” Those features of his are both handsome and hateful at the same time. I want him to take me to the bed and fuck me, and I want him out of my life at the same time. I don't want the fear and complications that come with this. I don't want to walk on that fine line of death, even though I walk it every day anyway.

  I don't respond for a moment. Then he says, in an even tone of voice, “I take it you saw.”

  My breath comes out as a hiss. “Yes.” Images of the bodies slip over my mind. The ones dressed up like dolls. The table with four life-like dolls, plates all set out before them, before I understood that it wasn't dolls I stared at. “Why do you make me kill these people? Why have you not set assassins on them before?”

  Aradin gives me a small, dangerous smile. “Before, I didn't have a personal assassin of my own. One that I could trust enough to take out the targets I wanted, not just because they were paid, but because in another world, I think they would have been glad to kill those kinds of people for free.”

  I fall silent a moment. “But I am being paid. And I am only doing something because you order me to do it.”

  “Yes. But you've told me as much how your stomach churns when presented with difficult choices. People of questionable morality. Maybe... you haven't gotten to that point where you'd risk your life to defy orders, but you've got enough there, I think, to want to choose my targets, over someone like Ronar.”

  I digest his words. They do have a ring of truth in them. But I don't think it has anything to do with trust on his part. He hasn't shown me any sense of trust. At least, I don't think he has. About the biggest risk he took was to make me turn traitor, but that's not exactly the kind of thing that inspires trust. Is it?

  Am I interpreting this all wrong?

  “I plan to make you fully mine,” he whispers then, blue eyes starting to haze over in that stomach thrilling lust. “A dangerous woman. A person who could turn her blade against me. Who seems to be effective at what she does... on your knees.” The last words come out as an order, and my eyes bulge.

  I fall onto my knees, face turned to his. He rubs the front of his crotch, where there's a noticeable bump developing. I shiver as he takes off his black pants, revealing his length, which curls at an orgasm inducing angle. My mouth waters, just staring at it. His eyes are alight with the power he wields, and I'm tempted in that moment to just give everything to him. No matter what kind of order he gives.

  I crave these orders. And a big part of me is glad this prince caught me out. Glad he turned me into his personal weapon, killing those despicable people.

  “Suck me off,” the prince says, and rests the tip of his length against my lips. Eagerly, I let my lips close over it, and my tongue swirl.

  These are the kind of orders I could get behind. Not doing what it is I've been trained to do in the way of the knife, with cloak and stealth upon my side. But to please the body, to let myself give into the sheer pleasure of sex.

  Sometimes, I've felt jealous of prostitutes. I think that the ones who end up being successful, who aren't taken off the streets and forced into sexual slavery are admirable. They get to play submissive or dominating, depending on what their client wants, and they don't have to murder people for their money. That's something that appeals to me.

  But if you live in a thief den, and have skills with the blade, they don't want to waste you in that way. I know the prince seems to love this control he has over me. He's rough but not brutal, so I can lose myself in the moment as he thrusts into my mouth. In a way, though – even though he's ordered me onto my knees, and I'm taking him into my mouth, I'm the one with the power here. All I need to do is shift myself at the wrong angle, use my teeth at any moment, and he'll be in unspeakable agony. Maybe even infertile and unable to produce heirs. In a way, I could complete part of what Ronar wants me to do in that instant.

  Except, fuck Ronar. I don't want to take his dirty, kingdom destroying money. Not when Aradin offers the same. If there's ever an option that helps me sleep better at night, it's this one.

  It occurs to me that this might be another game of trust from the prince. If so, he's gambling a lot on what he thinks I am. He's gambling a lot that I've chosen to fully devote myself to him.

  My hands move up, and start massaging his balls, giving them attention, because I know this is the kind of thing that m
en like. He lets out a gasp of pleasure, and buries his fingers in my red hair. He really does like that color. He thrusts harder in my mouth, sometimes going deep, until I feel the hot spurt of his liquid inside me. He doesn't soften at this, reminding me that I'm going to be in for another wild ride. He takes his length away from me and then drags me upright, starting to tear into my clothing. One by one the clothes fly off, until he has me stark naked before him, my red hair tussled from the shirt. His eyes rove up and down, before he takes off his shirt as well. Finally, I'm exposed to his chest, which is a masterpiece in itself. The kind of thing a sculptor would design and be proud of. The kind of thing that makes me want to reach out and touch the smoothness of it, except he slaps my hands away, before seizing me by the wrists.

  “No no, little whore. You'll do everything I tell you to, because you're mine. Heart, body, soul. I own you.” He tosses me onto the bed, and I gasp from the impact. The bed is soft, and I sink partly through it, even as he takes off the last item of his clothing, leaving him naked. He crawls between my legs, and his fingers slip to my hole. “This is mine.” His fingers sink into the hole, and I cry out. They're rough and blunt, and he digs right in with two fingers, before making a hard beckoning gesture.

  The instant pressure that builds up between my thighs is immense. I let out a stuttering moan as he increases the strength of the motion, making everything inside me tense up. I expect him to stop, to tease me and to make it build up. I don't expect him to keep going, to force that monstrous orgasm out of me. And, even as it begins to vibrate over my body, he continues touching that sensitive spot. I let rip a gasping scream, my lungs expanding, my body trembling. When he finally stops, the sigh deflates me.

  “This is mine,” he says then, now dragging his wet fingers over the pool of fluid that has accumulated between my thighs. He touches the sensitive nub there, and my body jerks in a reflexive motion. He chuckles, and pins me down tight with her arms and elbows so he can continue working at the sensitive nub.

  Oh Gods. I'm on fire. Every part of me is on fire, and I'm already saturated from the orgasm that he dragged me to. The orgasm five minutes ago, I wasn't expecting. My thighs twitch, the muscles in them are stretched taut, and I let out a whimper when a second orgasm begins to swallow me.

  “This is mine too,” he says, plunging his mouth onto me. His kisses are hot and hard, grasping my lips, pressing his smooth chest onto my breasts. He moves in a serpentine, expert manner, and when his length buries into me as well, I roll my head fully back onto the pillow, barely able to scream. I've forgotten how to breathe. I've forgotten how to function. I've forgotten who I am as a person as he fucks me hard, overwhelming everything in me. He's taken complete control of my body. He doesn't give me a word in edgeways, a chance to take over, and I love it. It might get exhausting incredibly fast, though, since it takes him several orgasms to unwind. For me, any orgasm after the first risks blanking me out from pleasure, because my body struggles to handle it.

  When his hands aren't pinning mine down, I use mine to stroke them over his chest. He doesn't object. He lets me take him on with passion, as his hips thrust into mine. He comes twice more inside me, relentlessly consuming every thought in my brain. I'm reduced to a quivering mass of pleasure, of stray sounds and powerful feelings.

  When the third orgasm hits me, I can't take it anymore. I gasp and scream, even as he flips me onto my back, and starts delving into me from the top, changing the angle of entry.

  Gods. He's taking me. Everything inside me. At this rate, there'll be nothing left except the mindless hum of bliss, of exhaustion and soreness. Of being thoroughly fucked.

  When he finally stops, slowing down suddenly, I let out a groan, half relieved, half disappointed. I wanted that punishment. I wanted to be fucked so hard that I forgot my name. He nips at my neck from behind. He hands dig under the sheets and he grips my breasts. Then, he stops, rolls to the side, which forces me into a sideways position as well, and places his face into my hair.

  “Any more commands, master?” I say, after a moment.

  “Sleep with me,” he murmurs into my hair. “And if I wake up in the morning still alive, I think we can progress onto the next part of the plan.”

  Huh. Interesting way to put it. Happy chemicals are still floating in me, and my legs have that numb quality to them, which suggests that I'm going to have some difficulties in walking later.

  Lots of them.

  That's okay, I guess. His odd request to sleep with me makes me feel... well. Odd. That somehow I'm intruding upon something, even though this is literally want he wants. It occurs to me then that this prince must be quite the lonely guy. Sure he has me as his pet assassin now. Sure I'm technically bound to him, with my freedom gone, though I never really had freedom to begin with. At the same time though, I don't actually... care.

  I know I should do. Maybe. But I don't.

  I'm living with Aradin for the moment. Living the lie, and trying to convince Ronar that Aradin believes me. Kind of confusing. Even more confusing that he seems to be able to trust me like this.

  And he gives me an order to just... sleep with him. Perhaps it's not just the prince who gets lonely in this scenario. Perhaps I'm lonely as well. And perhaps I've always been lonely. Whatever the case, I fall asleep quite easily, with Aradin holding onto me.

  He gives me more “orders” like that, over the days. On top of the assassinations of people who deserve it, he asks me to cuddle him. It's different from just the sex, which is sweaty, rough, and thrilling in the dark, lust-filled way it consumes us. Sex is just... sex. It's good and satisfying, and sometimes I'm tied up, sometimes I'm fucked until there's no air left in my lungs – but the things I enjoy the most are the soft, affectionate touches.

  It's almost sad in a way that he seeks affection from me, and I in turn seek it from him. I'm obviously not a first choice to hug, but the prince seems to want it from me as well. Odd as he is. I doubt any sane person would want their would-be assassin cuddling in bed with them. There's some boundaries people don't cross. Yet, apparently, Aradin saw something trustworthy in my eyes. Something he could use.

  It gets to the point where I wouldn't mind just swapping masters, and working full time for Aradin. I like the tasks he gives me. I like being with him, being a part of this.

  I think he likes being a part of it too. I think he's giving me too much of his trust, to the point where I'm scared I might hurt him. That the future me might seriously consider slipping that dagger up into his kidney, because he's being sloppy in having me around. I might have been a master manipulator, just getting into his good graces to do the dirty deed.

  Except I'm not.

  Aradin one afternoon tells me that he needs to go out somewhere. “I'm dealing with a few of my contacts. They're nervous about something. Maybe unsure if I'll pay them or not.” I can tell he's not saying everything, but I won't push him on the matter. If he thinks he can't tell me, then he won't. And pushing him might make him less inclined to trust me. I don't want to lose that trust. I really don't.

  “Okay. What time will you be back?” I absently touch the dagger at my belt. Aradin eyes it, and his nostrils flare slightly. He knows it's a weapon that is lethal to his kind, and I see something flash there. It disappears as fast as it appeared, leaving me to contemplate him in silence.

  “I should be back in the evening. All the more to give you additional instructions...” his voice dips to a sultry growl. Evidently, he's taking his mind off that dangerous weapon, by the way he moves forward and captures my lips in his, and uses his fingertips to tilt my chin. “But until then, you're free. No assassinations. Just... explore the castle if you want. Just be careful.”

  I nod. The lump in my throat doesn't go away, and I don't mind. A part of me is worried that he's digging himself into something deep, because that nervous expression doesn't leave him.

  I watch him depart, and cross my fingers together. Thinking. Then, because I have nothing better to do, and
because I feel a little drained, I grab something to eat, before heading back to Aradin's quarters, to curl up into a ball and drift into calm sleep.

  When I wake up, it's completely black outside. Stars speckle my view of the window. It has the cover of deep night, in the early witching hours, where only drunks, murderers and lost souls might roam the streets.

  Aradin isn't in the bed with me.

  I sit up straight.

  Strange, that Aradin isn't in his rooms by this time. Eventually, nervous at his lack of appearance, I creep out of his quarters, intending to search the area myself. I have the blade at last, the one that's supposed to be able to kill dragons, tucked into my belt sheath. I still don't know how the game will end, even though Aradin has an idea of where we'll go. I'm not that optimistic. I know things can go wrong. But I still cling to the hope that Aradin will stay my master, because I'd rather work for him then Ronar. I really would. It would please me deep into my soul. Not just because of the way he possesses me for affection and sex. But because I actually think, unorthodox as he is, Aradin is a genuinely nice person. Someone who can save me, and I suspect, someone that I can save.