“Today’s the day.”

He sits on the edge of his bed, expecting his hands to shake and become slimy with sweat. He expects to hear and feel the pounding of his heart in his ears. He expects an adrenaline rush that causes the pupils to dilate, and the world to become a hazy bottleneck as his vision goes into hyper focus. But none of that happens. What does happen is simple: he gets out of bed. He walks over to a massive wardrobe several feet in front of his bed. Then, he pulls out a pair of fine pressed pants and an even finer silk shirt that would compliment his physique. It had taken several months, an extreme diet, but finally he got rid of his body’s obtrusive fat. Now, his subjects respected him; there were no mocking whispers of his body. No one called him a pig when he walked by. His generals, he also noticed, listened better to him now. Perhaps this was because he trained in their fields, beside their men (though one could argue that they were his men)?

He’s completely dressed when the door opens and a pair of servants comes in. Unlike him, they’re dressed in plain black suits that fit loose on their frames. At first, Prince Caspius doesn’t notice the knives strapped to their upper thighs. Nor does he notice the glares they give when he turns his back to them and request that one of them zip up his vest.

It’s only in hindsight that he notices all this. Only hours later, while he lays in his own blood, struggling to feel his legs, that he replays the scene in his mind. Over and over, his mistakes play out.

The fact that he only turned his head towards them, not getting a full view of their presences.

The fact that he didn’t acknowledge them upon their entrance into his bed chambers.

The fact he failed to notice that he didn’t recognize the voice of either servant.

The fact that he failed to act when one of them grabbed him neck.

He lays there, struggling to feel his legs. His eye are cast up to the heavens as blue blood pools around him, his thoughts circle around these mistakes. This leads to thinking of the ones responsible. The servants he ignored. It is then that he sees it, through the blurry haze of his memory. A symbol, stitched onto their breasts. He knows who did this. With a haggard breath, he gasps out their identity in a single declaration.

~~~

“Shadows. Before he drifted into unconsciousness, my son named his assailants.”

“Sir, are you sure? We were informed of the Shadows’ disbandment shortly after the war-”

“Just because we were told they were disbanded does not mean they actually did, General,” the Queen snapped.

“My apologies my Queen. I was merely stating-”

“She knows what you meant, General. Who ever these Shadows are, they are either secretly funded by the Darkened Empire or an independent rebel group using the Shadow name as a fear tactic.”

“I truly hope it’s the latter, Sir.”

“As do I, General. Please, can you leave us alone with our son?”

“Yes of course Your Majesty. I will see you at the council meeting.”