Cinnamon and Cyanide Ch. 01-02

Chapter 1-

Shouts rang up through the palace corridors.

The quarry they hunted paused, back pressed against the rough stone wall of a linen closet used to store the thicker winter blankets. Breath held, the fugitive listened intently, tracking the direction of the hurried tramp of boots outside the corridor as they marched aggressively towards the end of the hall. Shadow and silence were the fugitive's friend, and both were hard to keep when one's heart was thundering in one's ears.

Waiting.

Waiting...

There! That tell-tale sound of the foot-falls fading, turning the corner and marching away.

That was the signal needed for the fugitive, the sole surviving heir of the House of Kyanite, to slip out of hiding and race down the hall, opposite the direction the pursuers had marched.

Screams echoed down the hall. Angry shouts. Clashes of steel.

The Palace was under siege, while the last vestiges of nobles and servants loyal to the fallen House were being slaughtered in their beds. Some lucky few made it into the hallways as they poked bewildered heads out to see what the commotion was about, only to have those heads severed at the neck. The Heir had only barely made it out of bed too, before a flood of angry enemies had broken through the door.

Three older brothers were dead. Mother's broken corpse had been thrown down the grand stairs. Father's body had been in the hall, but his head had been missing.

Pausing, the fugitive Heir leaned against the wall, and fought the urge to be sick again as the images came back, unbidden and unwanted. Now was not the time to stop though, especially as more heavy boots could be heard getting closer. Pushing aside the throat-clenching fear of feeling trapped, the Heir drew in a deeper breath, steadied fraying nerves, and pushed on.

Moving quickly, the Heir slipped into a sitting room, then pressed against one of the wall panels that disguised a servant's door. Years of playing hide and seek, tailing servants, and generally escaping tutors had left the Heir with some limited knowledge of the servants' corridors. Never had the thought come up that these might be useful to escape.

Although time was limited, the Heir took the time to pause again. A laundry basket held a prize of uniforms- mostly for servants and scions, but it would be better than bloodied and tattered nightclothes. Quietly grateful for the small blessing, the Heir quickly changed, stealing a few precious moments moments more to rip bandages from a sheet and wrap a small gash across the ribs- better to hide blood, once out in the streets...

Another dash through a hall to a second servant's wing.

A sprint down a tight corridor between walls.

A flight of steps, steep and narrow as they wound down, down, down...

The fugitive jumped the last few steps, and took off running through the kitchens to the courtyard.

An outcry rose up as a watchman spotted the fleeing figure, and more voices joined the alarm. An arrow flew dangerously close to the Heir's head, and lodged with a heavy thump into a wooden beam nearby. Panting, the fugitive Heir pressed on harder, reaching a tie post where several horses were tethered. Fingers fumbled with the reigns, adrenaline making it difficult to undo the leather straps with violent trembling, but they eventually came free. Relieved, the Heir pulled the horse free, grabbing hold of the pommel to swing up into the saddle. The shouts were more urgent now as the horse was turned towards the open gate.

A shout. A kick. The horse lurched forward, almost throwing its passenger from the saddle. But they were moving forward, together, and the gate was only a few yards away ahead.

A few yards.

A breath away.

With a victorious cry, horse and rider broke past the barrier of the gate and rushed down the roadway. The boom of hoof beats pounded a glorious anthem of freedom, and the rider breathed out a sigh of relief. Even the baying of hounds behind them could do little to ruin the elation that freedom brought. Urging the horse faster, the rider took up a position better suited for an extended gallop.

Fire exploded through the Rider's back.

The rider gasped as it pierced through one shoulder, then spread, making it difficult to keep hold of the reigns. The horse leapt over something in the road, and its rider listed to one side, hitting the ground hard. The horse continued to thunder away while the thrown passenger rolled and flopped to a halt, moaning as a hundred new bruises joined the fiery pain. There were only a few breaths before the sound of dogs got dangerously close. The Heir curled up, hands protecting an exposed neck. All that could be done now was to desperately pray the handlers reached the dogs before their prey was torn to shreds.

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Chapter 2-

"A messenger?"

"Yes, your Highness," answered the guard with a bow.

Asher Pierce, soon-to-be Prince of the Silent City, perked a brow at the news of what the hunting parties had caught. The guard waited, dutifully silent, while the new royal considered. "Was he carrying a message, then? A call to aide, perhaps?"

The guard, Dominic, shook his head. "No, Highness. We found no physical missive, so thought it might be a verbal message. We've got him down in the dungeons. We tried to make him talk, but he's kept silent."

Asher nodded, then sighed. This was not what he wanted right now- he needed solid information. A letter, handwritten by anyone in the fallen family that contained any words, would have won him great favor with his father. A messenger was good, but risky. People lied. People died. They carried their messages, AND their secrets, to the grave with them when they died.

Ash sighed again, rubbing a hand through raven black hair. It had already been a long night, and though the battle was won, there was more to do, and no sleep to be had for hours yet.

"Alright. Show me."

Gods, he did not want to do this right now. He had better things to do than question messengers himself. What was the point of having a guard if they couldn't handle an interrogation from a simple messenger?

He made his way down to the dungeons, only needing little guidance to find the way. Asher had grown up around the palace, the second son of the former General of the Silent City. That former General, now King, had often brought his sons to Court to learn, study, and socialize with the peerage. Occasionally too, Asher had participated in some of the darker aspects of maintaining the peace in the country. This wouldn't be his first time down in the dungeons, it had just been awhile.

The air down here was damp and stale, and Asher wrinkled his nose as he followed his guards to the sorry sight of the captured messenger, bound and tied to one of the interrogation chairs. The boy was young, younger than Asher's 23 years, certainly. He hadn't even the shadow of a beard forming yet, despite being tall. Fifteen, perhaps? The lad's eyes were closed, one cheek bruised and starting to swell. Dirtied brown hair fell to his shoulders, framing his face. He looked... fragile.

"This?" Asher turned, incredulous, to Dominic and the other guards. "You couldn't break this? He's barely still a whelp."

Dominic had the grace to look chagrined, but nodded. "Your Highness, he has resisted our attempts so far. And we didn't want to risk damaging him too much, in case your Lordship could make use of him."

Stepping forward, Ash grabbed hold of the boy's hair, yanking his head back. The boy surprised him, being awake, making a face from the pain. But he kept his eyes closed, and his mouth, although Ash could see the jump of muscle in the boy's jaw where his teeth were clenched tightly. That amused Asher, and he gave the boy's hair another yank.

"You're quite resilient, they tell me," Ash said, tossing the head away and backing off.

"But I have little time, and less patience, to deal with you. So we shall make this quick."

Steel rang as he drew his knife, walking around to look at the slight creature in their custody. The boy, wary, peeked open one eye to meet Asher's piercing blue gaze. He didn't have time to register the knife in the new Prince's hand before it was slammed down between the boy's legs. He'd made muffled yelp, legs spreading wide, cloth pants tearing where the knife had pinned some of the fabric. Ash grinned as the boy's expression went pale, looking with satisfaction to Dom.

"See? You just have to know the right places to target. I find most men dislike the threat of losing their manhood."

Several of the guards chuckled at that, understanding the threat, likely glad that they weren't the ones in the chair. Ash turned back, facing the boy, who was pressed against the back of the chair.

"Now. I need to know what sort of information you have. What message were you trying to carry out of the palace tonight? Who sent you? Where were you being sent?"

The knife twirled in his hand, expertly, as he grabbed the front of the boy's pants. The blade was sharp enough that he didn't have to use much pressure before the fabric gave way, tearing open. Ash delighted in the way the boy squirmed, writhing, struggled uselessly to get away while making little whining sounds of protest.

"If you answer, boy, I'll let you keep thi-"

Stars exploded in Ash's vision as the vicious little brat's head snapped forward suddenly, catching the Prince right between the eyes. The knife dropped with a loud clatter to the ground, and Ash cursed as he felt blood pouring down his face. His guards were already moving, and he heard the grunts as several blows fell on the boy; Ash let them continue for a few more moments before holding his hand up to forestall more.

"Well then."

He growled the words, taking help from Dom to stand up again. He even laughed, wiping the blood from his face, although he looked at the boy with barely contained rage.

"Guess you won't be needing this anymore."

He reached out to grab the boy's cock, hand grabbing roughly between the lad's spread legs.

The conqueror's blue eyes met the captive's brown hues, the Prince realizing that the boy was already lacking a cock.

"What the fuck?"

He recoiled, repulsed, staring at the boy. The high cheek bones. The flushed cheeks. Slightly fuller lips...

When Asher reached out again, it was to roughly grab at the "boy's" shirt, ripping it open. There was a wound low on the ribs that had been bleeding, but it didn't look long enough to require bindings around the whole chest.

For several moments he was mesmerized, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she panted. He could imagine unwrapping the linen cloth and exploring the supple flesh that would fall out from beneath. He wondered how full she was, when her breasts weren't so tightly bound. Watching the quick breaths, he revised his earlier assessment on the "boy's" age; she was closer to his age, nineteen or twenty. Mentally cursing again for not seeing it sooner, he stepped back.

"He's a woman!" Dom said behind him, apparently just as startled. There was another round of chuckling, this time quieter and more uneasy.

"Yes, thank you Dom, for stating what's now obvious to us all." Ash's tone was dry, not nearly as amused as the rest of them. His eyes wandered over her, fingertips reaching out to brush over her skin. It was soft, like silk. Of course this was a woman, Ash silently chided himself. He should've realized it sooner. The shorter hair threw him off, but it was hard to mistake now.

"Clever little fox, aren't you? What's this...?"

His fingers reached out, taking hold of a small chain that was caught under the bandages. The woman thrashed, trying to kick, trying to resist despite being secured to the chair. It did nothing to stop him from pulling the chain out, freeing the pendant beneath.

It was a stone of smokey blue, banded faintly with lighter and darker hues, trapped in a frame of woven silver. Imprinted on it was the Kyanite House's family crest, a tree whose branches interwove together, a jeweled crown emblazoned across its trunk.

"Clever fox, indeed," Ash murmured to himself, looking back at the woman once more. He lifted the chain up over her head, pulling away from her quickly before she could bite at him. "Get her something else to wear, then lock her in a cell. If she speaks, let me know."

She spat at him, and he could only chuckle as his guards stepped forward, undoing the leather straps that kept her bound to the chair. She fought them as they hauled her up and away, leaving him watching them go in thoughtful silence before turning to head up the stairs.