Chapter Text
From the outside, beyond the stone walls and lush gardens, the castle looks intimidating. It has steep green roofs and slate gray walls, all made from carefully placed bricks laid by the hands of a thousand workers over hours and hours. Most of the windows are wide and tall, letting in plenty of daylight, but some are stained glass. Reds and oranges and purples depicting images of the Gods, heroes, and kings; a legacy of the kingdom displayed in colorful filtered light. Of course, one might find the massive walls and spiraling towers straining towards the heavens intimidating, but to Johnny, they just feel like home.
He trudges through the mud of the stables, handing off his gear to the stablehand who is waiting patiently for him to be done grooming his horse. Usually the boys working the stables would take care of it, but Johnny hates the idea of anyone else caring for his girl. The mare, Sparrow, has been with him for years now, from the impoverished group homes where he grew up all of the way to the castle gates. She was the last gift from his father, a memory of love long gone. A memory that ate a lot and demanded sugar cubes on rainy days, but a memory he would never let anyone else put at risk.
“Have a good rest of your day, Commander!” the stablehand calls brightly, carrying Johnny’s bridle and saddle off to the bench for cleaning.
Johnny tries not to let the boy see him startle at the title, but it’s a near thing. It’s only been a year since he’s taken over the role of Knight-Commander, and every time he hears it, he still thinks that they’re talking about someone else. He waves a hand over his shoulder casually and strolls into the bright sunlight of mid-afternoon.
The courtyard is a hub of movement this time of day, with nobles wandering the grounds and chatting amongst themselves and workers toiling in the late summer sun on their projects. He can distantly hear the clanging of the blacksmith as she designs some new weapons or armor at the King’s behest. Johnny lets the sounds and smells wash over him, soothing the itch under his skin. The entire kingdom is preparing for the festival in the next couple of days, and it’s three times as crowded as usual. He had barely made it through breakfast in the crowded hall before escaping to take Sparrow for a long run around the trails nearby. Now, a decent amount of the visiting crowds have broken off for shopping or private meetings, and the courtyard is at its usual level of chaotic.
“Commander!”
Kate Laswell, advisor to the king and major pain in Johnny’s ass, is waving him over from a shaded bench. She’s holding a book in one hand, but Johnny’s sure that her attention is more focused on the many conversations happening around her than on any literature.
“Laswell,” Johnny greets. He stops a couple feet short of the bench. “I trust the day is treating you well.”
“Of course,” she smiles. “It’s been great fun to see all of the proceedings for the eclipse.”
The eclipse. Johnny would like very much to go an entire day without hearing about the damned eclipse. Two nights from now, the moon will cover the sun, and everyone will stare at it and pray to the Gods for protection and blessings in the year to come. There will be religious services, with all their praying and chanting, and then the celebrating, where Johnny will not be allowed to drink. Instead, he’ll watch other people imbibe while making sure nobody tries to kill the king in a drunken brawl. Despite the love he holds for the position he fought his way into with blood, sweat, and tears, the eclipse is beginning to make Johnny wish he was still only a poor soldier with nothing better to do than knock back his weight in summer-wine and eat an entire roast pig.
“Fun,” he responds. “Yes, that’s what I was thinking earlier. It should be a wonderful event.”
Kate shades her eyes with one hand, peering up at him. There’s always been a keen look about her, a hunger that he doesn’t quite trust. She’s been the King’s advisor for so many years and is privy to information that could, without a doubt, send the entire kingdom spiraling into chaos and treason. Johnny knows that if there were ever any question of Kate Laswell’s loyalties, she would be removed at once, which means she is trustworthy. And yet….
“I imagine you’ll have much to do in order to prepare your men,” she says. “I’d hate for anyone to be in any danger on such an important day.”
Johnny bristles at the implication. “My men are ready for anything,” he retorts, trying to smooth over the edge in his voice, “just as they always are.”
“Of course,” Kate nods her head. “I meant no offense.”
“And so no offense was taken,” Johnny replies easily. He’ll never be a natural at this game, played with innuendo and subtle glances, but he’s a quick enough learner and determined to not screw this up. “But you’re right, of course, that I have much to do. A pleasure as always, my lady.”
“Good seeing you, Knight-Commander, or… oh, what is it the men call you? ‘Soap’? Is that right? Such an interesting nickname for the king’s right hand.”
His only answer is a tight smile before he bows deeply and walks away, not waiting to see if Kate has anything else to tell him about how he’s running things. In all honesty, there isn’t much he has to do today. Most of the men are with their charges, nobles who have requested additional security while staying in the castle for the fortnight. His forces have been stretched thin trying to accommodate everyone, but he’s making it work. Typically, he would follow the king around while he attended his duties, but the king has locked himself in his study for the day with orders not to be disturbed. On any other day, Johnny would place himself just outside of the door and simply… wait. But the king had sent even him away.
Perhaps he’s done by now, Johnny muses, or perhaps he wouldn’t notice if his guard were to silently return to his post. Guilt at not being where he should be is getting more aggravating by the second. Every head that rises as he walks by, every nod of recognition, reminds him that he should be protecting the king. He swore his life to defend the king day and night until he draws his last breath, and instead he’s pushing past the wooden doors into a secluded corridor off of the courtyard, wondering if the library has received any new books from visiting merchants. Spending the rest of his evening reading something new would be more fun than standing outside the king’s study for the rest of the night.
Maybe the guilt wouldn’t be as bad if Johnny liked the king a little bit more.
It’s a ridiculous thing to think. He’s sure that there are many people working within the castle grounds who dislike the king, and probably most of them dislike the king more than he does. It isn’t that he hates the royal family, he wouldn’t be here if he did. The queen is kind and distant, lost in her own mind more often than not. The king’s daughter is moody and stubborn, and Johnny does enjoy the way she seems to find the most entertainment in ruining fancy dinners and important meetings. There’s a spirit in her that refuses to die, and Johnny thinks that if she somehow manages to retain control of the kingdom– through succession or marriage– they might be on a good course.
But the king. Philip Graves is a quiet man, most of the time. He’s intensely focused on the things that he wants and figuring out how to get them. His sense of humor is dry and witty when he manages to crack a joke or two, but mostly he’s just… boring. Strict and boring.
So when Johnny realizes that, like it or not, his feet have been taking him slowly back up several flights of stairs and through multiple sections of the castle to the closed door of the king’s study, something like irritation flickers in his gut. The hall is silent. Everybody knows to leave this wing of the castle unbothered while King Philip is working. Johnny just hopes the soft noises of metal on metal as he walks doesn’t alert the king to a bystander. Plate armor is great for looking professional and not getting stabbed in the gut, but it’s terrible for moving silently.
He’s ready to take up his place waiting by the door when he notices a small shaft of light spilling across the floor of the dim hall. The door to the study is slightly ajar.
Johnny’s heart drops to his stomach. There’s no way the king would leave the door cracked. His study is full of rare manuscripts and important experiments, usually in varied stages of completion. Nobody but the king is allowed in his study, but Johnny has made an oath– several oaths, really– to protect the king at expense of everything else. Which one matters more, at the end of the day?
With a groan and prayer to whoever is listening, Johnny pushes the door open.
The study is decorated in purple and blue, tapestries hanging on the walls and lush carpets that his boots sink into. Bookshelves are everywhere, but a long table shoved to the side against one wall is full of a dozen glass containers that shimmer and bubble of their own accord. Half of them are probably poison, Johnny figures. Otherwise, the study is silent. No king. No anybody. In the corner, it looks like a section of the wall is pushed in, almost like a small doorway. There isn’t any noise coming from it, though, and Johnny figures it probably leads somewhere he doesn’t want to be anyway.
Johnny grumbles something unkind under his breath. What good is having a Knight-Commander to protect you if you send him away and then wander off once he’s gone? He spins on his heel, ready to march off throughout the castle until he’s located the king, but he freezes with one foot in the air.
There’s someone standing in the doorway.
He commits as much detail to memory as quickly as he can. A black mask, pulled up over the nose. A black hood, pulled down nearly over the eyes, that’s attached to a short black cloak. Leathers, fighting leathers, dyed a smooth and disturbingly well matched shade of black. The man, for it is a man, has a knife strapped to each thigh and a crossbow strapped to his back. Johnny can’t make out his facial features, but he’s large. Large enough that he has to crouch to pass through the doorway as he takes one small, silent step after another in Johnny’s direction.
Johnny draws his sword instantly. He might not be able to tell what the man really looks like, but it only takes Johnny a moment to figure out who he is.
“You’re him,” he mutters. “The one they call Ghost. Have you come to finish the job?”
Ghost cocks his head, like an animal assessing his prey. He takes another step, and Johnny holds his sword a little higher. It isn’t the right blade for close quarter combat, and he’ll likely break several things of immense value, but he hasn’t got much of a choice.
“Look at you,” Ghost taunts. His voice is rough and low. He has the accent of the well-bred nobles that Johnny is surrounded by every day. It sounds almost wrong, coming out of his masked mouth. It’s unnerving that without all of the leather and the fabric, an assassin could fit in so well among the rest of them.
“What are you doing here?” Johnny asks.
Ghost trails a finger along one the shelves and checks it for dust. He doesn’t look at Johnny. He doesn’t even reach for his own weapon. “I’m fairly certain I’m meant to be the one asking you that question.”
“I live here,” Johnny spits.
“In the study?” Ghost mocks slightly, gesturing to the room around them. “My, how things have changed in my absence.”
“Leave now,” Johnny threatens. He’s grateful that his voice doesn’t waver at all. “Leave before I’m forced to kill you.”
Ghost sighs. “That would be a pity. I’d so love to be friends.” His tone turns frigid, and Johnny feels the beginnings of fear creep along his spine next to the adrenaline. “Drop that blade before you hurt yourself.”
“I am the Knight-Commander of the king’s personal guard,” Johnny scoffs. “I am—“
“What you are, sweetheart, is outnumbered,” Ghost practically purrs, effectively cutting off any threat Johnny might have made. “Best to cut your losses now.”
“Got it! Shall we— oh hells.”
Johnny doesn’t manage to turn around in all of his plate armor in time to see the person who clobbers him over the head, but he does distantly hear quiet arguing as the study goes black.