A long figure darts across the large, white yard, ducking out of sight from patrolling guards. The young man steps back from the wall he had pressed himself against and peeks up. A story or so up, he hopes, is the room of his target. There's a soft glow from the window, and he makes out a figure from behind thin curtains.

Is it worth the pay? The money?

Alfred isn't so sure, but hey, who is he to really judge? He's paid to assassinate and anyone sane would balk at the idea of killing the king. The Mad King, as they call him. Nobody has really seen him, they have seen his sisters and they're so very different. One is such a cry baby, but she's nice and matronly, taking care and visiting the orphanages and children. And the youngest sibling doesn't seem so stable or nice but from Alfred knows, she has her moments of kindness.

Where does that leave Ivan then? It isn't as if Alfred cares, he's just another victim in the game of politics. And the pay was good enough. He waits until the glow goes away, until the lumbering figure disappears. The snow crunches beneath his feet as he slowly walks towards the wall, running his hands against the frozen stone until he finds a good edge to grip on. A freezing wind blows, and he shivers faintly. He hadn't grown up in such a cold place, having been lucky to be born where there hadn't ever been any snow.

Though, his story is just like any others who chose this life. Parents either died or sold them off, because they were too poor, or something else happened. They all just agree to forget about their pasts, because if they remember, they're being held back. It makes them weak.

He grunts as he pulls himself up higher, nearly missing the next available jutted out stone. His whole body feels frozen, and it doesn't help that the wall is like ice at this time. He finally reaches the balcony and throws one leg over the large ledge, and stifles a yell as he falls forward. Grimacing, Alfred forces himself up and tries to get all of the snow off of him. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he gives up and opens the cracked open window. Slipping in, he looks around, eyes quickly adjusting to the dark.

The room is large and immaculate, fitting of a king. He's standing between the bed and a large oak desk, and Alfred quietly unsheathes his weapon. In the back of his mind, he could almost make out his mothers scolding voice for choosing violence over peace. The goddess always spoke to love, not to hate, no matter who that person was.

Unlike his twin sister, Alfred threw those ideas away. In order to protect her, he took on these jobs. He didn't care if he was hurting another family, just so long as Amelia was kept safe.

Alfred draws in a deep, silent breath and counts down in his head as he presses the sharp edge of the blade against the throat of their slumbering, mad king.

He hates doing this, admittedly.

"Hello!" The cheerful greeting throws him off and he nearly lets out a yell, he looks down, realizing that violet eyes are staring up at him. "Are you here to try to take my life as well?" Alfred hurries away as Ivan sits up, blankets falling down as he does so and platinum blond hair is askew. "I would suggest you hurry or at least make an attempt because there are guards just outside my door, and you left the door open."

As Ivan speaks, there's a smile on his face.

"'As well'?" How could this man sound so cheerful even though he's about to die?

Ivan tilts his head to the side, "Do you think you're the only one who has made an attempt on my life so far?" Ivan certainly isn't popular, but Alfred didn't think that Ivan would be used to having someone try to assassinate him. Really, these people are crazy. "What's your name?"

"Alfred."

That smile widens. "Nice to meet you, Alfred! Now, are you going to kill me or chicken out?" When Alfred doesn't move or respond, Ivan shrugs. "I can call for the guards you know. One noise out of me, and they'll come bursting in. What would you tell them, Alfred, if they saw you?"

"I'd be long gone."

"No you wouldn't. It isn't humanly possible. You'd be caught by the time you reached the ground." The smile is gone. "And executed. Like the rest."

Slowly, Alfred moves forward, back towards Ivan. He's never killed someone when they were awake, and if he had, he always used poison. There was just something about slicing someone open while they were awake, the struggle, that deters him.

"You can't do it, can you?" Even with the blade against his throat again, Alfred still hasn't moved. "I guess not."

"Why the hell do you sound so disappointed?"

There's still that stupid, fucking smile and Alfred wants to punch him. "I don't know," Ivan shrugs. "I like you, Alfred. You seem nice."

"I'm trying to take your life and you think I'm nice?"

"Yes!"

Alfred balks. "But why?"

"Everyone else would have just done it. Not you. You can't even do it." Ivan pulls up his thick night shirt, revealing scars that run further than Alfred wishes to know. There's one on his left side, where he had obviously been stabbed but not deep enough to get the heart. "See? They all tried and they all failed. I just wish they would use something to make me sleep through it. I hate pain."

"You're insane."

Ivan nods. "I guess I am!" A pause. "How about this? You live with me for four days, and you can kill me at any time, and if you don't after four days, you're allowed to leave, a free man. But if you leave now, I'll yell for the guards and tomorrow, you'll be hung!"

"So, I can't leave now?"

Ivan shook his head. "I gave you a few chances already! And I like you, and I like talking to you. You make me feel less lonely."

"Deal." It's too sudden, and Alfred knows it. Of course he's going assassinate Ivan, because that's what he's being paid to do! It's just, he needs to do it when Ivan is least expecting it. In the least painful way possible.

"Yay! Now, I think it's time for sleep. I'm tired." At first, Alfred stands there, and moves to lay down on the floor but Ivan stops him with a, "Sleep on the bed with me! The floor is really uncomfortable and I hate it if my friends aren't comfortable." Awkwardly, Alfred strips down as best he can and tries to ignore Ivan's stare or the heat that's rising to his face.

Ivan scoots over, closer to the wall as Alfred crawls into bed with him. It's surprisingly comfortable, and Alfred nearly dozes off on the spot, the warmth inviting. There's a space between them, but Alfred can just sense Ivan's excitement.

"Good night, Alfred!" Ivan's voice is high, almost like a child's.

Alfred says nothing, and there's a long stretch of silence and he finally peeks over at Ivan, who is fast asleep. He's more on the plump side, as is expected of royalty, with a baby face and bangs that fall into his face. His cheeks are painted red, either from the cold and there's a faint smile on his dry lips.

What has he gotten himself into?