Author's note: This chapter is not about Adalind, but I will be getting back to her story as well as writing the POV of Nick and Renard when she told them she was pregnant as so many readers have requested.

This chapter is about the death of Prince kenneth. In this, I tried to show a little of how others who'd grown up hearing stories of Grimms think of them as almost mythological beings; dangerous predators that even the Royals who think so much of themselves have reason to be afraid of.

Please not that all chapters in this story are subject to editing and improvement and all suggestions from readers are welcome.

The Grimm got away.

Kenneth did not let on how agitated he was by this news while in the King's presence, but alone in his car on his way back to the hotel he ground his teeth and had to stop himself from clenching his fists too tightly on the wheel. This business was all supposed to have been tied up neatly in one fowl swoop this night. Take both Grimms by ambush: Kelly Burkhardt when she showed up with the child thinking she was safe; and then her son Nick when he came home, his guard down. But the younger Burkhardt had slipped the trap, and now they did not know where the he was, only that he would be on the hunt.

A setback, that's all it was, Kenneth told himself. The situation could be salvaged. They knew Mr. Burkhardt's habits, his work, his friends. They'd been ahead of the Grimm this entire time, and now they would track him down and end him – Kenneth had sworn this to the King and he would see it done. The problem now was that the Grimm would be tacking them too. Mr. Burkhardt was a police detective; he had his own resources, and now his mind and his instinct would be focused on the hunt. There was a reason the Royal families tried to employ Grimms, whether by recruitment or coercion; everyone wanted Grimms with them because no one wanted Grimms against them. They were dangerous hunters, born killers (once they transitioned anyway), basically living weapons. And Kenneth knew that, apart from Juliette, he was the one in the hunter's crosshairs.

That feeling was amplified when, as he approached the front door of the hotel, he was accosted by the flashing of red and blue police lights, and uniformed men with guns drawn surrounded him, ordering him to put his hands up.

This was the Grimm's doing, Kenneth thought as he was loaded into a police car. Any lingering doubt about that, the slim chance that this was a random incident, perhaps a case of mistaken identity, was erased when rather than going to any police station, the officer drove passed the sign that marked the city limits. As was the hope that Rispoli would extract him from prison in a timely manner. Whatever the Grimm intended to do with him, he wanted it done outside the jurisdiction of his own precinct. It appeared that Mr. Burkhardt would not be attempting to use his badge to resolve this matter.

"Leaving Portland, are we. Where are you taking me?" Kenneth voiced. The officer, a friend of Mr. Burkhardt's no doubt, remained silent.

Kenneth felt trepidation snake down his spine as they arrived at what appeared to be their destination: a dilapidated old warehouse, no bystanders or potential witnesses in the vicinity. A lovely spot for a summary execution, which is what Kenneth expected to receive when the officer told him to get out of the car a lie down on the floor.

"If you're going to put a bullet in the back of my head, get it over with."

The back of his knee was kicked out and he was pushed to the floor, unable to catch himself with his hands cuffed behind him. Rather than shoot him though, the officer merely uncuffed him and walked away. Kenneth got to his feet in time to see the police car pull out and exit the way they'd come in, leaving him alone in the seemingly abandoned building. There was no sign of anyone else as Kenneth looked around wondering if someone was going to take a shot at him from a dark corner.

What came out of the shadows wasn't a bullet though, but the Grimm himself. And Kenneth was suddenly forcefully reminded him of why he'd wanted to take out the Grimm by ambush.

Kenneth had never met the man face to face. Oh, he'd seen surveillance photos, read the reports, been privy to the rumours flying around since a Grimm was discovered to be in Portland – how this Grimm had cut the heads off two reapers, beaten to death a Nuckelavee, even killed a Mauvais Dentes, a creature reputed to be an unstoppable killing machine. But hearing about it was one thing; coming face to face with it was another. Here, he wasn't facing Nick Burkhardt, police detective; he was facing the hunter of legend, a warrior fueled by centuries of instinct passed down through his bloodline here to avenge one of his own. Primitive instinct screamed at Kenneth that what stood before him was a human predator, and he was the prey.

Rational thought and his royal upbringing said that when faced with a predator, never act like prey. "I'd always heard how badass you Grimms were, but your mother was a complete letdown. I suppose I did have the element of surprise on my side." He left out the part where, even taken by surprise, Kelly Burkhardt had managed to kill two of his Hundjagers before they subdued her.

"How'd you get Juliette to help you?"

"She didn't take much convincing. One good romp in your bed… Well, let's just say her needs weren't being met." Kenneth was trying to rile him up, provoke him into making a mistake.

But Mr. Burkhardt's cold focus did not even slightly waver. "Where is she?"

"The King is delighted to have his grandchild back. She'll be well rewarded. She's changed the course of history just so you know."

"Too bad you won't live to see it."

The fight was brutal, hand-to-hand, no holds barred.

To the death.

Kenneth got in a few hits, but the Grimm was hardly phased and the hits he landed on Kenneth were nearly crippling. Locked together, Nick drew back an arm and triggered a wrist-mounted blade hidden in his sleeve. Kenneth tried to hold him back, but the Grimm's strength was unrelenting, the blade coming ever closer. Scary stories he'd heard as a child said that to face a Grimm was to stare into the eyes of death. He believed it now. He was staring his own death in the face. Those dark eyes did not leave his as the blade was pushed into his neck.

Prince Kenneth Bowes-Lyon drew his last breath, choking on his own blood, on the greasy floor of an abandoned warehouse with only the eyes of the hunter as witness.