The infatuation deepens and murder's in the air.

Chapter Two

Throughout the next few weeks the temperature continued to drop, but it no longer affected Prince Khaldon's mood. He began to look forward to nightfall more keenly with each passing day, for it was while they dinned that he was able to talk to Liselle, or Velvet as he now referred to her as, about topics that didn't relate to their work. These conversations would often continue after they had both eaten and stretch on well into the night. Liselle's quick wit and sharp tongue could cut down his ego as quickly as a scythe through wheat and he became more and more enthralled with her with each reduction.

Liselle seemed to shine like the sun in a city that was rapidly descending into the misery of a winter colder then most could recall and Khaldon greedily basked in her glow. Never before had he been so captivated by a woman so quickly, but there was something about this young woman that made his head light and his heart beat fast. She was younger than him, but he had known of bigger age gaps in couples before. Plus, Liselle was more mature then her years gave her credit for. Her uncle trusted her, which was an immediate reflection of her wisdom and skill as both a spy and a woman. Liselle had spent her days slipping into the city with Dalva hovering after her as protection. Khaldon didn't know what she did or whom she spoke to and he knew better then to ask. He may not have any interest in the Drasnian spy network, but he did know how its members liked to work. He was a Drasnian too, after all.

However, Liselle was like no spy he had ever met before. True, she did had that towering self-confidence and cheek that all spies had – something that had caused Khaldon to dislike most spies, such as his cousin Kheldar – but when it came to Liselle it didn't bother him for some reason. She was quick-witted and very sharp. It seemed like every time she'd open her mouth she would amaze him.

"Have you ever thought of going into politics?" he asked her one night after dinner. The pair had moved from the dinning room to the drawing room and had made themselves comfortable in some plush chairs situated before the fire. Khaldon was enjoying a glass of mulled honeyed-wine that was gifted to him from the Cherek ambassador and the combination of the warm, spiced drink, the roaring fire and charming company had left the Prince feeling slightly giddy.

"Not really. I tend it find it all rather stuffy," Liselle told him sweetly. After a small argument that was more entertaining than heated, Liselle had succumbed to Khaldon's badgering and accepted a small glass of the wine but so far she had only taken a few sips. Apparently her uncle had instilled in her the value of a spy having unimpaired awareness, something that the famous Silk still failed to fully comprehend.

"Harsh, my Lady," Khaldon said with feigned hurt.

"Present company excluded of course," she smiled, flashing him those dimples that always made his legs go weak. Khaldon assumed that someone with her training would have a knife or some kind of weapon conceded somewhere on her body – even whilst inside the safety of the embassy – but there was no blade that could match the damage those dimples could inflict on a person.

"Thank-you. And I must say I've always found spying to be rather overrated."

"Harsh, your Highness," Liselle mocked.

"Present company excluded of course," he repeated with a slight bow of his head.

Liselle laughed that laugh of hers that was more intoxicating than alcohol in all of Tolnedra, Arendia or any of the Alorn nations. "You're a delightful old man!"

"Old?!"

"Well, you're older then me."

"A majority of people is."

"I suppose, but then again I guess that one day I will be in the same position as you."

"That you will, my dear."

"Yes, but that's not for many, many years."

Khaldon laughed loudly at her cheek. It was such a refreshing change from the women he was used to dealing with. Tolnedran women might be less restricted than a woman from Cherek, but their obsession with trivial matters made interacting with them rather draining. And, quiet frankly, there was no substitute for Drasnian wit. "You know no matter how awful you are to me, I do enjoy your company. Have you ever thought of moving to Tolnedra?"

"Not really," she confessed. "To be honest I find the Tolnedran lifestyle to be rather outlandish. That is not to say they're not good people, but I just find their obsession with material possessions to be somewhat inane. I suppose that it's just that I'm not all that interested in money. Sure, it's nice to have and things are harder if you don't have any, but it's not all I need in this world."

"What do you need then?"

"I don't know," Liselle giggled with a shrug of her shoulders that made her look very young for a moment. "Um, let's see. Excitement. I'd be far too bored sitting around doing embroidery all day long. I enjoy the danger and thrill of the spy game."

"That's your Drasnian nature coming out."

"Maybe. Life's too short to sit around discussing what someone with a crown might like or fiddling with little pieces of metal. I want to live life. See the world. Lie to all types of people," she mused and Khaldon chuckled. "But that's not all a person needs. They need family, or someone to love."

"Have you ever thought of getting married?" Khaldon asked as casually as he could. In truth, he had pondered the thought greatly over the last few days. He wasn't going to rush into anything without discussing it with Liselle – he wasn't that reckless – and even then he didn't think he'd press the matter too heavily. All he had finalised on was the fact that, if he ever were to get married, he'd want to marry someone as charming and entertaining as Liselle.

"Not really," Liselle told him, but there was something in her voice that indicated that she was lying. "But if there ever was a man for me he'd have to be one of a kind."

Khaldon smiled, a faint flutter of hope rising in his chest. He was about to continue this conversation, when one of his servants came rushing into the room. The fact that he had entered without knocking caused Khaldon some annoyance, but with one look at his serving mans face, he knew whatever it was couldn't be delayed by etiquette.

"Your Highness. Your Ladyship," the man gasped. "You must come to the front courtyard immediately."

"What's wrong?" Liselle demanded, rising to her feet and heading for the door at a fast pace. Khaldon was a step behind her.

"There's a woman. She's been attacked," the man told them, hurrying down the corridor. "She dying, I'm afraid, and she hasn't got much time but she said she needed to speak with you."

The chilly courtyard was lit mostly by moonlight, but the occasional torch being held aloft by the guards burned brightly. The gates had been swung open and a small cluster of men was gathered around someone lying on the ground. As Liselle and Khaldon made their way quickly over, they saw that Dalva bending down by the woman on the ground, his cloak covering her broken body. There was a horrible, dark trail of what could only be blood that stretched from the gate into the night. The poor woman must have dragged herself all the way here. Horrified, Liselle looked at the woman in Dalva's arms and gasped.

"Bethra!"

The courtesan's long, dark hair was like shadows on the cold stones of the courtyard and her slender, pale body was deathly white, yet a large part of that flawless skin was covering in a black, sticky liquid. In daylight, that liquid would have been its usual red colour, but the night had leeched it all way, leaving the beautiful courtesan looking horribly filthy. Her flimsy silk gown was ripped and torn, revealing stab wounds.

"What happened?" Khaldon demanded to his guards.

"She dragged herself to our gate," one replied, his voice shaking slightly from the horrible scene that had landed before him. "She must have been returning home from an engagement."

"What kind of men would do this?" Khaldon hissed disgusted. Bethra may have been a woman with a scandalous occupation, but she was a woman nonetheless. As far as the Prince was concerned, only the most vile and weakest of men went after women and children.

"Assassins," Bethra choked over her pain.

"Please, don't speak," Liselle begged, dropping down to her knees by the courtesans side. "Save your strength."

"For what? I'm dying child," Bethra told her, her eyes clear and determined for a moment.

"We can heal you," Liselle told her, her youthful face hopeful. However, one look at Dalva said otherwise and Bethra seemed to know this.

"Who did this to you?" Dalva demanded.

"I've gathered so much information over the years," Bethra muttered, her mind becoming slow and clouded due to blood loss. "So many people talk to me. So many."

"We need to get her inside," Liselle informed the guards firmly but one look from Dalva prevented them from taking so much as one step.

"Wait a moment," Dalva ordered, his face grim and determined.

"I've swayed so many powerful men decisions. They really are foolish things," Bethra continued to babble. She was quickly slipping away from them.

"She can't stay out here. She'll die!" Liselle glared at her bodyguard.

Dalva returned her glare with a firm look of his own. "She's dying anyway. We need her to talk."

"I informed the Emperor of what I knew. I told Varana of the plot they had to kill his son. They must have known. They must have known," Bethra said softly.

"Who must have known?" Liselle asked her, but she got no reply.

Bethra the Courtesan had died on the cold stones of the courtyard.

TBC. Next chapter, enter Silk and the other