"We go tonight."
Marrok looked up from his reports. Jannali sat on the edge of his desk, her arms crossed over her chest. Both excitement and dread battled in the pits of his stomach. "Right after tea," she continued, "we sneak out by the servant's quarters and go into the city. From there, we take the maglev to Sector 36."
It had been two weeks since Jannali promised to take Marrok out, and only then, when she was confident that he wouldn't run to his father, did she keep her word. Marrok knew that she was growing anxious—she hadn't gone prospecting since the last month, and she passed every night in her husband's bed. Their time together was spent in each other's arms, Jannali whispering about how much she loved to hunt. The prince wondered if he'd love it too.
"And what would be our alibi?" Marrok asked, loosening his collar.
"I'm, of course, sneaking off to visit my lover in Dianan. Serenity will glamour herself in my likeness. As for you..." Jannali stood and paced around, coming to rest a hand on his shoulder. "You will be off with your mistress."
Marrok's skin paled. "I don't have a mistress."
"As far as the court knows," Jannali whispered in his ear, "you've been spending the past two weeks with some kitchen wench after your wife proved to be displeasing. Of course, I hope that this is to remain a lie that I've crafted."
Marrok shivered. It was a threat, that much was clear. But he had no intention of sneaking off with some kitchen wench—not yet, anyway. "Of course."
Jannali smiled, and Marrok found himself ravished by her gaze. She had made a habit of letting down her horrid white glamour whenever they were alone, and her true appearance only grew more beautiful by the day. Cautiously, he rose up from his seat and put his lips to hers; Marrok didn't know how he would be received, so he was always wary to make the first move. But Jannali purred and pulled him against her, playing with his hair and tugging at his shirt.
A knock at the door was quick to interrupt them before they undressed themselves. With a sneer, Jannali pulled away from her husband. Marrok cleared his throat and smoothed down his hair. "Yes?"
Through the door came a maid, and Jannali made no effort to hide her displeasure as she slipped into the glamour of a pink-haired princess, wearing a gown made of nothing but flowers.
"His Majesty is awaiting your presence in the main conference room, My Prince. And he requests that you be quick about it," said the maid. She curtsied and, for the slightest moment, eyed Jannali with a look that said: And who might you be?
Jannali's eyes shot daggers at the woman's back as she shuffled out of the room. After the door shut with a satisfying click, she turned to see her husband putting on a coat and slipping his netscreen under his arm. Disappointment and irritation brewing in her gut, she slid up to him and released her glamour.
"I'm sorry, Jannali," the prince said, and Jannali shivered in pleasure as he kissed her again. "Father has been talking about these reports all week, and I must see him to discuss my progress," he lowered his mouth to her ear, "but I'll see you at tea."
Jannali smiled as she watched him leave, trying not to let herself get caught up in her fury against the king.
Killjoy.
Tea was an excruciatingly dull affair and more than once, Jannali found herself gripping her teacup to the point of shattering it. Both of Marrok's parents insisted on attending that evening, and Jannali wondered if they were doing it just to spite her. Marrok, for his part, seemed perfectly pleased in having the king and queen ruin what was supposed to be a planning session with their inane chatter.
After Their Majesties finally took their leave, Jannali dumped her tea back in the teapot—much to the maids' dismay—and left Marrok's chambers to prepare herself for the night's activities. Serenity was waiting for her as soon as she entered her rooms.
"Are you going out again tonight, Madam?"
Jannali flung open her closet and lifted up the bottom slat, revealing a secret compartment. "Yes. Only for a few hours, so you can just do what you like in here and act the part if anyone comes looking for me. I'll be back by one." Jannali hid her actions from her lady-in-waiting as she pulled out a black leather getup and her weapons, all hidden snugly in a messenger bag. Serenity's attention had been drawn to the painting that she had been working on since the week before, so Jannali didn't have to worry about her noticing as she slipped into the bathroom.
She peeled off her constricting gown and put on her prospecting garb—tight leggings, black shirt, leather jacket, leather boots. Something light and dark, for better movement and camouflage in the shadows. The outer sectors tended to be poorly lit, especially during the long night.
They met up by the servants' quarters, as planned. Jannali had ordered that Marrok wear something similar to her own gear, and was pleased that he had managed to scrounge up something acceptable. "You listened," Jannali commended, adjusting Marrok's jacket. He was decked in black from head to toe—while his hair stuck out like a sore thumb, he would just glamour it dark and he would be perfect.
"Let's go," Jannali ordered, taking the prince by the hand. He was clearly nervous, by the way he trembled and the pallor of his skin. They snuck out the back exit, swathed in the glamours of a couple kitchen hands. Outside the palace, the walls were dark and stooped. Marrok tried to stay as close to Jannali as possible—the last time he had been out here was when he and James decided to run off as children.
"You're shaking like a leaf," Jannali tittered. "Are you scared of blood, My Prince? It's not like you've never seen someone die before."
"I'm afraid of getting caught."
Jannali snorted. "Oh, hush. If you listen to what I say and do exactly what I do, we'll be able to walk into the palace with a corpse in hand and still not be caught."
Marrok stared ahead at the street, and he was reassured by the lights that came into view. They were by AR-2, the food district, where market after market burst with produce of every colour and shape, bakeries with a constant stream of bread, and the best ice cream that the moon has to offer. The maglev station was only a ten minutes' walk.
In the train, it was cool and luminescent, a calming atmosphere for which Marrok was quite grateful. He sat next to his wife and took her hand in his. No one paid any attention to the lowly servants on their way home. Jannali smiled, resting her head in the crook of his neck. "I have everything we'll need in here," she whispered, clutching onto her messenger bag. It had the air of a book-bag, unsuspecting and innocent. "I thought we might keep things clean and simple tonight."
Marrok's heart pounded. He nearly broke in a sweat. "How are we going to do this?"
She put a finger to his lips. "You'll see."
Marrok sat back and stayed quiet. The maglev came to a stop after half an hour, and Jannali led them out of the station and into Sector 36. It wasn't the poorest of the sectors, not by a long shot, but it was still a stark contrast to Artemisia. The buildings were low and sparse, and between them ran long stone streets coated with dust. Marrok glanced around, his eyes wide. The last time he had been taken to an outer sector was when he was ten years old, and he didn't remember it being this decrepit.
"There's a lot more in the centre of town," said Jannali. "We'll take a little stroll and choose our prospect." Her eyes glimmered. "I usually just wait for one to come my way, but we can't be out for too long, so we'll have to bring them over to us."
Marrok changed back into the skin of the blonde boy. It was his staple glamour now, when he didn't want to be recognized. Jannali didn't let go of his hand as they made their way through the alleys into what Marrok assumed was the town square. There were a few people milling about, tired workers slumping home and teenagers out past curfew.
"Which one do you want?" Jannali whispered in his ear.
Marrok turned to her. "Pardon?"
She nudged him. "It's your hunt. You choose which one you want."
Marrok scanned the area, and he found himself lingering on a group of rowdy boys. They couldn't have been older than eighteen, and they laughed in their crude accent, rough and heavy compared to the refined dialect of the aristocracy. Marrok fixated on one in particular, who bore a strong resemblance to Jared Moonborne, from the lanky figure to the rich black hair. A surge of hatred flooded through the prince as he remembered, so vividly, Jared and his oafish brother breaking into his chambers and vandalizing his possessions. And all because he didn't address them on their first meeting.
"That one. With the black hair," said Marrok.
Jannali caught sight of the boy in question, and her lips spread into a sly grin. "Oh, yes. He's quite...cute," she crooned, and Marrok glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. In response, she kissed his cheek. "Don't be jealous."
"What told you I was jealous?"
She brushed him off and began to stalk forward. When he didn't follow, she turned and beckoned Marrok to her side. "Nice and slow. We have to get him alone. Give him a reason to leave the group."
She led him to a shop next to the alley where the boys loitered, and they slipped inside. It wasn't empty, thankfully, and it gave them a perfect cover. They pretended to look at the dust-laden products as they whispered in each other's ear.
"Can you feel his bioelectricity from here?"
Marrok nodded.
Jannali clutched his sleeve. "Good. Tell him that he needs to go. He suddenly remembered that his mother needs help at home. Remind him that his way home is the street that goes through behind the plaza."
Marrok felt for the unique glimmer that he had committed to memory moments before. Through the window, he and Jannali watched as the boy stood and excused himself, bidding goodnight to his friends. He began to walk away down the street; Jannali led Marrok out of the store and they followed a good distance behind. Marrok kept the boy on course, binding his mind to his will like an invisible leash.
They followed him a good fifteen minutes until Jannali told Marrok to loosen his grip. The prince complied, and the boy perked up and shook his head. Marrok's heart began to race in unexpected anticipation, which Jannali seemed to reciprocate.
The boy turned and frowned, aware that he had been brainwashed. "Who's there?" He barked, and for a moment, Marrok saw himself alone in the dark, caught between Ugly J's talons.
Ugly J laughed and stepped forward, slipping a knife from the bag on her hip. The déjà-vu was uncanny. "You know who I am, little chick," she spat.
Marrok couldn't see what she was doing inside his mind, but it couldn't have been anything good. The boy's eyes became as round as saucers. "Your...Your Highness..." he spluttered, dropping to his knees. "My Princess."
"Marrok, could you kindly hold him down?" said Jannali, admiring her razor-sharp weapon. Marrok glanced at the boy, who returned his stare with eyes full of fear and bewilderment. He swallowed down any inkling of mercy and stalked to the boy's side. He was kept planted to the spot by the prince as Jannali surged forward and plunged the knife into his chest.
Marrok braced himself for the gush of blood that burst forth from his torso. Jannali had jumped to the side so to avoid the downpour, grinning at her handiwork. She had hit him straight through the heart.
"Oh, he's a squirter!" Jannali chirped, bringing the body to ground. The boy's eyes were still open, staring aimlessly into space. Marrok expected to feel guilt, horror, disgust—but he was alight with excitement, flooded with desire, and awash with fear, for it could've very well been him. He watched with curiosity as Jannali stooped down and took the knife to his ankle. A bloody 'J' was left carved into his skin.
"That was..." Marrok searched for the right word. "That was so thrilling," he gasped.
Jannali's head perked up, and Marrok was shocked to see her awed expression, her wide eyes, her pursed lips. It was the same look that she had given him before they had lain together. "Really?" Jannali asked incredulously, her voice quivering, and she was once again a teenage girl who was discovering love at first sight.
If he had told her that, though, she wouldn't have hesitated to shoot him in the leg.
