Chapter 3

The brown, wooden pole flew through the air as the sable haired woman twirled it around. Her feet moved in intricate patterns making it seem more like a dance than a work out. Faster and faster it went until it was little more than a brown flash sweeping and zooming. Her hazel eyes were focus and intense as she lunged and twisted the fighting stick.

"Very good."

The rhythmic movements of the pole stopped abruptly. Phoenix slowly turned toward the deep voice that had just complimented her. She saw, leaning against a great oak tree, the Lieutenant of the Royal Guard, Garret of Vinici.

She looked at him, "What do you want?"

"I wanted to thank you for that girt you gave me yesterday," he said smiling sweetly.

The assassin eyed him curiously as he pointed to his forehead. Her eyes rested upon a large lump that looked swollen and quite painful.

"I am glad you liked it," she commented, unblinking, recalling her swift head butt and her attempted escape.

She turned away from him and picked up where she left off of her fight routine. Garrett, no ready to leave yet, walked over to the practice mat and picked up one of the many brown poles on the ground. Testing its balance and weight, he looked up at Phoenix and grinned casually.

"Let's have a go at it."

Phoenix glared at him with obvious contempt, "Fine, but you realize you can't arrest me for assaulting you."

He winked at her, his brown eyes filled with light humor, "Of course not, assassin." He said putting emphasis on the last word he spoke.

With that last comment, Phoenix surged forward, her wooden pole ready to bruise the body of her captor. The poles came together with a loud crack, sending waves through Phoenix's body. She recovered quickly and ducked as he swung the pole. She tried a series of difficult attacks and was able to strike him a few times.

As they fought, the killer could not help notice the natural grace and finesse the Lieutenant showed. She switched into defensive mode to conserve energy. Seeing this, Garrett quickly rained down powerful hits, sending her to her knees. With two hands, Phoenix raised the stick to block the soldier. Her arms began to ache with the force the man was hitting her pole with. She looked for an opening and found one.

As he raised his pole, she quickly brought hers up, flicking his pole out of his hands and sending it flying onto the ground. And with speed a cheetah would envy she brought the stick down and swiped it, cutting the legs out form under Garrett and bringing him to the ground.

"Now doesn't this look familiar," she said, smirking as she got up. She threw the pole on the ground and walked off, not once looking back.

Garrett watched the beautiful assassin walk back to the palace. He rubbed his arm and got up. He had let her win, of course. Truthfully, he had not come down to the training grounds to fight the ebony haired woman, quite the opposite. He found her immensely attractive and mysterious, a dangerous combination in a woman.

When he first saw her, in that rickety tavern, he was surprised to see a woman no older than eighteen or nineteen sitting there, unaware that she was about to be arrested. What was something so radiant doing killing nobles and merchants for money?

When Garrett asked his beloved King Rordan her story, the king simply shook his head and muttered something inaudible. The Lieutenant was not a curious man, not usually. But when he saw Phoenix he immediately wanted to solve her mystery.

He sighed; thinking about her only gave him a headache. He found his fighting stick, cracked from a hit Phoenix had inflicted, and threw it in the pile of long, brown poles. He put on his navy jacket and made is way to the throne room, in search of Rordan.

Phoenix finally made it to her rooms, which had been loaned to her until it was time to leave for her final task.

She sneered in disgust. That stupid king knew the task was nearly impossible, and not only that but it crossed a certain boundary that she wasn't sure she wanted to cross. I mean killing a stranger was wrong, yes, but killing someone you knew, that was plenty worse.

Phoenix huffed and undressed. She threw her clothes, a pair of rolled up, brown pants and a cotton shirt, into a small basket and made her way into the bathing room.

She sank into a steaming basin of warm water and let out a content sigh. She leaned back and dunked her head into the water. As she scrubbed her hair with scented oils, Phoenix thought of Rordan, King of Lennox, and Garrett, Lieutenant of the Guard. They didn't look much alike, Rordan with his blonde hair and Garrett with his brown, but something about them told Phoenix that they were related, something about their eyes…

She got out and wrapped a towel around her form, with was wrinkled from her lengthy time spent in the water.

In her room she found a simple, but pretty green dress laid out and a note on top of it. She sat down on the bed and quickly opened it. After reading it over she crumpled it up and threw it in some desolate corner in her room.

"He cant make me go to that stupid, formal function." Phoenix spat hatefully.

Just then she heard the doorknob turn. Grabbing a knife from under her pillow, the assassin waited for the door to open. As she heard the creak, she threw the knife, aiming directly for the intruder. It landed with a thud and a scream, a feminine scream…

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