Thank you everyone for your feedback! I hope to have some time in the next few days to reach out to each of you, but my sincere apologies for not thanking you in person yet.

Onward we go...

Chapter 3

The older man was dressed in fine clothes; leather britches that cinched below his knees, black buckled shoes with a slight heel, and white stockings. His doublet, a chestnut brown with a hint of red, was partially covered with a heavy cloak that draped over hunched shoulders as he followed the guards through the palace halls. His long brown hair was tied at the base of his neck and was thinning near his hairline. Despite the lack of life within his gray, cold eyes, crow's feet, and laugh lines hinted at his age and his years of service. Sasha Everett was short, unassuming, but extraordinarily gifted.

He paused before the doors that led to the private chambers of the Captain of the Red Guards. Looking annoyed, Sasha narrowed his eyes and caused the young guard to look away as he awaited approval. The moment the doors opened; the young guard took a deep breath as Rochefort's guest stepped through.

Rochefort, still standing beside his desk, crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head slightly to the left. "You must be Sasha?"

Annoyed, Sasha stepped toward him, placed his medical bag on the desk, and looked Rochefort in the eyes. "It's quite a talent… stating the obvious," he said.

Rochefort cocked an eyebrow and lowered his hands to his sides. "Sometimes stating the obvious is necessary when dealing with particular…" he shrugged, "talents."

Sasha cocked an eyebrow. "Mockery will get you nowhere, Captain, particularly with me." He removed his gloves and then opened his bag. "I understand you need… specialized tinctures for your condition?"

"How detailed was Boris?"

"Detailed enough," Sasha said. "But Boris has a lack of understanding when it comes to the complexities of certain chemical reactions." He pushed back the side of his cloak and looked casually around the room. "I can control what I create. I cannot control the stupidity of others." He looked at Rochefort. "Including yourself, Monsieur."

Rochefort narrowed his eyes, stepped around his desk, and looked down at Sasha. "I assume your boorish behavior is a result of your lack of understanding of who it is that is standing before you?" He raised his eyebrow in question.

Sasha looked lazily at Rochefort. "Unfortunately for you, Monsieur Rochefort, I know exactly who is standing before me. Enough so that I should make you very uncomfortable." He looked Rochefort in the eyes and cocked an eyebrow when Rochefort stepped back and suddenly cleared his throat.

"Boris said to be leery of you."

Sasha huffed as he dug through his bag. He removed two vials and placed them on the desk. "This one," he pushed it forward and looked at Rochefort, "will cause violent and painful stomach pains… your victim will suffer greatly. Do not," he warned, "overdose this unless you intend to kill him."

Rochefort reached for the vial but was stopped suddenly when his hand was grasped.

"Do not be cavalier about this, Captain."

"You'll find, Sasha, that I'm not at all cavalier about anything."

Again, Sasha huffed. "Young men are always cavalier… it's a matter of recognizing it when you see it."

"And what is it you see?" Rochefort held still, kept Sasha's gaze, and waited.

"I see a childish fool, who, if you're not careful, will find yourself remorseful when you realize your actions will not get you what you want… but instead, get you what you need."

Rochefort frowned, tried to pull his hand away, but Sasha held tight. "Release me," he said and looked Sasha in the eyes.

"When you're ready to be a man," Sasha said, "make sure you kill your opponent while facing them. Only fools and women use poison."

Rochefort yanked his hand back and rubbed his knuckles. "What good would an alchemist be should I seek another avenue for my needs, Sasha? I doubt your superior would appreciate your lack of support for his trade… or respectful of your disregard for his position."

A smile crept onto Sasha's face when he pushed the other vial toward Rochefort. "You seem to be confused, Rochefort, about who it is I answer to," he warned. "Are you familiar with the story of Marcus Junius Brutus, Julius Caesar's nephew, who betrayed him?" Sasha rolled his shoulders and continued, "It's never the ones you expect… rather it's those you trust."

Rochefort rolled his eyes. "Fortunately for me, I don't trust anyone." Without contemplating the words and the meaning behind them, he grabbed the second vial. He uncapped it, sniffed, and winced. "How is this supposed to be undetectable in wine? It smells like something I might scrape off the bottom of my boot."

"Be gentle with that," Sasha said and closed his bag. "Small amounts. No more. Too much all at once will cause a mental break and while the king is known for his irregular outbursts — you, nor anyone else, will be prepared for what could happen if he is given too much too soon."

"Could it kill him?"

"No," Sasha said. He straightened his back, pulled the bag from the edge of the desk, and grasped the handle with both hands. "But he might kill you and everyone else," he raised his hand and waved it nonchalantly around the room, "within the confines of these walls." He raised his eyebrows and asked, "Will that be all?"

Rochefort narrowed his eyes. "I find you intriguing yet… arguably annoying."

"Thank you," Sasha said and bowed. "Now, if only I could earn your respect, I could die a happy man." He turned abruptly and said over his shoulder. "Women and fools, Rochefort. Remember that!"