The City of Soris 
Planet of Daleer

    The sound of his bootheels clicking would have echoed sharply off the stone floors of the castle keep if not for the soft leather bindings he’d used to render them silent.
    As it was, the man padded softly, creeping along the dark hallways and rooms, keeping to the darkest of shadows. Before he rounded any corner, he carefully stole a glance to be sure the way was clear. 
    He’d been given all the information he needed by those who had hired him; they had told him that he would meet with no opposition. But he trusted no one. He was used to treachery, deceit and betrayal.
    He was used to this kind of work.
    Raising his head, he listened, barely breathing, motionless in the darkness. He heard nothing. His senses registered only the almost palpable silence that hung like a presence in the still night air, and the faint scent of the polish that was applied religiously by the household servants and was evidenced in the high gloss on the furniture and the plankwood floor. Still he waited, careful unto distraction about his approach; to be caught in this endeavour would mean certain death. 
    Finally, he began to move again. Slowly, painstakingly, he made his way to the chambers where he knew they would be sleeping. 
    Typical, he thought, as he rounded the last corner to peer down the long hallway that led to the royal bedrooms, the ones who want the deed done the most are never the ones to dirty their hands with it. 
    But that was all right with him. He would not get much work as an assassin if any of his clients had the guts to do the nasty work themselves.

    In the royal chambers of Queen Escallitani of Soris, her young son, Revar, lay in his bed and pretended to sleep. 
    The child’s eyes were closed and he kept his breathing slow and even so that his mother would not know that he remained awake in the bed, ready to strike, his small dagger clutched in his hand. It did not occur to him that a seven-year-old would spark little fear into the heart of anyone who might intend him harm. He was not just any seven-year-old boy – he was the seven-year-old heir to the throne.
He could hear his mother moving quietly around the room, getting things together for their flight from the city. She had told him nothing, not wanting to frighten him, but Revar heard things, knew things she wouldn’t understand and he was determined to protect her during this dangerous time. 
    So, he pretended to sleep until she shook him gently to wake him.
    “Mamma,” he said quietly, “what is it?”
    She placed a finger to her lips and whispered in his ear. “Just come now, my darling, and say nothing. We are leaving the city.”
Revar rolled out of bed with the economy and speed of movement that always brought a small gasp of awe from his mother. 
    She should be used to it by now, he thought in passing, after all, I get it from my father.

    Satisfied that his way was clear, the assassin moved forward like a silent shadow. As he approached the solid wooden door that barred the way to the royal chambers, he stopped and considered the deed he was about to do. 
    He had no problem with murdering the child; the boy was an abomination. 
    But the mother? 
    It gave him pause to think of actually killing her. 
    His queen. 
    Still, she had it coming, he knew. In truth, she was nothing but a whore, consorting with those cursed, dark, Shadrani, making peace with them, inviting them into the city. His city. 
    The thought made him shudder. It bolstered his resolve to remember all the crimes she had committed against her own people. His hand tightened on the handle of the long, viciously sharp knife he carried. Silently, he inched the door open and slipped into the quiet chamber.
    It was so easy, just as they had told him. The royal bed now lay within easy reach. In the inky stillness, he could just make out the figure under the covers, motionless. His heartbeat doubled as he approached and thought of plunging the knife in. He must be quick about it. He couldn’t allow her to cry out and warn the child sleeping next door. He would kill her swiftly, silently, then get rid of the creature she had spawned, and things would return to normal in his world.
    He felt a rush of anticipation at being this near his target. 
    The queen. So still. So unsuspecting. 
    A few more steps and she would be his.
    He raised the lethal weapon above his head, readying for the strike. Then he drew in one long, rasping breath and began the deadly plunge downward. The blade sliced through the air of the royal chambers, then came to a dead halt a foot away from its target.
    The assassin blinked, confused, thrown by the unexpected block. His eyes and his mind snapped together at the same time to register the iron grasp that held his arm. Then he caught the glint of feral, steely-blue eyes that razed him even in the darkness of the room.
    He had time to register only one terrifying thought before his life was snatched from him as quickly as snuffing out a candle flame:
    Shadrani!

* * *

    Queen Escallitani - known as Calli to her friends - shifted uncomfortably on the bed of vegetables upon which she sat. Her long golden hair, usually coiffed and pampered into the latest style, tumbled loosely around her shoulders. Her nose wrinkled as she breathed in the rank, musty odor of the borrowed clothes she wore to hide her true identity. They were those of a kitchen maid, and she was certain they hadn’t been cleaned since they were new. 
    He could have chosen a more comfortable disguise, she complained to herself. 
    Aloud, she asked Habda, the large Shadrani who drove the cart that carried them, “Why will you not tell me where Erone is?”
    Habda rolled his eyes skyward. If she only knew where his prince was, he thought, there would be hell to pay.
    “He is elsewhere, my lady.”
The queen frowned, considered pursuing the question, then clamped her mouth shut, knowing that the large man was the most loyal of Shadrani and would never give up any information that his lord, the Prince of Gemen, did not want him to.
“Then tell me of Pashar,” she said instead. She knew that the usually reticent Habda would wax rhapsodic about his life-mate any chance he got. 
    Calli had been instrumental in bringing the young man into         Habda’s life and had watched with delight as Pashar had totally captured the heart of the fierce Shadrani. 
    As expected, a large grin crossed the face of the huge male at the thought of his love. “He is well,” he replied, “and becoming a warrior of great standing among our people.” 
    “I cannot believe he let you out on your own tonight.”
    At this the large Shadrani looked a little uncomfortable. Calli’s eyes widened and, in spite of the situation, she couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her.
    “He has no idea what you are up to, has he?”
    Habda frowned. “Some things are better left unknown.”
    “Oh Habda,” she said, laughing. “He will kill you when he finds out you have been risking your life again.”
    Habda’s face grew more serious.
    “Not when he learns it was risked for you, my lady.”
    Calli sobered, touched by the statement, then sat back and fell silent. As the wagon rolled quietly along, her mind replayed the events of the past several hours and her violet eyes threatened to fill with tears of anger and frustration. Fleeing one’s own castle in the middle of the night was not something she would have chosen to do. But with this, as with many things in her life, she had been given no choice. 
    For the early part of her young life, Calli had been ruled with an iron fist by her father, Sadone, the ruthless King of Soris. Then, no sooner had she been freed by the death of the murderous man, when she was shackled with her crushing responsibilities as Queen of Soris. Not to mention the horrendous task of raising her son and protecting him from the truth of his Shadrani heritage. 
    Ironically, it was the enemy of her people who had first accepted her for exactly what she was. It was only among the Shadrani that she had found any real peace. And even though her stay with them and the ensuing love she had for their prince had cost her dearly, she would not have changed a thing. 
    Still, she knew she would sorely miss many things about her home in Soris. She would especially miss Jala, who was the Royal Healer and the man who had all but raised her. She could still see the kindness in his dark blue eyes as he’d kissed her on the cheek and sent her off. She had tried to persuade him to leave with her, but he had declined, insisting that he could be much more useful to her if he stayed behind. 
    And she did not know how she would get by without Solte, her handmaiden. But the spunky young woman now had her own life within Soris, married as she was to the Captain of the Guard. Calli felt her heart constrict with affection when she thought of the maid. No sense worrying over her, she reasoned, she isn’t fleeing from assassins! Then, the slight movement of her sleeping son drew her attention.
    He lay curled against her, snuggled up for warmth under the large, coarse blanket that concealed him from the world that would see him murdered in his bed. Even in sleep, he was the picture of his father. 
    A perfect little Shadrani boy. 
Unruly black hair spilled across his fine features as he slept beside her. The shadow of the long lashes that fringed his startling silver-blue eyes lay dark against his cheek. He looked like what he was, an innocent sleeping child; there was nothing to indicate that, in fact, he was the main reason for the stirrings of war and subterfuge that had invaded their lives of late. She stroked his face softly, her heart thumping painfully at the thought of what could have happened; how heartlessly they would have murdered a seven-year-old boy.
    Calli issued a silent prayer of thanks to her god, Tsandis. They were safe now. The disguise had worked and they had trundled down the cobbled road and out of the walled city of Soris like so many other itinerant, ragged merchants that roamed between the city states selling their wares. Not a second look had passed their way. Now the only thing that continued to gnaw at her mind was the whereabouts of the Prince of Gemen.
    Her lover had been vibrant with rage when he had told her of the plot that had been uncovered against her. Calli smiled as she remembered the flash of his eyes. Even with murder in them, they continued to be the most intoxicating pair of eyes in creation. But he was also reckless and stubborn and she wouldn’t put it past him to. . .
“Great Tsandis!” she spat at Habda. “Tell me he is not in the city!”
    Habda squeezed his eyes shut against the tirade. How to deal with this? “He is elsewhere,” he repeated.
    “Elsewhere, as in the city?” 
    The grinding of his teeth was the only indication of the stress the large warrior was enduring. If Calli had been a Shadrani female, she would have known to drop it there. But Calli was far from Shadrani. In fact, she was far from any female Habda had ever known. Perhaps that was why his prince continued in his fascination with her.
    “I will say only that he is elsewhere.”
    Calli climbed onto the seat beside him with alarming alacrity, grabbing at the reins to stop the wagon. 
    “Turn this thing around!”
    He looked at her as if she had just uttered a blasphemy. “My lady,” he pleaded, searching for something to bring her to her senses. “Surely you would not go back there. Your son -”
    “I said nothing of my son. He will stay with you, but I am going back there if Erone -”
    Her words were cut short when she heard the unmistakable sound of hoof beats thundering toward them from the direction of the city they had just fled. She threw a questioning look at the large Shadrani. He simply smiled, knowing well the sound of that horse.
    “He comes.”
    Calli set her jaw and stepped down from the wagon, her arms folded against her breast as she waited for her love to catch up with them.
    The wait was not long. He arrived in a flurry of hooves, his long mantle pulled tight against the chill of the night. Long dark hair swirled behind him, and his shockingly pale blue eyes narrowed as he caught sight of them just in time to rein in his spirited mount.
    “Habda!” he called out in surprise. “I thought you would make better time.”
    Habda threw him a look. “You seem to forget the cargo I carry,” he replied blandly.
    A heartfelt smile graced the beautiful face of the Prince of Gemen as he left his horse and swept up the Queen of Soris in one swift motion.
    He wrinkled his nose. “My lady needs a bath.”
    Calli was not going to be distracted. “Put me down, you great idiot!” 
    He dropped her abruptly. But the grin remained on his face.
    “What were you doing back there?” she demanded.
    He was the picture of innocence. “I was merely waiting for the passing of the wagon. Although,” he indicated the state she was in, “in truth, I would not have known you in that clever disguise.”
    Despite her resolve, Calli felt herself blush, realizing the picture she must make. She was used to looking her complete regal best in his presence and for a fleeting second, his tack to take her mind off her purpose worked. She brushed a little of the dirt from her plain frock, then glared up at him.
    “Are you saying you were not in the city?”
    Erone threw a resigned look at Habda who simply shrugged and shook his head.
    “And if I said I was not?” he replied, growing more serious.
    She indicated his clothing. “Then I would ask you whose blood that is.”
    He glanced down, only now aware of the evidence of his wrath. Taking up her hand, he gazed into her eyes. “It is neither yours, nor my son’s, and that is all that matters.”
    She softened against him. “And, my lord, I trust it is not yours?”
    “It is the blood of the one who would have murdered you both in your sleep.”
    “And you were not hurt?”
    Habda issued an outraged sound that he quickly swallowed. He knew his prince could dispatch the most skilled Sorisi swordsman with no difficulty whatsoever. But Erone was not offended by her unwitting slight. 
    “I am unharmed, my love.”
    She went into his arms and he held her close to him, treasuring the feel of her in his embrace, still vibrating with the thought that those who coveted his son’s throne had meant to murder them both for it. 
    “Revar?” he asked. 
    She indicated the back of the cart.
    Gently, he pulled the cover back and looked down on the sleeping boy. He felt emotion threaten to choke him at the blind hatred that had plotted his child’s death. 
    Would there never be an end to it?