Labyrinth of Eternity

Chapter Three

I walk by the fancy white gates around the property. A guard suddenly stops me, and I nearly spring into a defensive mode. "His Majesty told me to take you to the weapons room to choose your desired weapon," he states flatly, giving me time to glance at his face. I am surprised to see that he is close to my age. Why does he keep such young guards around?

"It's fine. I do not require any of your help, I have my own weapons for this troubling request. If you do not have anything else to say on behalf of His Majesty, I will be off. Ciao," I brush off his words with a hiss. I turn around and walk away, not sure how I'll be able to get through this mission with so many witnesses and bodyguards surrounding my target. If he's in Momos Academy, getting close to him will be more than a challenge. I've done many missions, but none of them requires me to have a gradual relationship with the target to ever have a chance of killing them.

I flip through the file that is in my hands, pleased to find it so in order. My eyes fall on the picture of Prince Gion's bodyguard, Livio. Although he is only nineteen, he has been personally trained by the former King's own bodyguards. There's no doubt he's a huge obstacle in this. To defeat him, I have to continue mastering the art of assassination while proceeding with my mission.

"What a bother," I lazily say when I catch sight of my school. A stab of suspicion goes through me as I contemplate why the former King couldn't have ordered Livio away from my target. Surely he realised no matter the skill of an assassin, it is close to impossible to defeat an imperial guard? "I wonder what the prince's like," I state out loud. If he turns out nice...I shut down that thought. All royalty are alike, I reassure myself, basking in glory while people all around the world suffer. Even that prince, even if he's someone who helped me on the surface, I know how he's always stringing me in his game.

I walk through the gates with my mind occupied on the various solutions that I have in my options. My muscle memory tugs me towards the familiar path to my dormitory, and I am grateful that despite the crowd of students, the school is one of the only places I can breathe a sigh of relief in. Well, other than times when I'm alone. I stroll down the plant-decorated walkway using my instincts to dodge whenever I need to while my head is up in the clouds.

Even though the plans of an exchange program as well as disguising myself as a boy may very well work, I can't ignore a pit in my stomach that tells me that I should finish this mission as soon as possible. The longer I take, the more opportunities they are for the former King of Italy to use me for his own selfish gains. I know that all royalty are the same inside out; as long as someone vulnerable is involved, they can't help but hurt and betray and use. The scars on my back are solid proof that such a harsh mentality lives among the aristocracy.

I swing open the door to my dormitory, flinging myself onto my bed with my face down instantaneously. Before I can do the throat-killing ritual of screaming in the pillow however, I flip over to see a neatly arranged row of files on my desk. Right, I nearly forgot about that. The ritual forgotten, I scramble up from my bed to pull out the files into a big mess on my desk.

Princess Han.

Princess Gina.

Princess Neelam.

Princess Maria...

My eyes fall on a familiar face on the file labeled "Princess Carla of France". My hands stop moving as soon as my mind begins to recall the memories of earlier, practically highlighting the blonde girl who claimed that I am in Poposi through the help of the American prince. While that is untrue, the way the girl knows that I have a certain connection with Prince Charles nearly makes me shudder.

That's it, shudder. The girl was trembling earlier, wasn't she? Was her voice shaky too, or was that just a miscalculation of mine? I almost shout in eagerness as a plan forms in my brain, as it always does. Because whenever Aella, the scholarship student of Poposi Academy, may not have the ideas, Carlotta, the assassin, surely will.

I flip through Princess Carla's profile furiously, as if trying to absorb all her information into my mind in the matter of seconds. She's the same age as me, however she hasn't made public appearances with her family in a while. Before she stopped appearing in social settings, it was noted that while her sisters don gorgeous gowns, she was always seen in pants or shorts. Yet the last time I saw her - earlier today - she was wearing a skirt. Something must've happened. Big enough to need me to pay attention to so as to complete my plan with ease.

I stare at a picture of her handwriting. It will be easy enough to replicate. At this point of time, Carlotta will be pumping with energy, eager to make her next kill. This is not Carlotta standing in the room however, because all that fills me is just fear that I will never get this mission done in one year. Too much planning, too much commitment. I'm not even sure if my savings can handle the lightness of not earning money for three hundred and sixty-five days.

My clock chimes six just when I am calculating my expenses. It is only then do I realise the emptiness of my stomach, having missed lunch. Hunger pangs like that is not uncommon, and thus I've grown used to ignoring them rather than acknowledging them. However, a distinct, accented voice echoes in my head, reminding me of sixty-three's nagging about never missing meals. Leave it up to her to always haunt my thoughts. Placing my pen down in frustration, I slam my book shut to grab my wallet, thinking about the next cheap meal I can snatch off the shelves of the convenience shop nearby.

I am about to take the packet of instant noodles off the racks in the shop when my phone buzzes with a notification. I almost roll my eyes when I see the name attached to the message, a message from the only person whose number I saved. Tossing the packet in my hands at the register and mumbling a quick apology to the startled salesgirl, I stuff my hand in my pocket while suppressing the instance of anger that rushes through me. The scars on my back practically burn as I type a "fine" to the person behind the words, and I stuff my phone back into the pocket. Just like that, even with the stunning idea blossoming in the back of my mind, my night is ruined.

Tomorrow, I will visit the base for more information. For now, all I need is a full stomach, no disturbances and a long, long rest.