The Chessboard Undead Prince

Chapter the Fourth

In the sombre depths of the Assassins Quarters, where shadows danced like specters along the walls, Adonis moved with a practiced silence that bespoke years of honed skill. Down the corridors lined with the spoils of dark deeds, tapestries stolen from the bloodied halls of slain lords whispered tales of treachery and death. Woven with threads of gold, they shimmered in the dim light, each telling a story of its own, a testament to the cunning and ruthlessness of those who felled them.

With the stealth of a predator, Adonis descended the narrow staircase, each step a descent into the heart of darkness. Five levels stretched below, a labyrinthine maze of secrets and shadows. Seventy-five rooms stood silent sentinel, each harbouring its own deadly purpose. His footsteps echoed softly against the stone, a whisper in the void of night.

Past the dormitories where fellow assassins lay in slumber, their forms mere shadows beneath the cloak of night, Adonis glided like a ghost. Though they slept, their senses remained keen as the talons of a hawk, ever alert to the slightest disturbance. But Adonis was a master of deception, a shadow among shadows, and he moved unseen, unheard.

Within the sanctum of his chamber, Adonis donned the garb of his trade. Silk shirt clinging to his form like a lover's caress, open-necked coat billowing behind him like the wings of a raven. Leggings hugged his limbs with a whisper of leather, boots silent as death itself. His cloak, a shroud of darkness, enveloped him, concealing his presence from prying eyes.

With a flick of his wrist, Adonis armed himself with twin blades, their edges honed to a razor's edge. A dance of death awaited, and he was its master. But there was more than steel to his arsenal. From a hidden compartment within the chamber, he retrieved a purse heavy with the weight of a thousand gold crowns. A fortune earned in blood, a currency of sin. Enough for transport and a meal, for him.

As he slipped into the night, a chill wind whispered through the corridors, carrying with it the promise of darkness. Adonis was a creature of the night, a phantom in the service of shadows. And tonight, as he stepped into the embrace of the unknown, he knew that the truest horrors awaited him in the depths of his own soul.

Elias was waiting for him expectantly at the stable doors. " I hailed a carriage for you, Master Adonis."

He stifled a yawn, stretching out his arm muscles. "You read my mind," he said, opening the double doors.

"Make haste." Elias slammed the doors shut and the horses clattered off. Adonis stretched himself out on the luxurious couch and curled up like a house cat to get some blessed sleep. It was a long way to Doscarta.

The couch was not as comfortable as a feather bed, but he could relax his tense muscles from the night before. He slept deeply when he was in Elise's arms, and he'd been on edge due to his assignment in the morning.

Once his legs started to droop over the fluffed sides of the couch, he was asleep, with gentle little snores coming out of his mouth. It put the driver at ease without him babbling about his passenger to townsfolk, and Adonis was dead asleep.

*********

The halt of the carriage wheels from a glass bridge to land on cobblestones told his ears he had reached another town.

Slowly, he stretched his curled body and long arms, cracking his bent spine. He eased the tautness in his knuckles and wrists. This was the only amount of blessed sleep he'd get in the next two days.

The Town of Panem sparkled under dawn's rays and the sleepy inhabitants began to awaken. This town was famous for its baked goods. Even the main bakery supplied the palace with the freshest loaves and patisserie goodies.

Every morning at five o'clock, the fresh smell of bread wafted through the empty streets, gradually drawing little sleepy children to the windows. Mothers with coins would send them to the bakery to buy a round of bread so they could cut slabs, smearing it with butter and raspberry jam for breakfast.