A Classic Tale of Romance

Chapter 35 - An Escape, Part 02

Quinn watches Ana walks away under the cover of her cloak, undetected by the guards standing in front of her door. The very same guard who doesn't bat an eye as Quinn strides out without her robe.

Surely, they must have known the cloak was magical in nature. Failing that, it should at least be quite obvious that I hold a feeling for Ana? Quinn thinks as she studies the man. Why the reaction, then? Or rather, the lack of it? Are they really this arrogant to think themselves invincible?

Perhaps so, unfortunate that Quinn couldn't play that angle. For while her target was indeed the crown prince, this was no assassination; it was a distraction. And she pities the man that was about to be her first target.

With such a feeling in her heart, then, she puts on her best smile. "Howard!" And greets him, pulling him back to reality as he grumbles before he corrects themselves when he sees Quinn in full.

"Ms. Nathair!" he replied, his voice clearly surprised.

"A long night, is it?"

"It is, Ms. Nathair."

"When are Renard coming to replace you?"

"Two hours or so from now, Ms. Nathair."

"So, not long."

"Yeah, not long," he echoes, no longer paying attention to the pleasantries.

Taking it as her opportunity. "Hope you're still alive by then, then!" Quinn pulls out one of her mundane daggers and strikes at the man's chest, pushing him back into the cell floor.

The man looks up at Quinn with surprise, clutching his breast, hesitant to tear out the dagger in fear of blood loss. An informed man, Quinn note, allowing him to observe the now empty room before gazing back to Quinn.

An easy puzzle to solve, with an answer that stirs him to open his mouth and alarming the palace to treason at hand. Before his voice can ever escape, though, Quinn kicks him in the throat, just strong enough to temporarily disable his ability to beg for help after Quinn manage to move far.

After all, she indeed wanted chaos, just not this early. She intended to give Ana time to get used to her surroundings, to find her way and bearing before the fire consume the path she traverses.

Still, she's sure such a sound logic wouldn't persuade the guard, so she went for a slightly different approach.

"Don't worry, Howard! If everything goes well for you: your child won't lose a father, nor your wife a husband." A mocking promise as she seized the prison key from his belt. "Just don't pull out the serrated dagger and scream for help once your throat feels better, huh?" Patting him in his back before she finally retreats out of the room, locking the man behind bars and throwing the key away without much care.

She takes a deep breath, four of them in total, each of them in tandem with the activation of a higher function of a different prosthesis of hers.

The first one was her left leg that became as strong as a horse, swifter than a hare, and lighter than the very wind. Dexterity and power she would need against so many sharp implements and spells.

The second was her left arm, whirring with the sinister purple glow of arcane energies, filled to the brim with maledictions waiting for targets, and more than capable of movement outside of the human's range. The sort of flexibility Quinn would want against a horde of enemies.

The third was her left eye, etched with esoteric scripts of a dead tongue it shimmers in a gentle light, granting her the ability to see the world as it truly was, is, and will be, teeming with life and death both.