The King's Royal Guard

Liam

I expected it, saw the intention in his gaze. He thinks I’m one of the hunters. Yet, I am so much more lethal. I don’t need to band with

men to make a kingdom fall. I’m not called the King’s Executioner for nothing. Nobody crosses me and lives to speak about it, and if this young boy believes he will be my downfall, he is surely mistaken. I rock back on my heels, the blade barely grazing my neck as my hand seizes his. His eyes fly open. I then stand, and the boy kicks and thrashes as he dangles from one arm.

“Drop the knife,” I tell him. He refuses, so I shake the wrist I am holding. The boy cries out and tries to kick me, but his little legs don’t match the length of my arms. Sighing, I set him on his feet. He tries to pull away from me, but I can tell this kid wants blood. I can see the gleam of revenge in his eyes that only a brutal loss can bring. He wants them to pay, and nothing I say will convince the boy I am not one of them; he’s mad with his own conviction. So instead, I yank on him, pressing his blade above my heart. The tip pierces my skin, and I press deeper.

“You want to kill me? Do it... but look me in the eye when you do.” The boy looks at me and grits his teeth. I hold his gaze until his eyes start to turn teary. The next second, I hear the creak of a floorboard. The boy’s eyes dart over my shoulder, and I see a figure standing in the doorway reflected in his hazel eyes. Swiftly, I turn, pulling out my blade and tossing it. It hits the man straight between the eyes before he can take another step.

I growl, rising to my feet, and strode over to find it is a hunter. Some stragglers were late for the party they hosted, coming to see if there were any survivors. “Is he dead?” the boy asks.

“I think so...I can’t be sure. The brain matter spilling from his ears obscures my view,” I tell him, and the boy stops beside me. He stares down at the man and immediately vomits.

“You killed that man, yet seeing him dead makes you puke?” I question, and he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “I didn’t have to see his face,” he says, pointing at the man he killed.

“Ah.. see, now that is the difference, boy. Killing someone without seeing them is one thing. All you see is a target. But staring them in the eye is another. Because you watch their life flash before theirs. And let me tell you... There is no greater fear than knowing you’re going to die.”

I pull the boy’s blade from my chest and pass it on to him. He shakes his head. “I thought you were a stone-cold killer?” I ask him. He looks at the man dead on the floor behind me and then at me. “But you’ll make me look you in the eye,” he tells me, and I smirk.

“Come on, we need to leave in case any more come,” I tell him, and I leave out the door. A second later, he rushes out behind me, his hand slipping into mine. I stare down at his hand, yet the boy’s gaze is on the doorway that leads to the living room.

“They’re dead, aren’t they?” he asks.

“Not if we pretend,” I tell him, scooping him up. He looks at me, his face smeared with blood.

“Close your eyes and don’t open them,” I tell him, and he does. I step into the room with his dead relatives, just to hear another sound of a commotion when four men enter the house, their distinct voices reaching me instantly.

“I need to set you down, but you be a good boy and put your fingers in your ears and keep those eyes closed. You’ve seen enough death today. You don’t need to meet the reaper,” I whisper, and he stuffs his fingers in his ears. I stand him on the kitchen counter as the men fan out.

Pulling my blades, one in each hand, I move toward them. “Ladies, shall we dance?” I ask them as I toss the first blade.

The doe-eyed child I found among the massacre sits still as a statue on his cot by the fire. He is a timid thing. Usually, I would walk away and let the king’s warriors handle the children, the look on his face when I

found him in the closet, knife in his shaking hand, I knew I was not leaving without him. In spite of his fear, he yielded the blade. Eyes that saw too much stared back at me. At first, I saw a scared boy. Then I saw a warrior when he tried to cut my throat.

“Ah, ah, not that one,, boy, that is not water,” I tell him, reaching for the flask just as he’s about to take a sip. For four days, I have been stuck with the child whose name he wouldn’t give, so ‘boy’, it is. He stares out the window of the hotel we are in. I was waiting for Damian to come back for us. I’d wandered off when I saw the smoke, and now I am stuck with the kid. Curiosity killed the cat, Liam. You should know better by now.

“Here,” I offer him a leather bottle, and he takes it. He drinks greedily, as if he hasn’t had a sip of water in weeks. I eye him as I sip my flask. Children, I’ve always found fascinating, but not in a creepy way. I wasn’t fucked in the head. But their resilience and their ability to adapt and morph to whatever the situation demands have always amazed me.

“Why can’t I drink from that one?” he asks curiously.

“This is not for boys,” I simply tell him. Sometimes, I wonder if it is even for men. The shit tastes like the ass of a buck that sweltered in the sun for days before its innards exploded.

“But you drink it,” he says, resting his chin on his hand and peering out at the street below.

This kid is too inquisitive for his own good.

“It helps me rest,” I say, moving toward the fireplace. I toss a log into it before retaking my seat.

“But you haven’t slept,” the boy tells me.

“Not all nightmares exist in the realm of sleep. Some live in our waking minds. Up here, they walk alongside us as reminders of our sins.” I tap my head, and his brows furrow, and his tiny nose crinkles.

“Like the bad guys, do they scare you, too?” he asks. I chuckle. If only he knew the monster he spent the last few days following.

Looking at the crackling wood in the fire, I murmur, “Man doesn’t scare me.”

“I see the man who killed my brother in my dreams. He scares me,” the boy exhales, and my eyes dart to him. “Is he in your dreams, too?”

I shake my head, and he turns his inquisitive gaze to me.

Thick dark locks fall in eyes that once would have sparkled with innocence but are now void. I wonder briefly if mine share the same dark hollowness he emanates now.

“Then who stars in your nightmares?” he asks.

“I do, now lay down and get to sleep,” I tell him. He huffs but curls into a ball before quickly turning back to turn the lantern off by the window, sending us into darkness except for the fire’s orange light.

“Liam?” he asks, and I sigh. The kid barely spoke for the first few days, and today he won’t be quiet.

“Yes, boy?”

He says nothing when I hear his little feet plodding on the creaking wooden floor. He hands me his bear, which has one eye missing and an ear.

“Boss helps me sleep. Maybe he will help you,” he tells me, dropping it onto my lap. My eyes focus on the ugly thing, then he scampers off back to his cot.

Shaking my head, I tuck it under my arm, hoping he will sleep. Tomorrow I will be rid of him. Clarice would take care of him. Then I could go back and hunt the men who killed his family. He sits up, reaching for the lantern again.

“Boy, I said sleep. That means shut those eyes and be quiet,” I snap at him. He quickly falls back down, smart. I undo the cap on my flask, taking a swig, when I see his eyes peeking out from under the blanket.

I growl. He is testing my patience, something I seem to have less and less of these days. “What is it now, boy?”

“My name is not boy,” he says, and my eyebrows raise at his tone. “It’s Dustin,” he sneers before rolling over. I smirk.

“Dustin, it is, then,” I whisper.