Cassian Valmont POV.
[The eight assassins hidden inside the royal palace have begun their operation.]
[Estimated time before they strike: Three minutes.]
Cassian slowly smiled as he sat down on the ground and began to slowly dust his hands.
Today was going to be a very long day for everyone here…
<Looks like the fun’s only just beginning.>
<And just a bit over two minutes before they strike?
Isn’t that a bit much?>
<How awful was the castle security now that he wasn’t there to help put it together like in his last life?>
A bunch of evil doers who would soon perish under a few minutes and they wouldn’t even know what hit them at all.
The atmosphere inside the throne room had changed completely.
Only moments ago, every eye had been fixed upon him as though he were the greatest criminal to have ever stepped foot within the palace walls.
Now…
Not a single person seemed capable of caring about his punishment anymore.
The nobles whispered frantically amongst themselves, some already planning escape routes while others looked toward the great doors of the throne room every few seconds as though expecting enemies to burst through them at any moment.
Several ministers had completely forgotten that they had only moments ago been shouting for his execution.
Fear had a funny way of changing a person’s priorities.
Even the palace guards lining the walls were no exception.
Their grips tightened around their spears.
Their eyes constantly swept over every window, every pillar and every shadow decorating the enormous hall.
None of them knew where the danger would come from, but they only that it was coming.
Cassian watched the entire spectacle with poorly concealed amusement.
<Now this…>
<This is what panic looks like.>
<The same panic I always experienced in my previous life while all of you stood there watching without lifting a finger.>
<Enjoy it while it lasts.>
<Things are only going to get worse from here.>
Shaking his head, Cassian slowly began to stand up to his feet as he knew he had to hightail it out of that hall before he was forced to show his skills way too early.
Being stuck with being the Crown Prince’s guard in his previous life was hard enough but for him to so readily fall into that again in this life would be stupid.
The thought alone made him feel irritated.
No…’Irritated’ wasn’t nearly enough to describe it.
Disgusted was a better word for he had devoted years of his previous life into protecting that self-righteous Crown Prince.
He had suffered countless nights without sleep, so many battles fought until every muscle in his body screamed in agony and numerous wounds scarred him over and over again each time, wounds that had barely ever healed before another campaign demanded his presence.
He had stood between Lysander and death more times than he could remember as he had blocked blades for that bastard, even taken arrows for him like the fool that he was.
He had also thrown himself into impossible situations that could have potentially led to his early demise simply because everyone kept telling him it was his duty.
His responsibility, his honour.
Honour…what a laugh.
When everything finally fell apart, when accusations came raining down upon him from every direction, when the kingdom decided he was the easiest person to sacrifice…to behead publicly and tag a monster….
Where had all that honour gone?
Where had those grateful smiles disappeared to?
Where had the promises been?
Gone!
Every single one of them.
As though the years he had spent protecting them had never existed at all.
A faint scoff escaped his lips.
Never again!
If the Crown Prince wanted saving, then he could save himself this time.
But first of all, he had to deal with this wicked guard who was still bleeding out all over the floors as his eyes blinked rapidly to try and keep himself conscious.
He was not someone who forgave and forgets that easily and he was always all too happy to dish out the same meal he had been served by others to them so they felt exactly how he had felt.
This guard was just one of his many acquaintances in his previous life but with this new knowledge of exactly how everything was supposed to go in his last life, the guard just became one of his many enemies.
His gaze slowly drifted across the kneeling guard.
The young man looked pitiful with his armour cracked in so many different places as blood continuously seeped from the arrow lodged deep within his shoulder, dripping steadily onto the polished marble floor beneath him.
Every breath he took sounded painful, laboured and yet, despite all that…Cassian felt absolutely nothing.
He felt no atom of sympathy or concern or even pity when he looked at the guard, there was only plain annoyance for all to see.
This face…
He remembered it far too well because there had once been a time when this very guard had smiled at him, even if occasionally.
There had been times when they had called each other brothers after surviving each attempt to take the prince’s life while they shared meals around campfires after long battles.
Then came the day everything collapsed…the day when the accusations and the trial and the execution were dished out on him like it meant nothing to discard a pawn that had somehow overstayed his welcome.
That same guard…had not said a single word in his defence.
Not even one as he had simply lowered his head and watched.
Just like everyone else.
His fingers slowly clenched.
<Funny…>
<I actually used to think we were comrades, even if we didn’t communicate that much..>
“What were you doing when your prince was kidnapped?” He asked, his countenance darkening as he turned around towards the visage of the guard whose gaze quickly snapped towards him.
“I…” the guard drew in a sharp breath as he stopped himself from speaking what he was ready to say just seconds ago and Cassian’s eyes flashed.
Cassian noticed it immediately.
That tiny hesitation and that brief flicker of fear hidden deep within the man’s eyes was enough to tell him all that he needed to know to make sure this guard died here today….even if not by his hands.
His lips tipped up in a smile but it was not because the answer amused him at all but simply because he knew that the guard had just realised the trap waiting beneath the question.
If he admitted he had fled…then he would be branded a deserter and if he claimed he had fought bravely…then where were the others?
And why had only he returned?
Why had the Crown Prince disappeared while his escort somehow survived?
Every answer condemned him and the guard realised it too as sweat slowly trickled down the side of his face despite the colour already draining from it due to blood loss.
His lips parted and closed then once again parted but nothing of worth came out and Cassian quietly admired the sight.
People often believed the sharpest weapon was a sword when it came to some battles.
How wrong they were!
Sometimes…the sharpest blade was a single well-placed question.
At least his brain was not that underdeveloped.
Saying that he was there and watching as someone he had made an oath to protect was taken away while he did nothing?
That would have cost him his head.
He would have been known as a deserter and if his previous life was to be followed to the T?
Then, the kingdom did not take too kindly to deserters.
Those who were only about saving their own skin.
He despised them to no end but this hatred of his for deserters had never been born from blind idealism, oh no, quite the exact opposite.
He understood fear very much, he understood wanting to survive, he understood the instinct to run when death stood right before you.
But if someone willingly accepted the duty of protecting another, and if they abandoned that responsibility the moment things became difficult…that person deserved neither forgiveness nor mercy.
He had witnessed too many people die because someone else had chosen their own life over everyone else’s.
Strong soldiers, children and entire villages as one person’s cowardice often became another person’s grave and perhaps that was why he hated them so much.
Or perhaps…he simply saw too much of the old kingdom within them.
A kingdom that had never hesitated to abandon those who were no longer useful.
His gaze slowly shifted from the wounded guard to the king seated upon the throne and then to the ministers and then to the whispering nobles with ashen expressions.
<You’re all the same.>
<Every last one of you.>
<Though I wonder…>
<When the assassins arrive…>
<How many of you will still remember your precious loyalty?>
<And just how many won’t use another as a shield just to save their own skin…>
Past and present.