Young Writers Society

Arianna

At last Arianna found herself at the top of the stairs to the assembly hall, smoothing down the thick velvet of her red skirts.

"All rise," commanded the herald, and the others dutifully did so. "Presenting her Royal Highness, the Princess Arianna."

She ignored the fact they had left the "Crown" out of her title. The assembly always smelt of drink and sweat, no matter who she uninvited. They watched her every move. She breathed deeply and went down the steps, careful to hold herself straight, smile politely, move at the right pace up to the high table.

The empty high table.

In times past, she would have cursed the others for being late, but now, any fault in their image only added to hers. Which had to be good. Her eyes sparkled at the thought as she moved to her seat right next to that of her mother. That would soon be hers.

"Please, sit, while we await my brother and sisters," she said, motioning with a smile. She sat down herself. A servant put a pitcher of wine in front of her.

She sniffed it. No sleeping powder in this one.

Perhaps tonight would be a good night after all.

Rosalie-

While getting ready for the assembly, only one thought went through Rosalie's mind, and that was to stay as low-key as possible. The assassin might already be getting to work, and her family might start to suspect. The tense way in which both Arianna and the man in the village had interacted with her was already starting to give Rosalie an idea that she would be suspect. She applied little make-up on her face and got into a red dress with lace trimming--it was simple, yet beautiful. She had taken drastic measures to achieve this innocent look and thus was rushing in the doors as the assembly was getting started.

"Hello," Rosalie said to her siblings in an out-of-breath manner. "Hello! I apologize for being late."

Valarie:

When I set the wione infront of Arianna she sniffed it and a pleased look spread across her face. I began setting down pitchers of wine in various spots. I felt the eyes of men on me but ignored it. Acknowledgment would only lead to their pleasure.

Once all of the wine was layed out I quickly went off to the side until I was needed and couldb't help but listen in on what people were talking about.

Marie

"Don't think about treating me that different! Listen, Marie, sorry to be terribly rude, but I really need to get ready. I hope it can wait, yes?" She watched his back as he opened the door again and re-entered his room. She wanted to call out to him and cry her worries into his ear. But maybe she was wrong. He certainly didn't look worried and Derrick knew his siblings as well as anyone. Maybe he already had plans, guards, ideas! And so she shut the door softly and turned away, a decision she was very soon going to regret.

Marie made her way down to the servants' quarters where her rooms were still located. She collected a small broach, a token display of her affection and support of prince Derrick, fastened it to the side of her uniform and exited, only noticing Saffron as she passed one of the other little rooms. A wry smile crept across her face as she thought to play a little trick on the girl. Saffron was well known for her sense of humour and she was also good at being late, usually through her clumsiness.

"We have to hurry and get down to the assembly," Marie said quietly. "If we're not there in..." she looked up at the clock. "...five minutes, we're to be fired."

And with that she hurried off to the assembly, still smiling and happier than she had been since the start of this ordeal. Marie stood at the side, demure and polite and she left the work of serving to the servants. Her position in these affairs was awkward. She was expected to be attentive to the children which might involve serving them or might just as easily involve listening to their opinion and expressing her own if asked for it.

Arianna was the first to arrive. Marie felt the first tremors of fear then. Derrick had been almost ready! He had... what was he waiting for? He could easily have made it down before this so why was he not present first? Marie touched the broach gently and tried to still her heart. And then moved her hand away slowly. No. She should not draw attention to it. It was just a broach. Just a small token, just a gift Derrick had bestowed on her once, a trinket. She had a lot of those. Most had been given in the form of bribes, go spy on Rosalie, see what Casilda is up to. She had them tucked away in little corners of her room, her handwriting scrawled across scraps of paper to name the giver and the reason.

It was Rosalie who entered next. Marie felt her heart-beat growing. Had those two, what if those two- it would be the perfect partnership. Sweet, innocent Rosie and strong, calculating Arianna. To hide the suspicion in her eyes, Marie cast them down and allowed them to linger over the splendour of the queen's empty chair. Who would sit their next? Then she heard the shouts, the alarm and she knew. She just knew that something was wrong. Marie couldn't help herself. She ran from the room and raced down the hall in her awkward, platform shoes, up the stairs and straight into the path of pandemonium. The guards were crawling over Derrick's room.

"Derrick!" Marie called out, her voice breaking faster than her heart which clung foolishly to hope. I should have warned him, why didn't I warn him, why didn't I say no! It can't wait! What have I done, what have they done, what if-

Derrick.

As Garis turned away, Derrick tried to reach out to him - he wanted to know who had paid the man in the first place. Was it one of his family? Or perhaps a member of the court who thought - maybe rightly so - that there were people better suited to the throne than himself.

But his limbs were already cramping painfully; the muscles felt like they were curling in on themselves, contracting with spasms. Derrick felt bile rise in his throat and he swallowed it down, yelling out as he did so, hoping that someone would hear.

He cursed Garis and lurched around the room, his voice cracking and wavering as more vomiting rose to his lips. Was this really death? Or was it just a parody, like he'd been told. Fool. Fool to trust him. Derrick's thoughts were becoming broken, and he crashed into the table next to the mirror, falling down and feeling his forehead crack against the glass. He could taste the warm, saltiness of blood.

Derrick cried out again as the movement made his legs shake in pain. There were shouts, and the door slammed open. He was cringing against the floor now, gritting his teeth as tears began to gather in his eyes.

"Prince Derrick ..." A guard knelt beside him. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm not okay!" Derrick gasped. "Get ... get someone ... competent."

There were more shouts and Derrick felt the shaking subside a little, although the pain didn't leave with it. A numbness began to spread through his head, blacking out his vision and making his lips too heavy to move. He slumped forwards into a waiting guard's armed and, before he blacked out, hoped with all his heart that Garis hadn't lied to him.

[[drama alert :P]]

Sandor
Well… at least Casilda was alright. He blinked at her retreating back, bemused but not entirely disliking what had just happened. Her light-heartedness was such a nice contrast to Arianna and Rosalie’s that he never could hold it against her.

He shook his head. Happy that at least one of his sisters liked him. His family issues were so messed up. At least with Derrick the odds were balanced even for him: two against, two for.

…speaking of which. Derrick. He sped up the pace to make up for the delay Casilda’s intervention had caused, but the scream that suddenly resounded through the castle’s upper levels made him freeze, eyes widening in shock, before he abandoned all propriety and broke into a dead run, shoving the curious, stray nobles and panicking servants that had already started flocking to the rooms.

That had been Derrick. He was running a litany of self-recriminations through his head as he finally made his way to the door, too slow, useless, shouldn’t have gotten distracted you absolute, incompetent idiot. It helped deal with the panic that lay thrumming and just about ready to surge, at the very least.

The scene in the room confirmed all of his fears: the glass over the floor and the reversed chair that must have gotten knocked at some point (before or after the culprit had fled, the quiet, collected part of his mind asked), the harried guards; and, in the middle of the chaos Derrick bloodied and terribly pale.

And in pain.

Strangely calm, given the situation, Sandor drew himself up and called for the guards to stand back. They did, reluctantly but apparently relieved to have someone more or less in charge. He looked at the assembled crowd flocking at the door, stopped his gaze on Marie.

She could be trusted. He hoped.

“Marie,” he called. “Get the physician. Fast.” The words may have been curt, but he knew she’d get the pleading undertone. She knew he liked Derrick; he knew her feelings on the matter as well, or at least had an idea. She nodded, and with a last look to Derrick she flew away.

“Everyone. Out.”

He ignored the murmurs that rose, herded everyone back. Simply turning his back on Derrick was making him sick, but it had to be done.

“To the assembly. Tell their Royal Highnesses Arianna and Rosalie there has been an unexpected delay. We shall be there soon.”

Then he was on his knees by Derrick, wiping out the blood from his head and pulling aside the strands of hair that had fallen stuck against his face.

“Derrick. Derrick. Answer me.”

Damn it all. He completely unresponsive, breathing slowing down already.

“It’s Sandor. Derrick, stop being an imbecile and answer me!”

No response.

Through the clear, crystal haze that seemed to have overtaken him he could pick up some oddities even past the rising dread. For one, the head injury wasn’t responsible for this. There were no obvious wounds at first look, though the blood was everywhere. Poison? His fingers were clutching at his brother’s shoulders. He wouldn’t be surprised. Who, though. The array of choices was large…

Derrick.

Derrick wasn’t breathing anymore.

He reached for his throat, felt the last threads of a pulse dying out. Swore, and scrambled for something—anything to do, and was saved from messing up any further by Marie’s return, physician in tow.

Not that there was much to be done.

The plain look he received in answer to his own wild, desperate one was answer enough.

Punching the mirror may not have been the smartest thing to do, but it was something. As long as he didn’t have to watch Derrick. Or Marie. Smaller, more immediate pains to cope with the others.

“Get him cleaned up. And put him somewhere… nicer.” The room was not supposed to look like this.

“I… I need to go deal with the assembly.” A shaky exhale. His fist was clenching; shards of glass driven deeper into his palms. Sharp. “Come for me after.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just strode out of the room. He was waiting for sorrow, but all there was right now was white-hot anger, simmering just under the surface.

He needed to have a serious talk with his sisters.

And to find Garris. If they wanted to go at that way, he'd be more than glad to reply in kind.

Casilda:

The scream alerted Casilda and she whipped around to see what it was. Sander was running. He never ran...unless it was an emergency. And then she recognised the screams: Derrick.

She gasped and raced towards the assembly. Sander could deal with Derrick, she was needed in the hall. People would question her going to her brother. It wouldn't be suspicious if she didn't go... And no one was to suspect her yet. Casilda grinned to herself and then raced through the castle. She finally reached the assembly, a little out of breath.

"My apologies," she said and took her seat, glancing from Arianna to Rosalie and back. Which one had done it? It certainly wasn't Casilda: she'd remember if she had poisoned anyone. That's if it was poison.

"What is all that screaming about?" asked Rosaile. Casilda flashed her sister a concerned look.

"You do not recognise your own brother's screams of pain?" she asked. "Someone has hurt him."

Arianna looked to Rosaile and then back to Casilda. "I wonder who that was."

Arianna-

The fact that Derrick's absence was exactly what she had been hoping for didn't stop Arianna being uneasy. She ate as best she could, feeling the sly gazes brush over her from the members of the assembly.

"I wonder who that was," she said as calmly as possible, though cursing her own idiocy at the same time. She should have spoken to the assassin. Killing Derrick during the assembly wasn't what she wanted. Now everybody would be watching her reactions. She couldn't be gleeful that the thief was dead, she couldn't appear weak mourning her dead brother.

It mightn't be him, she told herself and looked up to where the assembly had fallen silent. The big heavy doors at the end were open and a messenger slipped through. The eyes followed him as he approached the three princesses.

"Your Highnesses, Master Sandor said that there was a delay, but Prince Derrick will come with all haste," he said.

Arianna nodded warily, then looked at the other two. Rosalie's mouth was slightly open, her eyes as inquisitive as Arianna's own. Casilda sat, still out of breath, still innocent.

"Perhaps I should go see what the problem is," Arianna said in a low voice to Rosalie.

"Ari, if he has-"

"Don't say it." She shut her eyes and drew a breath.

Rosalie's eyes widened. "But you-"

"Not here," she hissed. "Once the course has finished, I'll slip out and return before the second one is served." It was a big risk to her image, leaving in the middle of the meal. Especially if the Prince was dead. It was too suspicious.

But then, she hadn't been the one to order an assassin, had she?

As the servers came to take away the plates, she delicately dabbed her mouth and nodded to the other two. But as she was about to stand, something else shocked her.

Sandor, his hands bloody, his eyes wild, strode up to the head table amongst the guests. They all watched him, gasping, holding their breath. He jumped the stairs onto the stage and put his hands flat on the table, leaning right down so that he was nose to nose to Arianna.

"What have you done to Derrick?" he hissed.

Her heart was in her mouth, but she remained aware of everybody around her. "Are you suggesting that something has happened to my brother?"

He raised a hand as if to hit her, but it was stopped, surprisingly enough, by Casilda.

"This really isn't the time, Sandor," she said sweetly. Arianna noticed Rosalie signalling to guards behind her back, but she shook her head.

"No," Arianna said firmly. "If something has happened, I would have you tell me, and I would have you take me to him."

Marie

As fast as she could. She really couldn't have been any faster and the physician had not delayed, she couldn't lay any blame on him. He'd grabbed his bag, already packed, and they'd run and she'd gabbled and he'd questioned. And it had all been too late.

Sandor's face was what broke her last restraint. The wild, primal desperation and then it shattered and shifted into such an anger and so much pain and she barely even heard the smash and tinkle of glass and certainly didn't flinch at the movement. She was falling to pieces, right before her own eyes which were watching, not understanding, out of co-ordination with the rest of her.

And then there was a voice, a command. “Get him cleaned up. And put him somewhere… nicer.” She latched on to it instinctively and didn't care if it was meant for her. Probably not, what good could she do?

“I… I need to go deal with the assembly.” Marie stared at his cut and bloody hands but was steeling herself to look at Derrick. She was working her way up to it. Here were Sandor's hands, covered in his blood and his blood. And there was the floor with its new red, sticky varnish and- “Come for me after.” Marie jerked her head back to Sandor, only just in time to see him exiting the room.

When she looked back again, the physician was bending over the body and she felt her knees go weak and she struggled for air but then she determined to be stronger than that. She had a job to do. She walked stiffly to the door and held it open with a shaking hand.

"We need hot water and cloths," she quietly told a guard, surprised by the tone of her own voice. It was wavering but seemed to hold, supported by some unknown means. "We are not to be disturbed." She closed the door again. Stepping across the room, Marie picked up the prince's wash cloth and checked the morning's bathing water. The bucket was still a quarter full and almost stone cold but it would have to do for now. She moved over to the body and started dabbing gently at his skin and the physician made no move to take over. She reached up and started on the cut on his forehead, pulling glass out with one hand and scrubbing with the other. She tried not to look at his face, caught a glimpse of his eyes and quickly pulled her fingers down over them.

Marie sat breathing heavily and choking back sobs. She couldn't go on. This wasn't just a cut on the knee or a bump on the head, he was... he wasn't getting up. Then a servant ducked in with the water and she found her determination again. "Bind his cuts," she told the physician in a voice that was more tears than words. He nodded, silent and understanding. She was grateful for that.

When the body was clean and bound, Marie got up and selected a fresh set of clothes from his closet. "Turn around," she instructed. There was uncertainty in the physician's gaze.

"Miss-" His voice was deep and firm, professional.

"Please," Marie said. He seemed to think it over and then obeyed. Marie tried to close herself off from all feeling as she stripped the prince down to his under-clothes. She tried to be cold and hard and numb like she'd read in her books. To say she succeeded would be a lie but eventually he was dressed and she could almost pretend he was sleeping.

Now. To move him to one of the guest rooms.

Sandor
The plan had been to calm down before walking into the room, collect himself and act like nothing wrong had happened—another little delay, a disastrous accident that would soon be sorted out, and certainly nothing quite that bad, please just carry on.

Derrick’s pale face had still been flashing through his mind; he’d felt as though he could still feel the weakening pulse under his fingers. The blood as well, though that might just have been his own.

Needless to say, neither patience nor reason had been very welcome by the time the doors to the assembly hall had come into sight there was nothing short of a minor apocalypse that could have made him slow down. The men posted there had taken a look at him, and wisely refrained from stopping him. Then he’d been striding intent and dangerous towards the head table, entirely disregarding the assembled nobles and other such guests in favor of staring Arianna down.

Nothing to betray her in her expression, of course. She was an old hand already at the court games. Still, as far as Sandor was concerned, the margin of error was so small as to not matter at all. And it was no secret she had not well taken to the change in successor to the crown at all.

And she’d always been good at getting what she wanted.

It was a good thing, he supposed, that Casilda had been there to stop him from striking her and snapped him out of that blind rage. Hitting the… the current favourite for the succession—the very thought of it was enough to make him curl his lip—was a bad, bad move.

Didn’t mean he didn’t regret that Casilda had intervened. He forced the anger down, eyes still fixed on hers, watching for any hint—of guilt, of foreknowledge… anything.

“You would see for yourself, would you?” The sneer he directed at her was less than respectful, but he pulled back. “Fine.”

A disdainful glance around, as he met full on the gazes of the assembled. He wasn’t the first to look away. “We have no need of them, though.”

“If you’ll follow me, Your Highness.” He was loathe to bring her to Derrick, but there was no other way to answer to her demand.

Another flex of his injured hand; he ground his feelings down, sharpened them to finer, deadlier points and stashed them aside, in wait.

When he finally smiled, it had far more edge than his sword. “Shall I escort you there?” He offered his hand.

She looked at him; the blood on his fingers, the shards of glass.

“I do believe I can walk on my own.”

He nodded, a mocking acknowledgement that hurt to give, however bitingly.

The way seemed to open on its own, the crowd parting before them like sheep before the shepherd—or the wolf.

There was little said as they made their way back; Casilda was closest, concerned, the other two three steps back. Sandor himself said nothing, steadily stared ahead. He didn’t care to look at them; didn’t trust what he’d do if he turned now.

Had Marie had the time to move him yet, he wondered, and forced himself to confront the thought.

Derrick dead. The one responsible for it undoubtedly walking behind him.

Himself powerless.

He needed to see Garis.

I'm going to withdraw from this SB since my character isn't involved and she wasn't really important anyway.

Arianna-

On the threshold of the assembly hall, she stopped and turned to look at the bewildered faces.

"I do apologise, but we must attend to some business. Please, continue. We will be back momentarily." She turned away again and bit her lip, wondering if she could hold true to that promise.

They turned onto the corridor where Derrick's rooms lay. "I left him here," muttered Sandor, but even as Arianna looked up, she saw two footmen carrying what looked like a makeshift stretcher.

"The guestrooms in the east wing should do-" Marie, the servant girl, directed the two of them, but sensed their presence and cut short.

"Oh, Your Highnesses," she said breathlessly, but Arianna barely heard her. All her attention was suddenly drawn to the body of her brother lying prone between the two.

"Derrick," she said, unable to stop herself, running forwards and placing a hand on his forehead. It was still warm, just about. "Oh, Derrick." Despite herself, she could feel tears welling up at the sudden deluge of memories that bombarded her, how close they had been as children, Derrick supporting her over the past years when court life became too trying or stressful. And then, just this afternoon, her demands of Rosalie to kill him.

"What have I done?" she whispered to herself.

Casilda:

I followed Sander and my sisters to Derrick's room. The walk was pretty quiet...and tense. I knew better than to try and distract everyone. What had happened? I'd heard him screaming.... Why was Sandy bleeding? Wait, it wasn't just his blood. I looked up at my brother with wide eyes. He was focused on not snapping at someone, by the looks of it.

When we reached our brother's room, the guards let us in and we found Marie standing over him. Derrick still looked warm and alive, but he wasn't breathing. I gasped and grabbed onto Sander's wrist. I didn't like this at all. Marie said something but I wasn't listening.

"Derrick," Ari gasped, dropping to the floor beside our brother. "Oh, Derrick..."

Our eldest sister started sobbing. I couldn't see her face but her shoulders shook.

"What are we going to do?" I whispered. Rosalie and I shared a startled look.

Rosalie-

Rosalie had been caught off-guard by Casilda's question; she'd been silent for the whole time they were in Derrick's room, and was hoping that it would have remained that way. She was trying hard to find the balance between little emotion so that no one would see it was an act, and a lot of emotion so that no one suspected her. She'd done well of attracting little tension to herself, and now she wasn't quite sure how to respond. However, Ari seemed like she was genuinely crying, and this made Rosalie somewhat angry. She debated finding her later and explaining that she couldn't loose her cool now, but decided it would be of no use. She was just a coward, one that would deserve her death.

For now Rosie put her angry thoughts aside and turned to Casilda.

"Don't worry, it will be alright," she said. "Don't cry, it will be okay."

Garis

Well, this complicated things a little. The assassin hadn't expected lovely Rosalie to be around Sandor when he came calling for his commander. She might recognize him, even with the different hair colors. But waiting any longer wasn't looking to be an option, either, with how Sandor was glaring at Arianna's sobbing back, clenching and unclenching his hands as if preparing to strangle her.

But we couldn't have that, could we? After all, if someone else did his job for him, why, that would mean Garis wouldn't get paid. And so the assassin stepped forward and coughed politely. "Commander Sandor."

Sandor's head whipped around to look at his subordinate. "Garis. Just the man I needed to see." He gently disengaged Callista from his arm. "Stay here," he said, looking at his two younger sisters in turn before he brought Garis aside, a fair distance away.

"You need a drink. More than one, actually," said Garis as soon as they were out of hearing range of the princesses.

"What makes you say that?"

"You look terrible." And Sandor did. His eyes were haunted, his face gaunt and drawn, his hair and clothing disheveled, and his hands marred by gouges and coated in blood. "Have you had that looked at yet?"

"No."

"You really should."

"Garis!" Sandor's voice was gratingly hoarse as he just barely kept himself from shouting. "This is not what I need to talk to you about!"

The assassin waved his friend off. "If it's business, it can wait until after we've snuck out for a night on the town. And after you've had a couple drinks. Or a dozen."

"Garis! Derrick is dead!" Sandor backed off and paced in a circle, a hand over his face as he struggled to gain control. He took a shaky breath before continuing, his voice subdued, "I don't think any number of drinks will make things better."

"Trust me on this," said Garis as soothingly as possible as he stepped alongside his friend to give him a reassuring pat on the back. "It will help, especially once you hear what I know about this whole Derrick affair."

Sandor stiffened and looked at Garis with such an intensity the assassin flinched. "You know something?"

"Yes, but here is neither the time nor the place. It can wait until our appointment with Sirs Ale and Mead. I'll meet you outside the usual place, once you've settled things here," said the assassin as he hurriedly turned to leave.

"Garis."

The assassin turned back to find Sandor watching him, the older man's very posture screaming dangerous.

"If I find out that you knew about this and did nothing, I swear--" Sandor's hands balled into fists, reopening some of the cuts. "--you will regret it."

"Then it's a good thing I've done everything I can to save Derrick," Garis replied, looking Sandor levelly in the eye. "I'll see you outside the Dancer. Don't keep me waiting." With that, Garis sauntered off, all the while trying not to cringe, even as he felt Sandor's gaze boring a hole into his back.

That man was going to need a lot of drinks.