I recognised his eyes as soon as he walked through the door. I froze. I couldn’t do this right now.

“How’s catching the thief going?” Rook grinned, pulling a hand through his golden hair as he sat opposite me, waving for a bartender to get him some wine. He stood out like a sore thumb in the rough tavern, wearing elegant clothing made of a navy silk, gold stitching lining the edges. The paleness of his skin made it clear his was a member of the royal family. After the Northerns took over hundreds of years ago, the royal position was taken by them, causing them to look out of place from the more tanned skin of the poorer.

“You can’t be here!” I spat quietly, surveying the room to notice most eyes watching us, blades glinting in the dim candle light.

Rook scowled, eyes darkening. “I didn’t here a ‘your grace’ at any point in that sentence.” I opened my mouth to speek but he lifted a finger, continuing, “I also thought you’d be happy to see me!”

“I’m under cover, _your grace, _and you’ve given my position away to a bunch of thieves and murderers. So, no, I’m not happy to see you.” I grunted harshly, a hand on my pistol. Someone shifting in the corner of the room caught my eye. I hand rested on my gun.

If anyone made a move, I would shoot the attacker, then get the duke down to safety under the table and threaten to shoot anybody else. Nobody else had guns except for the royal guard, which includes me.

Before I could make a move, the sound of a shot resounded through the tavern, a bullet crashing into the glass of wine on the table before us. The duke gasped and drew his sword. Useless, a sword never beats a gun, fencing lessons never beat a lifetime of assassin training. I drew my gun, shooting towards the assailant, missing every shot. They were fast, cloaked and blended into the crowd. I couldn’t risk shooting any of the patrons.

Many were fleeing the building, the others began to advance toward us, blades glinting. A stream of curses flew from the dukes mouth as I fired more shots. I struck down two, embedding bullets into their heads, I downed one with a bullet to the shoulder, and killed another through the throat.

That’s when I ran out of bullets. More shots rang out.

“Get down!!” I yelled, tugging on the dukes shoulder cape to pull him under the table. My breaths were heaving, my heartbeat racing and nausea rising to my stomach. We had to surrender. Charging out with a blade would just guarantee death.

“We have to fight back!” Rook growled, gripping my arm, sweat beading on his forehead.

I kept my gun in my hand, threatening anyone who drew nearer with it, although it was useless now. “Are you crazy? That’s suicide! We have to surrender.”

“So we can get killed quicker?!”

“The best outcome is one of us dies, the other one is let free. It’s better than us both dying.”

“What?!”

His protests were too late as I stood from under the table, hands up, followed by the duke, who dropped his sword reluctantly. I didn’t say anything. Slowly, the person with the gun stepped to the front of the group, pocketing it and taking his hood down from his face. He was young, but years of scarring made him look years older and ten times more intimidating. Although he was short, he had a strong build.

“Finally you come to your senses.” He said in a smooth, mocking voice. “At first I thought we had to kill you.”

“So you aren’t?” Rook asked nervously.

The man grinned, exposing a golden tooth. “We’ll see. We need to know if we can trust you first.”

“Trust us? Why?” I tried to soften my voice, making it clear I had no intentions of violence, yet it didn’t really help.

“We have a job for you.” He looked at me with sharp grey eyes. “And duke boy can help too, we don’t have murder on our minds yet. But if any of you try any funny business, a bullet with be shot through your skull, got it?” I nodded, fear still gripping my heart like a cold vice.

“Follow me.”