Forced To Kill The Prince

by Hollie Hutchins

  © Copyright 2016 by Hollie Hutchins - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Title

  Forced To Kill The Prince

  Sign Up!

  Abducted and Stimulated

  To Carry The Last Warrior’s Child

  Taken Hostage

  Sold To Be Eaten

  Her Darkest Fantasies - The Dragon’s Heart

  Owned By The Dark Dragon

  Online Dating A Wolf

  Slaved - The Dragon And The Bear

  Secretly In Love With My Best Friend

  Promised To The Devil King

  Promised To The Beast

  Sold As Livestock

  A Wolf Took My Virginity

  Used By The Dragon God

  Abducted and Jailed

  I Am To Marry A King

  Abducted For Pleasure

  The Slave Bride

  The Cold King

  Sold To The Vicious Dragons

  Kidnapped By A Wolf

  Owned By The Ancient King

  A Wolf In My Classroom

  Forced To Kill The Prince

  By: Hollie Hutchins

  Chapter One

  I'm supposed to kill a prince. And not just any prince, but a shifter from the dragon kingdoms. My employers paid good money to go so. I have a pouch of five thousand goldens waiting for me when I finish the deed. It's an obscene amount of money, but the job they want me to pull off is obscene.

  Kill the prince, kill his two sisters, and ensure that the one who will succeed the throne when old king Vedez dies is the eel of a prince they call the Bastard – or prince Ronar. No doubt the one employing me through such intermediaries is Ronar himself. Well, I am an assassin, though admittedly, I'm still new to the organization. And they're landing me with a big job almost from the start.

  “It has to be you,” Ganned said to me. “You're the only one who can pull the love con with him.” Ganned's my master, the one who runs the ring of assassins, thieves and crooks, as we dwell in the underbelly of Fleetrun. A city they call the pinnacle of our civilization, which is true if you visit the center boroughs, where everything's renovated, rich, and full of wealthy citizens. The big, corrupted heart of the city is the slums that filter out like rotting hands through the streets. Places where you'll do well not to have your money pouch on display, or to walk alone if you're a woman.

  Unless you're trained in weaponry, of course. And you can smudge dirt on your face, and talk like a country bumpkin, and no one will give you a second glance in these streets. I walk along them now, thinking to myself how I'm going to pull this off. Even with the plan laid out, it's going to take some doing to kill almost the entire royal family in one sweep. Especially dragons. They're giving me a special dagger for it. One that can pierce their flesh and kill them more surely than anything else. I bite my lip. I do it for the money. I like money. I like stealing it from people's pouches if they're too careless to watch over it. I like swiping a piece of bread from the stalls if the owner turns away for a second.

  I do so now, grabbing a small karden bread, crunching into it as I walk along. The owner is still distracted with the person he's yelling at – some worthless son who spent their week's earnings on a whore.

  I've been asked to kill prince Aradin, and although he's some spoilt princeling like all highborn toffs, Ronar is worse. Ronar's the kind of person who decapitates whores and drowns whole batches of puppies for fun. Allowing someone like him to the throne is probably similar to allowing a bomb to detonate over the kingdom. I'll have gold in my pocket, but I might just make it worse for everyone else.

  Not that it matters. All that matters is the coin and the luxuries you'll have, I think. Fuck. Why did my first big job have to be such a game changer? I've done plenty of petty thieving. I've slit the throats of scum who deserved it, people who I have no ounce of pity for, because they've spent their lives inflicting misery on everyone else. Those are services I do to those around me, and I just require a few stolen goods in return.

  But this. It doesn't really sit right. It leaves a lump in my throat. Assuming I can even make it into the inner circle, I then have to stay with the prince long enough to get in range of his entire family. I need to gain his trust.

  They say the prince has a perchance for red haired, green eyed women with pale skin. I fit all of the criteria, though usually I dye my hair black, or leave it muddied, dirty and short, because red tends to stick out when you're an assassin. Assassins are supposed to be nondescript. Red hair is rare, and not exactly... hidden. It's a mutation they say, one that carries magic blood.

  My hair is muddy right now, and knotted up so I look more like a boy. I finish eating the bread, and toss the skin to the side, where a small, scruffy dog starts sniffing around it. The stench of the slums is familiar to my nostrils, and I'm immune to it. A footpad steps out from the shadows as I turn to a small, obscure alleyway.

  “Right nice,” he says, taking out a dagger. “Woman.”

  My eyes turn into slits as I regard him. His breath stinks like a sewer, and his teeth have that wasted quality of someone who spends too much time drinking alcohol. His skin has a yellowed, puckered look about it. “You must be mistaken.”

  “Nah. You got tits. Spread your legs, it'll be nice and quick. I got the blue ball hungers.” His eyes go wild. I sigh. I heard about this alley being a hotspot at night, where a proportion of women got raped. Looks like I've found one of the perpetrators. I pretend to be terrified.

  “Please, sir, don't hurt me, I've got a husband and children to think of!”

  “Shut yer trap.” He moves in close, bolstered by my show of weakness, like a predator seeking prey. He puts the dagger to the side of my head, whilst tugging at my pants. What an idiot. He won't be doing anything with that arm like that.

  I deftly reach for my dagger tucked in my rear, and let out a theatrical moan, which seems to distract him for a moment. Right until I open a red smile on his throat with one rising slash, using my other arm to push his knife wielding arm out the way.

  He gurgles, eyes wide, and I simply smirk. No more raping for you, little man. May hell receive you.

  I step over the corpse after checking his pockets, pulling out a few coppers, and continue to the tailor, where I'll be getting my new fancy dress.

  I'm not used to the whole pampering. Or having my name sound all fancy. People on the streets call me Charlie or Char, but I need to be known as Charlotte Keen of house Keen, which another contact will pose as some distant country lord. I'll have the documents in place, and nothing to suggest that I'm a thief playing dress up. Even with all the posturing as a lady, I can barely walk in the damn heels.

  Still, the dress and makeover transforms me. A silken red dress, to help illuminate my bright red hair further. When there's no dirt on my cheeks, I have a glow about them.

  Unnatural, really. Unnatural, but I'm off to the palace tonight. The court party is being held, and I have a fake invitation already prepared. Deep breaths. I can do this.

  Other things to remember. Aradin likes his women to be independent, perhaps a little challenging. Also sexually deviant, since there are rumors he likes a little extra with his sex. That can be arranged. I can roleplay it if needed.

  Gods. How am I going to pull this off without being caught, though?
<
br />   Chapter Two

  “Welcome to the ball, lady Keen,” the entrance guard says, after checking my invitation against the list of guests. We had someone on the inside slip my name there earlier, so it doesn't seem out of place. “May you have a pleasant evening.”

  Yeah. Pleasant. I walk into a shimmering, expensive ballroom, with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, polished bannisters spinning to the upper levels where servants and nobles sleep, and food stands where luxuries likely worth more than my entire outfit are on display. I don't spot Aradin yet, so I head straight over to the food stand, and start stuffing my face. In a lady like manner, of course. But like hell if I'm going to waste the opportunity to taste such finery in my mouth. Best to take a bit of everything. I can seem like one of those picky eaters, unsure what to try. Other women take mere scraps of food on their little plates, and they give me curious stares.

  As a country noble, I'll be an outsider, uncouth compared to the rest of them. And it's a good cover, because I haven't been able to refine all my mannerisms yet. I walk around the glitzy room all the while, eavesdropping on conversations, always pretending to look interested in something ahead. When some of the curious women draw me into their conversations, I join with a winsome smile, listening to their court talk which makes little or no sense to me. Except for one segment of information, which I lap up.

  “They're always saying about the bastard, Ronar being jealous of his siblings,” the pretty faced woman called Jeanette says. She lords it over her other highborn companies, and they nod eagerly. “I heard he might be planning to take things into his own hands. So they've tightened security around the rest of the royal family. And each have their own personal food tasters.”

  Interesting. “That's a shame,” I say carefully. “Ronar has been treated much better than most bastards, hasn't he?”

  “Yes, but he's still a bastard, and that doesn't sit well with him. His father could legitimize him at any time, but won't.”

  “Why do you think that is?” I say, fluttering my eyelashes in an appropriately vapid way. Jeanette giggles.

  “Why, because he'd make a terrible king. If he got legitimized, he'd be first in line to the throne. He was born three months before Aradin. Back when the king couldn't keep it in his pants, even with his new wife.” Jeanette sighs then. “I don't think the queen ever fully forgave her husband for that. She's the kind who probably belittled Ronar every day.”

  “You feel sorry for him?” I blink in surprise.

  “Of course. He might be a terrible king, but it's not his fault how he grew up.” She flushes slightly. Her eyes dart to the side, and I look to see Ronar making his way through the crowd. Even at that distance, he seems to conjure up a storm, and people notice him as he passes. I strongly suspect Jeanette feels sorry for him, solely on the fact that he's unfairly handsome.

  I'm not fooled by it, though. I can see the cruelty in his face from here. This is a person who doesn't know how to love. Some people's hearts might just be within chrysalises, waiting to bloom, but his heart is a chunk of darkness.

  He knows there's a plant at the party tonight, but he's never spoken to me face to face. He'll likely figure out it's me, because I'm a new face, and I fit the criteria. There are two other court women with red hair and green eyes as well, but I've heard they've fallen out with Aradin. Where Ronar has a habit of being cruel, Aradin has a habit of using women and never settling down.

  The rest of the royal children trickle in soon afterwards, dressed in splendors beyond anything I've seen. It's decadent in a way, seeing them walk in with gold threads embroidered upon plush velvet and silk, with diamond cufflinks, golden buttons, and obscenely big rubies upon the women's necks. I feel dwarfed by that beauty. Like, how am I supposed to match with that?

  It's all in the attitude. Men in power are drawn to those who seem powerful. I keep that in mind, even as I flit between men and women, chatting to them. I won't make a beeline to the prince, because it shouldn't be obvious. If anything, the prince needs to come to me for this to work. I watch as hopeful women drift his way, trying to grab an audience with Aradin. He refuses each and every one, but always wears a charming, confident smile. Blonde hair, blue eyes – he's the vision of a prince. But I also know that under that exterior is a heart breaker. Someone who I've somehow got to keep interested in me long enough to pull off the assassination. It has to be done all at once. If I get the prince, but not his sisters, their protection will be tenfold. And then it will be that much harder to obtain an assassin with a decent chance. And maybe Ronar will have to do the dirty work himself.

  Shame.

  I keep my eye on Aradin in as discreet a way as possible. I talk to other marks, try to look like I'm interested. I sense a few of the socially more awkward nobles are coming towards me as well, so it's best not to be seen speaking to them for too long, or to appear enamored by them. Keep myself cool, like I can expect bigger game.

  The ballroom is an interesting way it seems to trade gossip, and has some fairly complicated mating rituals, as opposed to a pub or inn where you just walk in, get drinks bought for you, and then decide from there how you want things to go. I've got the accent well enough, though there's a few vowels I sometimes make too soft. Not enough for people to think it's wrong. They just assume it's my country charm.

  I'm slightly surprised when Ronar attempts to make a move on me first. He must know who I am. It's clear after the first two sentences that he's trying to test me out as a plant. I fend him off politely, and notice that now Ronar's approached me, Aradin observes me as well. And when the black haired, dark eyed prince moves away from me, he seems to act like I'm some unobtainable prude.

  This is the last nail in the coffin. Aradin finally makes his move. Smart, I think of Ronar. I hate the man, of course, but he's clearly got the manipulating game down. Knowing what makes his brother tick. I suppose there must be a sense of competition between them. Whatever Ronar goes for and fails, Aradin has to try better, and achieve better. Interesting.

  Aradin smoothly walks up to me and says, “Greetings, lady Keen.”

  I give him an arched eyebrow. “And you are...?”

  He smirks at this. “You don't know who I am? A poor excuse. Everyone would know.”

  “And how many balls have you seen me at before?” I say. “I come from my father's estate in the country. Before I moved into the city, I had never attended a ball before. The ways of the city court is new to me. So again. Who are you?”

  Aradin frowns, before taking a sip of his drink. “Perhaps that's why you haven't been bothered by the pull and sway of others in this little ballroom. Because you don't know who holds the higher status.”

  “Perhaps,” I say. I remain cool, like my lack of knowledge doesn't affect me in the slightest. “And you still haven't answered my question.”

  “Direct, I see.” Aradin smiles, before taking another sip. “You are speaking to prince Aradin, first in line to the throne of Gethar. A dragon prince if you must know, since you smell rather human.” He sniffs my skin theatrically, and my cheeks redden slightly. “Do you country humans have dragons in your homelands?”

  “Of course we do. You don't think dragons only live in the city, do you, princeling?”

  “Princeling? Do you wish to insult me, lady Keen? Because I must say I find your manner... wanting.”

  I give him a cold smile. “So you'd prefer me to be a sycophant? A swooning simpleton, like half the women I've just talked to in this place? They're all worried about what kind of dresses they're wearing, and which lord they want to try and steal the riches off. I've never been so bored. And I thought the country girls had nothing but dung in their heads.”

  Aradin folds his arms, regarding me in slight puzzlement. “You insult all the nobles, you insult their way of life, and you insult the hospitality of the people who host this ball. If you plan to build yourself up in society, this isn't the way to do it. It's crass.”

  Now to reel him in furth
er. My arrogance can turn appealing if employed just right. “I'm tired, princeling. Tired of people always faking it. Look at their smiles, too wide. Their eyes, too cold. People come to the court to socialize, but they don't speak truthfully. They speak with little words, little mind games, hinting their dislike, but never quite saying it out loud. Look how many women copy the fashion off one another. Striving so hard to be something they're not. Look how they blush when you mention undergarments. They are wrapped in cocoons, and it becomes dreary to watch.”

  Aradin still appears baffled by my attitude. “Then why come here at all?” He begins to guide me away from the rest of the ball. I'm quiet enough so that people can't hear me over the babble. Ronar watches me take off the prince, and there's a dark smile upon his lips.

  “For my father, more than anything else. And maybe... because I had hoped to find someone to connect to. A woman with a mind like a rapier. A man who does not think of stuffing me with wine so I'm incapable of resisting his advances.” The way I move is deliberate. Provocative. I puff out my chest slightly, I let my hips sway, and I give Aradin coy side glances, as if I'm enjoying his reactions. Honestly, I am, but it's also something I've had instilled in me, from the little courtly lessons of before.