Pain of Trust

The realms of the night are cast into chaos when a loyal advisor shows his true colors.

A throne of purest silver sat atop a pedestal made from the finest black marble. It was empty, but it would not be for long. The sun was setting. As it cast its last rays of light across the floor and walls of the throne room, shadows began to flit about, as if they had lives of their own.

The shadows began to take form and become more solid as the sun sunk lower. The throne itself began to be occupied by some sort of shape. As twilight set in, the shadows began to be recognizable as human. They bustled about, each second becoming more and more real. 

Through the wide double doors that led out of the throne room one could see a village. It too was coming to life. 

The shadows began to take on voices of their own, at first a slight murmur, but steadily growing into decipherable words.

When the sun had completely set, the figure on the throne rose. It was no longer a shadow, but now it was a woman. She had long black hair that fell in a rush down her back. It swished when she moved her head, her body; held in place only by a circlet that rested upon her forehead. Her skin was a milky white. Not in a sickly way, but in a noble way: as if it had never been blemished by the sun. Lips of deep red adorned that face and emerald eyes observed the room with malicious intensity. She was not evil, but she was dark, no, she was the Dark.

The other shadows had also formed people by this time. They bowed low as she rose over her domain, authority unquestioned. The others rose slowly and backed away, not turning their backs until they had completely left the room.

Her court dismissed, the woman resumed her seat, scepter in hand. The Night had awakened and she intended to make the most of it.

A man still lingered to her right. He too had dark hair and fair skin, as did most of the people of the Night.

"High Empress, you look fair tonight."

"Save it for someone who listens, Ceron. I have a request to make of you. One I think you will find most favorable."

"If I do not, you shall not hear of it."

"Must you always be so tedious with your wit? You speak incessantly, yet I have never heard anything intelligible issue forth from your mouth."

"You also speak often, though your words are far more majestic than mine."

"I do not punish you, although I should for all your cheek. This is not the matter at hand, however. My request is this: Bring the court assassin to me. We shall meet at the temple just before the hour of dawn."

"Why am I to find this request favorable?"

"You shall see when the time comes, my friend."

The Empress raised one corner of her mouth in a terrifying smile. She acted as if Ceron was stupid, but she did not know of his treachery, nor him of hers. He truly did have wit; often saying what he meant, even though it was hidden by a mask of pretty words. The Empress was about to have a rude awakening, one brought about by her most trusted advisor. 

Years of servitude pay off,  Ceron thought to himself as he smiled benignly at his sovereign.

Trust is always the best weapon.

The End

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