The Eve (4)
This conspiracy was their final gamble.
There were plenty of reasons—Mary's throne growing more secure once she married me, the succession crisis a son of ours would create, a power structure hardening by the day—but if I had to boil it down to one line:
Clash! The Ultimate Throne-Claiming Rebellion Super Operation!
It was a little childish, but it made the whole mess easier to understand.
Which was probably why they had thrown every card they had at the nobility. In other words: as many bodies as they could scrape together.
"Is this a ceiling or a marketplace?"
The assassin beside me muttered.
He wasn't wrong. The ceiling of the inner palace was crawling with assassins. A full-blown circus of the unhinged.
Thirty-plus of them, at least…
At that point, could you even still call it an assassination?
I'd heard that if there were no witnesses, it counted as an assassination. I had never heard of an assassination with more assassins than witnesses.
This level of failure pointed to more than just an incompetent guard detail—there had to be inside help.
Of course, fretting over who that was right now was a waste of time. What mattered was how to deal with these people.
Going back for the guards wasn't a terrible idea, but—
"Good. Looks like everyone's here. Time to prepare the operation."
—time was not on our side. They were already settling into jumping positions. I had to decide fast.
I moved without delay. First I went to the assassin who had been decent to me.
"You've been good to me, right? Tell them you're stepping out to the latrine for a second. And do not come back."
"What? Where is this coming from all of a sudden?"
I tugged my mask down and showed him my face. Any assassin worth his salt would have researched what I looked like.
He swallowed hard.
"…Thanks. No—thank you."
I watched him melt quietly away, then slipped a hand into my coat. A dagger settled heavy in my grip. I could pick them off one by one with it, but—
Too much of a hassle.
And far too risky. There was a better way.
At some point I had realized it: I was stronger than other people. Not in the "I just fight a little better" sense.
I could body-check a stone wall and smash it to rubble. I could crack an enemy's shield open with a single sword blow. One leap could put me five or six meters up.
I had no idea why. But hey—if it worked, it worked.
And with that kind of strength, something like this was possible. All I had to do was clench a fist and drive it down into the beam we were standing on.
CRASH!
"Wh-what was that?"
"What in the world—"
The assassins sharing the beam staggered.
Once wasn't enough. I hit it again—
BOOM!
"That one! It's him!"
"I don't care what it is—stop him!"
Assassins charged me. I slammed the beam one more time.
CRASH! CRAAACK!
It shattered.
"Aaaagh!"
Assassins rained down from the sky—along with the wreckage of the beam.
"Kyaaaaah!"
Thud. Boom. Crunch.
Assassins fell, and falling debris flattened those same assassins. The maids screamed at the nauseating spectacle.
I landed cleanly and took stock of the chaos.
"What the hell?! Assassins!"
"Seize them!"
"Damn it—get to the queen and kill her, now!"
First I saw the surviving assassins and the guards trying to stop them.
"Kyaaah! Stay away from me!"
Maids fled in every direction.
"What… why are people falling out of the sky…?"
"You're just tired. We're on three shifts. Of course you're exhausted."
"Yeah… yeah, that must be it."
And then there were the maids who had simply checked out of reality. The place was already a mess—and something was making it worse.
"Kill the assassins right n— urk. Ronan, why are you—"
"Leave this to us. Focus on capturing the queen!"
Even the guards had traitors among them. They had started fighting each other.
Damn it.
That meant I had to get involved myself. How nice it would have been if the guards just cleaned everything up for me.
A few assassins were already sprinting for the queen's chambers.
Five of them, looks like.
I threw my dagger first.
Thwip.
The one closest to her door took it square in the chest. A hole the size of a fist opened through his torso.
"What the—!"
"Damn it. It's that bastard from before."
The assassins traded glances. Two peeled off to deal with me; the other two started smashing the locked door. Professionals—they split the work with nothing but a look.
One carried a dagger. The other, a thin blade.
They leveled their weapons and charged.
I scooped up a spear someone had dropped nearby and swung. The reach was far greater than theirs. It hit them before either dagger or thin blade could touch me.
One man's upper body burst apart under the impact with a wet splat. The other, softened by the same force, was cut cleanly in half.
"Wh-what is that…?"
The assassin watching from behind stared in horror. Half a beat later, my spear was buried in his eye.
One left.
I recovered the arm I'd thrown with and reached for another weapon at my side when—
Clack.
"Dammit."
He had gotten the queen's door open. In a blink he was inside.
I tore after him. Faster. Faster still. Before he could do anything.
A person only needs an instant to kill another person. Even in the short time it took me to sprint that corridor and reach the room, something could already have happened.
And of course, in that tiny span, it was already over.
I opened the door onto the scene: Queen Mary drenched in blood, the assassin standing before her. Dead in a literal instant.
The assassin, that is.
"Oh my, Young Master. Have you come to rescue me?"
Even through the mask, she recognized me at once.
"I have. Though… it appears you didn't need the help."
"Heehee. Truly fortunate, isn't it? The poor man tripped over his own feet and fell on his own blade."
"I see."
Tripped, my foot. There was no slope in the room. Odds were she had killed him with magic.
"We should leave. Now."
There was no time to interrogate her about it.
"Leave? Can't we simply hold out here?"
"No. It isn't only the assassins—there are plenty of traitors as well. They'll be storming this room any moment."
As if on cue, guards poured through the doorway.
"There they are! Seize them!"
They didn't even bother hiding their intent. Handling them wouldn't be hard—but if the queen got hurt in the middle of it, we were finished.
"Your Majesty. Forgive the liberty."
"Pardon?"
I scooped her up into my arms.
"…Oh my."
Not a princess carry so much as cradling an infant—tight, secure. Softness pressed against me from every angle, but there was no time to appreciate it.
CRASH!
I put my shoulder through the window and burst out of the palace.
"After them!"
Guards came hard on our heels—but the gap opened in an instant.
"You're… remarkably… fa-ast."
Cradled against me, the queen whispered by my ear. Warm breath. Every stride jolted her body, her voice catching in little breaks to match.
"I'm not… too heavy… for you, am I?"
"This much barely counts as weight. Just hold on tight."
"I will."
She nestled deeper into me. Or rather—given how tall she was—it almost felt like my head was the one being held. We moved pressed close together.
After a long stretch of weaving through the castle and finally shaking the pursuit—
"This should be far enough."
We reached a room that looked like a decent hiding place. I locked the door behind us and set her down.
"Haaah. We somehow managed to get away."
Even though she'd been carried the whole time, her cheeks were flushed from the long flight.
"Yes. Fortunately, it seems we've lost them."
"By the way, Young Master? Are you even human? You just ran nearly two full circuits of the castle with me in your arms."
"This much is nothing."
She murmured under her breath.
—As expected… a divine… great warrior…
"Pardon?"
"It's nothing. More importantly, Young Master—how are things outside?"
I needed to check that anyway. The problem was that this room had no windows. There was a ventilation shaft opening to the outside, though.
"I'll have to check through there."
"But isn't it far too high? There's nothing to stand on."
"Which is why I'll need Your Majesty's assistance."
"Ah."
Understanding lit her face. She stepped closer, spread her arms, and held them out as if asking to be picked up.
She wants me to lift her up?
That was not what I'd had in mind.
"Your Majesty. Please get down on the floor."
"…Excuse me?"
Blink. Blink. Those big eyes fluttered prettily, as if she couldn't believe what she'd just heard. I repeated myself.
"Lie down, please. I'll climb up and check the situation outside."
"…Are you saying you intend to step on me?"
"Correct. That's the height I'll need to see."
"What about simply lifting me instead?"
"I need to be the one looking if I'm going to assess the situation properly."
"Well… that's true."
"Then if you would, quickly."
She stared blankly for a moment, then began to get into position.
"What is this… I could just use magic—no, wait. That's a secret…"
She muttered as she lay flat. I couldn't quite make out the rest. Not that it was important.
Once she was settled, I slipped off my boots and stepped up onto her.
"Hnn."
A soft sound escaped her under the weight. Something yielding pressed against the soles of my feet. Were women's bodies always this soft?
"Just a little longer. I'll check quickly."
"Nnh… haah. Alright."
I peered through the vent at the world outside. And outside was… well. What was there to say? Pure bedlam.
I'd hoped the whole affair would have been put down by now. Instead it had only gotten worse.
Soldiers tore through every corner of the grounds, and I couldn't even tell which ones were rebels and which were loyal. Then there were the ones who made no secret of it at all.
"Drive Mary out! Elizabeth for queen!"
"For queen!"
They roared as they roamed. Looking for us, no doubt.
And I saw a familiar head of golden-blonde hair.
"The princess stands with us!"
"Waaaaah!"
Elizabeth sat mounted at the center of the rebel throng, still in her nightclothes, wearing the blankest expression imaginable.
"Uh… uhh?"
"Come, Your Highness—cheer the soldiers on. Down with Mary!"
"Uh, uh. Right. D-down with M-Maryyy…"
She joined the chant with all the grace of a hostage reading a ransom note.
"Waaaaah!"
"Once more! Elizabeth for queen!"
"Eli—wait, no—m-me for queen!"
"Waaaaaah!"
We needed this crushed, and fast. At this rate Elizabeth was going to end up on a throne she never asked for.