Dye It Red

The hallway was cold, empty and dark if not for the flickering lights on chandeliers above her. She could feel the rich carpet underneath her bare feet. It padded and muffled her footsteps as she headed towards her destination. The King and Queen's personal chambers had always been separated for safety reasons. Each one of them designated their own private wing. It was a precaution that vexed her as she travelled through with pounding heartbeats. 

She started before the clock struck twelve in the midnight. And it truly had taken her hours, waiting all night for this one golden opportunity. 

One glorious moment.

Shadows were all around her, lingered around the edge of her vision as she strode with a smile on her face. There were supposed to be guards who rotated and took shifts in the hallways but they were laxed. Ascertained of the safety of their Kingdom. "Fools," She muttered to herself as she stalked through the pathways. And yet she was the one who was aware of their schedules, ordained them herself.

Such knowledge was put to good use.

As she stepped into the next winding path, an open window let a cold gust of wind into the Castle of Hearts. Goosebumps spread itself all over her calves and arms and she clicked her tongue. Donning only her nightgown had been a minor mistake. She tightened her grip on the knife in her hand. It didn't matter, she wished to avoid as much dirt as possible. Her thoughts were fluttery, flights of fancy fleeting—until it focused and sharpened.

Who cared about decency and respect when it wasn't offered to her? Did he think that she would suffer his presence simply because of his name? Of his honor and respect granted by such trial? Even she had fought her way up a trial of her own to her position but no one lingered on the fact. She shook her head. She knew what were to happen and she could end it here—

She took in a sharp inhale. 

At long last, she reached his chambers. She pressed her hand over the smooth door frame and shut her eyes for a brief moment. Not once had she been invited in although it ought to have been the other way around. Memories of a hopeless girl who once believed that love could be obtained. It had been quickly crushed. She fought back the urge to laugh as she stepped into his bedroom.

Was he a deep sleeper or a light one?

It didn't matter to her—she would prefer that he would be awake for this moment. Better yet if he screamed so she could hear it. She took into account her surroundings. Moonlight spilled into the room, it casted the man's personal sanctuary in its silver glow and revealed him. Alexander Harstmichdt who was fast asleep. Slumbering, peaceful and perhaps dreaming. She wondered who was in such dreams or if he ever had a nightmare because of hers?

She crept towards him with purpose, athirst and restlessness in her veins that sparked her to fire and lightning. She bolted towards him and finally made acquaintance with his bed as she carefully got on top of it. Her knees made contact with the softness of his mattress and enjoyed his smooth blankets.

He was a sleeping beauty. 

She hovered above him, kneeling only for this one time as she observed him. The golden hair that framed his handsome features. She could imagine his blue eyes gazing at her. His lips that rarely smiled if not for the necessity it brought—the beloved, beautiful and adored man. The King of Hearts.

Would it have been an opportunity to see his eyes open for one final time—this traitorous man? No, he would have no chance for betrayal at all. She leaned closer towards him and smiled, her breath fanned over to his ear, tickled his earlobe. A gesture that might have been intimate for lovers, "Your Majesty, wake up."

Her hand trailed on his chest as she searched for the sound of his beating heart.

"Ah, there it is," She sighed in relief. Perhaps he wasn't as heartless as she was afraid he would have been.

Now that she had located it—she struck.

And before she could even move back, she felt his body jerk and a strangled sound escaped his throat. Warmth filled her hands as she drew back, a little disappointment flickering into her chest. He hadn't even opened his eyes—only a contorted expression of pain in his features was all that he gave.

As he choked up in perhaps the last attempts to live, she watched him dye his clothes in deep crimson. She got up and stepped away from him. He fell too quickly, too smoothly. She tugged her knife, paused one moment and twisted it and felt something throbbing in the tip of her blade. She slashed it once more—before finally pulling the knife back. Red glimmered with silver under the light of the moon.

The deed was done.

She felt a strange sensation in her chest as she watched the person in his bed, his blood in her hands and now on the carpet. Rosalyn Lockhart dropped the knife wordlessly to the floor and stared at her own hands.

She had killed him.

She had done this out of her own volition and strength. With her own power. This… she should have done this far earlier, didn't she? Why did she hesitate before? Wouldn't they be proud that their daughter ensured their right to the throne? Even if it wasn't him, she was still a Lockhart too.

If only there was someone here to congratulate her. What would be her Knight's reaction? She didn't want his approval, he had given it in heaps. A bitter smile formed on her face.

"Well done." Something like that.

Another trail of goosebumps spread across her skin. It was cold. Why was there a draft in this room? Perhaps it was a moment of clarity that seized her as she turned around. In time to see the sight of a blade coming down upon her—