The Accidental Saint of the Kingdom

Chapter 2: The Accidental Bodyguard

The iron bars of the cage bit deep into the mahogany floorboards, pinning the assassin’s leg and the royal spy’s dignity in one fell swoop. The spy, a spindly man draped in the velvet livery of the Inner Court, pressed his back against the wall, clutching his quill as if it were a dagger.

Rhovek stood over them, his chest heaving. His heart, still trapped in the fragile, over-sensitive ribs of Dalmarys, fluttered like a panicked sparrow.

"Well," Rhovek muttered, his voice cold, "this is a mess."

The spy trembled, his quill snapping in his grip. "My Lord Dalmarys, I—I was merely conducting a standard, uh, royal census of the household. This is a misunderstanding."

Rhovek laughed, a sharp, jagged sound. He leaned in close, his hands curling into fists. Drag him out, his mind commanded. Beat the truth out of him.

But as he reached for the bars to hoist the spy up by his collar, his fingers went soft. His palms turned upward, his shoulders dropping into a posture of non-threatening concern.

"You’re bleeding," Rhovek hissed, his voice thick with a fake, unwanted empathy. "The bars... you’ve cut your arm, man."

"I... I have?" the spy stammered, looking down at his sleeve.

"Yes, you have," Rhovek snarled, his body literally pulling him toward the spy. His hands moved with terrifying, gentle precision, grasping the spy’s arm to inspect the superficial scratch. "Kervos! Get the medicinal kit! This man needs a bandage!"

Kervos had appeared in the doorway, his sword lowered, his jaw slightly unhinged as he surveyed the scene. "A bandage? My Lord, he was lurking behind your tapestry with a royal warrant. He’s an intruder."

"He is an injured guest of the state," Rhovek snapped, his face twisted in a silent scream of internal frustration. "Do as I say, Kervos. Now."

Kervos blinked, looking between the trapped, terrified spy and his master, whose hands were currently busy checking the pulse of the man who had been spying on him. "Right. The kit. Coming right up."

As the guard scrambled off, the spy looked up at Rhovek with wide, wet eyes. "My Lord, I didn't think... everyone said you were a heartless recluse. This is quite generous of you."

Rhovek leaned down, his face inches from the spy’s, his teeth gritted so hard his jaw ached. "Listen to me, you pathetic worm. I don’t care if you bleed out on the carpet. My nerves are just... sensitive. Don't take this as a sign of affection."

"Of course, My Lord," the spy whispered, bewildered. "You’re just... very humanitarian."

"I am a menace," Rhovek corrected.

Kervos returned with a silk cloth and a vial of salve. "Here, My Lord. I’ve alerted the house staff. They should be here shortly to clear up... whatever this is."

"Perfect," Rhovek muttered. "Just perfect."

As Kervos knelt to help with the bandage, a heavy, measured footfall echoed in the hallway. A man entered, his cloak embroidered with the crest of the Royal Ministry. Jorvath Seld. He stopped, his gaze sweeping from the cage to the sight of Rhovek, the supposed black sheep of the nobility, carefully dabbing ointment onto a royal official’s wrist.

"Lord Dalmarys?" Seld’s voice was like grinding stones. "What is the meaning of this? Why is my census-taker trapped in a cage?"

Rhovek stood up, wiping his hands on a napkin, his skin crawling with the need to apologize. "He was in the wrong place, Seld. My security systems are... temperamental. He tripped a wire."

Seld strode forward, his eyes narrowing at the scene. "And you are treating him? Even after he attempted to spy on your private dealings?"

"He’s a person," Rhovek said, the words tasting like ash. "Everyone deserves basic care. Even if they are pests."

Seld’s stern expression softened into something bordering on reverence. "They said you were cold, Dalmarys. That you were a drain on the city’s resources. But look at you. You catch a threat, and instead of executing him in the dark, you offer him medical aid. It’s... noble."

Rhovek felt his eye twitch. "Noble? It’s a chore. I wanted him in the dungeon, not on my carpet."

"A humble response," Seld said, nodding to his men behind him. "The city needs this kind of leadership, Rhovek. The King has been looking for signs that the younger nobility still cares for the common soul. You’ve just made a very powerful statement."

Rhovek turned his back to them, his shoulders hunched. A statement? I’m trying to keep my head down, not run for mayor. "Is there anything else, Seld? Or are you going to keep praising me for being a glorified nurse?"

Seld stepped closer, lowering his voice. "The King heard word of the gold you threw to the beggars this morning. And now, this. You’ve become a hero by noon, whether you like it or not. The capital is buzzing with the news."

"Great," Rhovek spat. "Is there a bounty on my head for being too kind now? Is that how this works?"

Seld laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "On the contrary. You’ve earned an invitation. The Royal Gala tomorrow night. The King wishes to personally acknowledge your... transformation."

Rhovek froze. The King’s dinner. The most secure vault in the city. The place where the crown jewels were displayed, guarded by every paranoid knight in the kingdom. It was the heist of a lifetime.

"A gala," Rhovek said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. "How interesting."

"I expect to see you there," Seld said, turning to lead his men out, the rescued spy stumbling along behind them. "Don't disappoint us, Dalmarys. Your new reputation is quite fragile."

Kervos waited until the room was empty before he stepped forward. "A gala? You? You’re going to be the toast of the town by dinner time, aren't you?"

Rhovek paced the room, his movements no longer clumsy but sharp, predatory. He looked at his hands, then at the secret panel, and finally at the invitation lying on the desk.

"Kervos," he said, his voice smooth as oil.

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Forget the vault. Forget the coins. We have a much bigger game to play."

"You want to go to the palace?" Kervos asked, his brow furrowed. "That’s suicide. You’ll be watched by everyone. Every lord, every spy, every assassin in the city will have their eyes on you."

Rhovek turned, a slow, dark grin spreading across his face. "Exactly. Who would suspect the 'noble, kind, reformed' heir of being the man who walks out with the King’s dinner plate—and everything else not nailed to the table?"

"You’re going to rob the King while he toasts your character?" Kervos asked, a hint of genuine alarm in his voice.

"I’m going to make him toast my character while I rob him blind," Rhovek corrected. "And if this body tries to act 'kind' again, I’ll find a way to break it. I’ve survived the slums, Kervos. I can survive a little bit of forced virtue."

"I hope you know what you’re doing," the guard murmured, his hand tightening on his sword hilt.

"I have no idea," Rhovek admitted, his eyes fixed on the invitation. "But it’s going to be the most fun I’ve had in thirty years."

He picked up the heavy parchment, the feel of it in his hands signaling the start of the end for the city’s peace. He didn't care about the reputation, the gala, or the King’s praise. He wanted the loot. And if he had to be a hero to get it, he would be the best damn hero the city had ever seen—right up until the moment he disappeared into the night with the crown jewels.

"Get the clothes ready, Kervos," Rhovek commanded, his tone final. "We have a performance to prepare for."