So….

Hello. I’m kinda in love with your writing. And I maybe wanted to see if you’d be interested in writing an assassin x servant (of whoever assassin was sent to kill) snippet. Idk it’s just a thought. If you want.

:)) have a good day/night

The servant awoke to the press of cold steel against their throat. The hand clamped on their mouth muffled to instinctual yelp.

The assassin's familiar eyes were dark like an oil slick, glinting in the moonlight as they fixed the servant with an incredulous glare.

The servant swallowed against the blade.

The last time they had been so close, the assassin's eyes were not glaring, but no less molten. They'd taken the servant's face in hands and kissed them - kissed them like they were the best thing in the world.

"I'm going to take my hand off your mouth," the assassin murmured. "Move or make a sound and I'll slit your throat. Do you understand?"

The servant managed the tiniest nod.

They'd known, they'd suspected, but tears still pricked the corners of their eyes.

The assassin's hand slid away and the servant drew in a shaky breath. They shouldn't have been startled, shouldn't have been hurt, but their heart still raced. Still broke.

"Where is the prince?" the assassin demanded.

"Not here."

The assassin gave them a scathing look.

The servant was, after all, in the prince's bed. Where a prince might reasonably be at three in the morning.

The last look, the kiss look, had been so intent and not scathing at all. They'd looked at the servant like they were wonderful. A sunrise. A hope.

The servant swallowed again, and licked their dry lips. "I'm the decoy. It's not - I didn't - we're not lovers." There was no good reason for them to explain, especially not to the assassin. Not after the assassin had tried to use them to get close to their master. Until the moment they'd woken up with the blade at their throat, they'd foolishly hoped...

The assassin studied their face.

"Push down the bedsheets," the assassin said. "Move slowly."

The servant did so, their own attention still locked on the assassin, waiting for the moment that the knife would cut through their skin and end it all. Information was the only reason to keep the servant alive, but even then...no good assassin would let a servant who had seen their face survive the night.

The assassin's stare raked over the servant's ill-fitting silk pyjamas; a copy of the prince's nightclothes. Their free hand skated down, double checking for weapons, and it was a touch the servant had daydreamed about only yesterday.

"A decoy." The assassin bit their lip. "They think I will kill you, thinking you the prince, and leave satisfied?"

"Yes." It came out a hoarse whisper. They shivered at the brush of cold air against their skin. They'd never slept in a bed so comfortable, so surely it wasn't the worst place to spend their last night.

They just wished...

Well. Wishing was stupid. They should have known better.

"I will not be satisfied." The assassin's words were a serpentine croon, and they traced the knife up the servant's throat to their cheek. "You are not my target."

"No." Despite everything, despite the fear, despite the knowledge they would die as so many did in the service of royal blood. "Just the key you were using to get to them. The tool." Disgust laced their voice. Disgust, fury, was better than hurt. The tear still blazed down their cheek.

The assassin's eyes flickered, but whatever the myriad emotions there, the servant couldn't read them.

"I enjoyed our time together," the assassin said. "More than I ever expected to. Who's idea was the decoy?"

"Mine."

That seemed to surprise the assassin. There was some satisfaction to that.

"You would be so blindly loyal to a prince who would let you die in his place? Who does not care for you?"

"As opposed to an assassin who would destroy stability in this kingdom and kill me like I'm nothing?"

The assassin's jaw clenched. "Not nothing."

"Just another drop of blood on your hands to get to what you want."

"Where. Is. The. Prince?"

"You'll have to kill me."

"I don't want to kill you!"

"Well, that seems like a failing for an assassin."

The assassin pressed the knife in a little deeper, before pulling back. They straightened, stepping out of the thin shard of moonlight, into the shadows of the grand room around them.

The servant stayed frozen, unsure what to do - they hadn't planned for the assassin to withdraw, to let them go. They'd known their foolish heart had put everyone at risk, and so they'd thought - hoped -

They squinted into the darkness, trying to adjust to it, to see if the assassin was still there or if they'd slipped silently away. Maybe the servant would never see them again. The servant wished that didn't make a terrible ache fill their chest, wished it didn't make their ragged breath catch.

Wishing, wishing, wishing. All the more useless wishing.

The assassin was still standing there, watching them, even if it was long past safe for them to linger.

"You're not nothing," the assassin said. "Not to me. Never to me."

Then, they were truly gone.

In the morning, the servant lied that the assassin had never turned up at all.