Elle was wholly disappointed; she had expected to feel much more...satisfied than she was. After years of daydreaming, planning, preparations; almost the whole of her adolescent life spent entirely consumed by the passions to which she had just given vent. And yet, she still felt...somewhat empty. She still recalled every single second leading up to the climactic moment; slinking through corridors alone, heart racing with excitement as the adrenalin surged through her, creeping silently into the dark bedroom. Even now the excitement of those events was embedded into her memory, and she found herself shaking at the recollection of them; the deed itself, however, seemed to pass away into the night - almost as if it hadn't happened at all.
Except that it had; the blood stains were mute evidence of that. She had been warned that it might be this way, that afterwards she might feel disillusioned; that the disappointment was so common, it might as well be described as universal. But not for me, she had thought. I'll remember this moment forever; and yet now she found herself almost wishing that she could forget it.
She heard voices in the room to her right, and she stopped walking and pressed her back up against the wall. As she crept closer to the doorway, Elle dropped quietly to her knees and waited; the night was black, empty, and chill. There was no wind tonight, thank the gods - it was cold enough on winter nights without the biting of a northern wind - and no other sounds in the hallway this late, so she could hear them clearly enough; she crept up to the door and watched the sliver of sputtering candle light creep across the stone floors.
"Thomis, I said no!"
"You said that last time, as well; but by the end, I wager I'll have you saying 'yes' again."
"Last time was a mistake; my husband is due back in the morning-"
"All the more reason to cherish our moments together."
The candle light faded away, and the voices with them; Elle was all too sure of what the interrupted hiatus meant, but she was equally sure that they would no longer be interested in what was happening outside of their room. At least, not for the next ten to fifteen minutes; or less, depending on Thomis' stamina. Elle was inclined to think that it would actually be well short of ten minutes, probably nearer to three; regardless, that was more than enough time for her. By then, she would be well out of earshot.
She continued on into the night, moving quickly on her soft, bare feet. It took her another ten minutes to reach her own quarters; it felt like ten hours. Every sound, every glimmer of moonlight through the window panes, seemed to harbor some unseen foe. Elle traveled with her hand firmly grasping the knife that had been given to her, and which she now kept strapped to her upper thigh; she did not want to have to use it, but was well aware of what could happen if she was caught in such a compromising situation. She was determined to prevent it.
Elle entered her quarters, closing the door as quickly as she could while also being mindful not to make any sound. She dashed from the door to her chest of drawers, and flung it open; and stared in shock.
"What the hell?"
She had spent months preparing the exact items she would need for her trip north, and had stored them all in the bottom drawer, which was now completely empty. No longer worried about being overheard, Elle tore through the other drawers, in the hopes that she might find something: the map that Robert had prepared for her, the coin purse, a small supply of food and water. None; they were all missing. She started to panic, when suddenly she remembered: she had packed them all that morning into a knapsack which she had then stored underneath her bed. She ran to the bed and knelt down, nearly jumping underneath it in her haste to find the precious bag.
There it was: nestled up against the far wall. She grabbed it with both hands and pulled it out, then wrapped her harms around it as she sat up against the straw-filled mattress, rocking it back and forth like it was a child. After a few moments of heavy breathing, she was finally able to calm down; and then she began to laugh. The disappointment she had been told to expect; but no one mentioned the possibility of her turning into some sort of a frantic, simple-minded idiot.
It was just the excess adrenaline, combined with the emotional shock she had just put herself through, which robbed her of her good sense for a moment. She pulled the water-skin from the bag and drank fully half of it before returning it to her sack. It was then, after Elle had calmed down and recovered her sanity, that she pulled the knife from the leather sheath tied to her leg, and examined it. It was not a work of art, to be sure; it was a simple, unadorned weapon designed for utility, such as any common cutpurse might use. But it was precious to her for other intensely personal reasons. It was the first knife she stole after being orphaned, just over a decade ago; and it was now a gateway to all of her memories of this night. She stared at the blood coating the blade, and remembered how his throat had whistled when she sliced it open. The carpenter's saw she had used to sever the wretch's head off had been thrown out of the window, but the knife? She would keep this always. She wasn't even going to clean the blade; she would never use it again. It was a priceless artifact now, the knife that killed the crown prince.
She threw the bag over her shoulder and climbed out the window, and down the rope ladder she had placed there earlier that night. Awaiting Elle on the ground was a horse; she mounted, and rode away at a steady trot, still trying not to make too much noise. In the West, the sun was beginning to rise; the gates out of the city will be opening just as she arrived, and she would be miles from the Black Hall when the bastard King came to wake his bastard son.
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