~~The Murderer of all times
Prologue
      A shadow lurks in the night. It’s evil growing with every step, dodging protective eyes guarding the beloved castle. Taps of the heavy rain on the roof cover the light footsteps of this foul creature.
     Thunder rumbles, rolling across the land, a dagger flashes in the moonlight. A lone scream pierces through the marble halls, but is quickly silenced. The whole castle grows immediately darker with this death. The blood painting the walls. But this ruthless being is not done yet. The wicked man sneaks in to the king and queen’s bedroom, but the king is away on a foreign affair. The awful thing prowls slowly to the silken bed.
     Lightning flashes and for a second the beautiful queen glimpses the hideous face. Her eyes widen in awful recognition, the tears of fear and shock form at the bottom of her eyes. Her hands clutch the bed sheets, elevating her chest and inching it away as her breathing accelerates. She gasps, “Borin?”
     He smiles slowly, “hello, Martha.”  He looms over her, the insanity and rage shining brightly in his eyes. His dagger, covered in the princess’s blood, lifts deliberately in his hand. One drop of dark red blood falls from the blade and lands with a small splash on Martha’s forehead. She starts to cry, the tears flooding her face. Then Borin lunges, slicing Martha’s fragile neck.
     Martha doesn’t even have time to scream, only to gurgle in her own blood. Borin lifts the deadly knife and glides it across his cheek, coating it in their blood. Sighing, he closes his eyes in ecstasy. Borin smirks. Opening his black eyes, he lands them on Martha’s corpse, she was intended to be his bride until the king fell in love with her and took her away. Borin declares, “It’s a shame I had to kill her Martha. She was only thirteen, and she was such a pretty thing.      She would have made a good queen someday.” He then turns his ear to the wooden door hearing the thumps and stomps of the guards finally realizing what had happened. Borin looks to the window. Striding to it he opens the shutter with a creak to see his trusty horse readily waiting.
     He jumps and feels weightless for about five seconds until, of course, he lands with a thump and a groan. Then he was off riding as fast and invisible as the foul wraith he was.

    They say that when the king got home they could hear his mighty roar from even the farthest tips of his kingdom.

~~Chapter 1.The assignment
23 years later
 In the throne room the king that had been given so much grief all those years ago sits slumped, his head tipped back. His once violet eyes had faded drastically. His once bright blonde hair had bleached to a white and is now wildly unkempt. The king sighs and yells, “DAIN!”
The large gold and red doors at the entrance sweep open dramatically with a bang. A handsome figure cartwheels in, the man then stops and bows flinging his arm behind him. His chocolate hair tosses about wildly, dislodging from their fixed place. When Dain straightens he shakes his head, which forms his hair into the striking ruffled look.
The king is, once again, startled by the other man’s eyes. Which are a beautiful gold that seem to glow. Dain grins, mischief sparkles in his staggering twin orbs. “Yes, your majesty?” he says, drawing out majesty theatrically almost sarcastically.
The king chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Dain tell me, what day is today?”
Dain’s eyebrows draw together and he tilts his head back. Whipping out his dagger he places the tip on his nose and lets it go. Balancing it there he replies, “What kind of question is that? It’s- its- its –why its- what is it?” he snatches the dagger and nicks himself. Holding his finger to the small cut on the tip on his nose he looks at the king in question.
The king is trying very hard not to laugh and answers with a sudden sadness and seriousness, “this is the day my family was slaughtered.” Dain’s face sheds of all emotion like a mask being pulled on. He now knows why he was called in here, he was probably going to get an assignment. Dain nods sharply. “I know who did it,” continues the king. “It was Borin Weaver. He told me long before, that he would do something like that, to get back at me.” The king takes a wavering breath. Then his face fills with anger. “He has a son now, so I’m told. He is twenty.”   
Dain’s face is still expressionless, but the king’s, however, jerks to Dain in a sudden movement. His upper lip curls, “I want his blood, Dain. I want to know that he suffers as I do. After you kill him, I want you to bring me a vial of his blood.”
Dain nods sharply once again. He turns and strides out. Dain is in his job mode. No emotion. It is a requirement for his job. His job is that he is his king’s top assassin and at times, spy, when the situation calls for it.