Before we start: jesus fuck im sorry i have no idea what this is or whats going on. It was supposed to be ~1000 words but??? That sure didn't happen lmao

This was meant to be for the whole "new years" shit but that also did not happen.

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Masquerades aren't Luke's thing. They never were, and they never will be. He doesn't like the idea of getting dressed up all nice in those stupid, tight suits or having to wear some big fancy mask that he'll probably never wear again. Unfortunately for him, his job states that attending one of these god forsaken parties is exactly what Luke must do. He's currently in a small shop, getting a suit tailored by one of the many people working for the kings of this kingdom.

He watches as the tailor, a nice man named Evan, quietly works on the finishing touches of Luke's suit.  A simple red suit with black and gold accents is what Luke's going to be wearing, Evan adjusting the seams and making sure everything fits properly.

“You look great, sir. Coming to the ball tonight, I assume?” Evan smiles warmly at Luke, who nods quietly in response.

“Yeah. They… they're not really my thing,” he admits quietly. “But you know how it is, work and all. An acquaintance wants me there, so I'm kinda stuck going whether I want to or not.”

Evan, thankfully, doesn't question what his job is or why it involves him having to be at the ball tonight. Which is good for Luke, because he doesn't know how he would dare explain himself to the poor tailor. He's not even from this kingdom.

They finish up in some twenty minutes or so. Luke is thankful to be out of there- it's rather scary- and goes to his small home in the village. It's no castle, but home is home regardless of how it looks.

Luke sits at his table, grabbing a jug of beer and chugging it with no shame. He closes his eyes when done, resting his head on the table. He doesn't know if he's able to do this.

He's not a coward, but he's not an idiot either. A ball has too many risks and not enough safety. Not enough privacy. He takes a deep breath, trying to relax himself.

Luke has to force himself to stand up, wobbling over to his bed where the tailored, brand new suit lays, wrapped up in a piece of cloth to keep it clean and dry.

He lifts it up with shaky hands, pulling the cover off. Luke doesn't have much time before the ball starts, and being late is not an option. The townspeople see everything and Luke has a reputation to keep.

He takes off his clothes, all worn and slightly dirty, and changes into his suit. Turning to the mirror along the wall, Luke is surprised by what he sees. The vivid crimson red contrasts nicely with the black undershirt, and the gold hems along the collar and buttons bring out a little shimmer. It fits him snugly, showing off his broad shoulders and light brown, almost reddish hair.

He takes the mask the man had sent him and puts it on his face. The majority of it is the same stunning red as his suit, the top corners curling up into two black horns. The holes for the eyes are outlined with gold, and Luke is stunned by the relative simplicity of it.

Who would've thought a nobleman could ever understand the concept of simple clothing? Though he'll surely stick out with a red suit like this, it's going much better than expected. He grabs himself his nicer pair of shoes, slipping them on. He also makes sure to slip a nice, clean, small dagger into his pocket. He'll need it for later.

The party is in full swing an hour later, the two kings at the center of it all. Luke decides now is the best time to go in for the kill, while everyone is lost in their alcohol and dancing. He pushes his way through the crowd, a sea of pompous assholes and the overwhelming scent of just... people. It smells like rich people here, and Luke doesn't like it one bit.

He continues walking through the crowd. There are some ladies over in the corner gazing at him and whispering to each other, though (as selfish as it sounds) Luke can't blame them. He's got more muscle and humanity in his left hand than the majority of the other men in here. Then again, that's just what happens when you haven't worked a day in your life.

It isn't until he's tapped on the shoulder, pulled into speaking to another man, that he begins to realize his job will be harder than he thought. A familiar man with dark brown, almost black hair is smiling at him, his dull blue suit making him seem almost malicious.

"Luke, what brings you here?" He speaks from under the mask, a simple, faded white one that matches his suit surprisingly well. "You're not the kind of guy to show up to these. Doesn't your job keep you busy?"

Luke bites his tongue. "This is my job, Jon. Don't you have some dragons to kill or some bull like that?"

The only response he gets is a smile and a calloused, battle-scarred hand patting him on the back. "Good luck," Jonathan says sweetly. He's gone in an instant, and Luke feels like an idiot for being rude to the only person who might've been willing to keep him company.

He has to settle for wandering aimlessly through the crowd, ignoring the faint whispering that follows him around. Luke is new to the crowd here. This obviously makes him perfect for gossip, especially considering how that's all the rich people in this kingdom ever do. At least the kings have something productive to do, unlike these rich assholes.

Luke continues to wander the ballroom, searching for his target. There's a bunch of people sitting at tables, laughing and chatting happily. They're all clearly intoxicated, which is why Luke carelessly snatches one of their drinks and downs it all. He can feel the slightest buzz coursing through his body, and it gives him enough courage to continue on with his task for tonight. He can already tell that this is going to be rough.

The gleam of a crown quickly forces his thoughts away. Standing by the thrones is one of the kings, and this king easily catches his eye. There's a silver robe around him, and an elegant forest green suit on his body that shows off dazzling hazel eyes. The same eyes rake over Luke as he approaches, a curious, almost sultry look coming his way. Luke is instantly captivated by this, and finds his chest swelling with pride as the other flushes lightly upon realizing he's been caught staring.

"For a king, you've got some pretty shitty manners," Luke teases, now close enough to the king to speak at a normal volume. Though it's normally considered rude to speak to a king in such a way, Luke, feels that it's an appropriate response to catching the other checking him out. Luke bows politely (because first impressions are everything ), flashing the king a smug grin. "You'd think all this money could buy you some lessons in general etiquette, hm?"

The king, to Luke's surprise, rolls his eyes, smiles, and crosses his arms. "Ha ha. Very funny, Sir..."

"Luke," Luke finishes. "My name is Luke, and I'm a hunter from down south."

The king's expression falters briefly before going back to the graceful smile he had before. This worries Luke. Did he mess up by teasing royalty?

"A hunter, you say?" The king's smile, seemingly innocent moments before, morphs into a wicked grin. "That explains the muscles. What do you hunt to gain such a figure?" The king reaches out, gently placing his hand on Luke's shoulder, eyes grazing across his body with a kind of interest that excites Luke.  

It makes him shrug nonchalantly, now standing up straight. "Well, you know. I hunt the bigger game, I suppose."

Humans count as bigger animals, right? It's not a complete lie, though Luke's not even sure why he's so worried about this in the first place. It's not like it's the first time he's ever lied to royalty. It just feels wrong to lie to such a lovely face. He glances quickly around the ballroom, an idea coming to him as he hears a new song starting up.

"Would you like to dance, my King?" Luke takes the king's hand off his body and into his own, placing a light kiss on it. It's simple, efficient, and makes the pretty king flush the faintest of reds.

He begins to shake his head, stepping away slightly. "No, no, I- I'm alright. The people wouldn't, uh, take too kindly to such an act," the king says, voice strained. He smiles politely, almost automatically bowing his head in recognition. "I appreciate your offer, though, kind sir."

Luke doesn't take no for an answer, especially not right now when he's so close to getting the job done. "Well," he says slowly, thinking his options through, "In that case, Your Majesty, why don't we go out somewhere more secluded? I'm sure you have plenty of rooms in a castle so grand."

The king is actually thinking this over, Luke realizes. The way he glances around the room and back at Luke gives it all away, and Luke's ego is bursting with pride because of it. It's not every day Luke can sneak off with someone this cute, let alone one of royal blood.

"Fine," comes a defeated sigh. The smaller king begins to lead Luke away, walking with the proud elegance only a monarch could possess. "Follow me, okay?"

Luke does exactly as asked and is led to the back of the ballroom, out a door and up some stairs. They enter a big, ornate bedroom, the wooden door clicking shut behind them almost silently. Luke sits himself on a big, silk covered bed, and then looks up at the king.

"Eager, aren't we?"

The king glares at him, his face more expressive than ever now that they're in private. "Hush. I only brought you up here because-”

Luke cuts him off by pulling him close and covering his mouth with his hand “Tell me your name before you berate me like one of your bitches, Your Majesty.”

“And why should I do that, hm? A man of status like mine shouldn't be giving my name out to strangers,” he teases. It's a wonder Luke's foul language doesn't upset him. “You should already know who I am, Mr. Luke!”

“Well, excuse me, but I'm not from here. If I was, I'm sure I'd remember a pretty face like yours ruling over me.” This is easily the highlight of Luke's day. He’s able to grab a pretty king by the wrist and tease him as they sit alone in a bedroom. He'd also love to hold this king, to pull him close, kiss him all night long and forget about his worries.

The king looks him over again, a coy look in his eye despite the blush on his face. “Well… if I tell you my name, Mr. Luke, then you have to promise me something.”

Luke raises an eyebrow at the suggestive tone. “What is it?”

The king steps forwards, reaching out and gently pushing him backwards while climbing on top of him. “If I tell you my name, you have to promise me that you'll be saying it all night long,” he says, and holy shit he's practically purring into his ear. When did his voice get so husky and low?

Luke shivers at the sound of the other's voice. That voice is one he'll gladly listen to, one he wants to hear for every waking second of his life. He can't stop himself from grinning at the offer, shamelessly moving his hands up to grab at the king's glorious ass. “I'll say your name for as long as you'd like, my king. Anything for you.”

“Well then,” the other says with a chuckle, hands sliding along Luke's torso and up his shirt. “I am King Ryan, and for tonight I'm the one in charge, and you will refer to me as Ryan and only Ryan, understand?” Ryan doesn't wait for a response, his hands making quick work of Luke's jacket and shirt. They're both thrown carelessly onto the floor, and lips are suddenly attached to his jaw.

Luke doesn't dare complain. He pulls the robe off of Ryan with a chuckle. “Yes, Ryan. Whatever you want, I will gladly do for you.”

“Oh? Anything I want?” Ryan's voice is now a low, seductive tone, one that perfectly matches the devious little smirk on his face. “How about you slide on down and-”

Clink. Something small taps against the window to the bedroom, startling them both. Luke turns towards it in confusion. Nothing seems to be there, but another small clack from outside seems to say otherwise. This makes him gently push Ryan back onto the bed, and walk over to the window. If someone was to attack, it's better some shitty hunter be killed than a king.

Thankfully for them, there's no killer. Just Jonathan throwing rocks at the window from the ground, two stories down. Luke wants to yell at Jon for being so fucking stupid like this, he really does, but the beautiful king sitting in the room with him probably wouldn't like that. He stays quiet, narrowing his eyes and trying to convey some kind of confusion.

Jonathan makes a single, slicing motion across his neck with his finger, and just like that, reality hits Luke like a brick.

He hasn't done his job. The ball will be ending soon. He has to finish this, no matter how much he does or doesn't want to. Cold, icy hands are suddenly clawing at his chest, filling him with a painful sort of dread. Luke doesn't know how to get out of this situation without doing as he was told.

He feels arms lightly wrap around his waist, a head leaning against his shoulder. “Hey,” Ryan murmurs. “You okay? You don't look too good.”

“Can't do this,” is all that comes out of Luke's mouth, and how it manages to come out in the first place is beyond him. The dagger in his pocket, the one he completely forgot about, feels like it's stabbing into his chest, sheath and all. He wants to melt back into the arms of the pretty man behind him, to close his eyes and sink into the bed with him, but he can't. Luke is supposed to be killing the king, not doing whatever this is.

Another soft click of a pebble hitting the wall outside makes Luke's heart pound erratically in his chest. There's no way he's getting out of this, and no words to describe how badly Luke wishes he could. He has to end this, and the only way it can end is with the most dazzling person he's ever met being stabbed and left to die. Running away isn't an option, because the one who called the hit will hunt him down with ease, and this sickens Luke to his very core.

A kiss is pressed to his jaw, interrupting his lament, and hands wrap his jacket back around his shoulders. “Alright then, Luke,” King Ryan says. His voice is smooth, soft and kind, and it sends a disgustingly sweet chill through him. “If you're feeling sick, then why don't you lay down? I'll call for a maid to fetch the royal doctor- the best in the land, I promise you!”

Warm, gentle hands grasp him by the shoulders, leading Luke back to the bed. He's gently pushed into a sitting position, his dagger digging harshly into his thigh. How he hadn't noticed the feeling before is a mystery to him. His mind is running faster than he can process, filled with desperate solutions to the inevitable.

Ryan is moving towards the door. Luke's body screams at him to move, to act, to kill. One of them is going to die today, whether its to Luke's dagger or Jonathan's anger.  He can't let Ryan open the door. If he calls someone, Luke won't be able to do his job or get away safely. Luke tries desperately to come up with something, with anything to keep Ryan from opening the door and calling his servants. 

It's too late. 

The door is pulled open. He panics, standing up and running towards the king. There's a glint of metal shining in the light, and a familiar red Luke has become so used to. His free hand reaches around the other, covering his mouth to muffle whatever Ryan is saying.

Luke plunges his blade into Ryan's chest quickly, dragging him backwards. He can hear Ryan's faint, pained cry, and feels a wet warmth coming from Ryan's body. He twists and turns his wrist, doing his best to ignore the muffled screams of agony as he tries to get this over with. The dagger is forced out, and then shoved back into his body, this time into his side. He forces it in as deep as he can manage, until his knuckles are digging into Ryan's waist and his hands are covered in blood.

He yanks the dagger out with trembling hands, throwing Ryan harshly onto the bed. Luke tries to look away. His job is done. Luke killed the king. Why is he so tense, then?

The hurt, dazed stare coming from Ryan, bloodied and dying, sends another wave of guilt throughout Luke. How could he let himself do this? What got into him to make him think that flirting with his target would…

No, he tells himself. He can't mourn. Not here, not now, not ever. Luke hastily shoves the dagger back into his pocket, taking a deep breath as he stumbles backwards. He has to leave before his own stupidity makes this any worse. Without sparing the dying king another glance, Luke runs out of the room. None of the servants question him, or even notice him. The other king doesn't spare him a glance.

The ballroom is crowded and stuffy, so much worse than before. These people don't know what happened, or what's going to come because of Luke. Their king is dead, and they don't even know it yet. How sad , he thinks with a broken, half-hearted laugh.

It's much colder outside than it was earlier today. The icy wind gnaws at Luke's body, but he feels nothing. There's just the air forcing its way into his lungs, and the burn of his legs from running so quickly. He sprints back to where horses and carriages are, carelessly jumping onto a horse and riding away. The house he's staying in isn't very far. He can go, get his belongings and leave this place.

Luke jumps off the horse, forcing his door open. His body hurts, his head is a mess, and his heart feels like it's about to burst. He hates this feeling, whatever it may be, and it's this hatred that makes him turn and punch his table angrily. It cracks, splinters digging into Luke's fists, and leaves a red stain on the table.

“You're an idiot, Luke, you know that?” A cold, maddened laugh echoes from behind him. Luke swings at the person reflexively, but his fist is caught in a calloused hand.

Jonathan is here, grinning at him like the madman he is. Luke glares at him furiously. “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” comes a chuckle. “Just thought I'd remind you of our deal.”

“So what?! I did my end, what about it?” Luke's hand twitches, reaching for his pocket.

Jonathan smirks deviously. “But you didn't,” he says smugly. “You killed the wrong one, Luke. You put yourself through all that bullshit, and you didn't even kill the right one!”

Luke freezes in place. He stares at Jonathan in disbelief, his whole world having come to a stop. “You're- you're kidding me. You said to kill the king. You never said which one-”

“Oh, I know,” Jonathan says. He shrugs, as if this is the most normal thing in the world. “I just thought that when I said the blonde one, you would get the hint that I wanted the blonde one dead.”

Luke has no words. There are far too many emotions running through him right now. His hands are shaking once again, and the urge to slit Jonathan's throat is growing by the second.

“I will say, though, you did a good job. King Ryan was always a damn whore, bringing people into the guest chambers all the time. I bet he invited you in like it was nothing,” Jon continues. “Good riddance, am I right?”

The dagger is suddenly flying through the air, and it isn't until it makes contact with the table that Luke realizes what he's done. Jonathan just laughs it off, as if he hadn't been attacked at all.

“Ooh, someone's angry. Why you so angry, Luke? I'm just telling the truth!”

“Get out of my house,” Luke hisses, fists clenched tightly around his knife. “The deal's off, now fuck off.”

Jonathan cackles, the same crazed laugh that Luke's grown to resent. “But the damn- the damn deal is already done! You killed a king! There's nothing to cancel!”

“Then go away. You have no reason to stick around, so why stay?”

“Because,” Jon laughs. “I like you, Luke. You're pretty funny, you know that? You're like an angry child. I love it.”

Without any real thought, Luke swings his fist into Jonathan's smug grin. Jonathan stumbles back, looking thoroughly offended. He makes a low, angered growl, then lunges at Luke.

Luke doesn't get the chance to fight back. Something hard and wooden comes at his head before he realizes it, and then his world is quickly overcome by darkness as he falls to the floor.