death doesn’t do room service ₪ cero;junghan
rgjunghan
hatred had a way of consuming cero until it was all he could breathe. the mere thought of anyone from the suryan court skipping into duuri territory twisted his gut and forced him to curl roughened hands into hardened fists. anger set alight nerves that were usually frozen over, covered with a layer of playful mystery and harmlessness.
but it was because of this hatred that he had contacted connections he would rarely use. with this war -- cero didn’t believe in a ceasefire -- raging on while those indulgent assholes were enjoying this festival, the security was tight in ways that they probably weren’t aware of. excursions (conducted during his own time) and patrolling while he was on duty meant that he could study and learn and plan, and tonight he would finally carry it out on his own.
it was easily to knock out a few guards; a friendly gesture went a long way when one wanted to fool idiots who didn’t know any better. cero took the least conspicuous way, feet landing upon the roof, allowing him to open the window to the room and sit upon the sill. the light was still on -- it was easier not to alarm its inhabitant. and, if his previous warnings served him well, she should have expected this to happen, one way or another.
“huh,” he uttered loudly, the knife that had been clutched so tightly now being played with, as if it was normal to do something as to climb into a stranger’s room with a weapon. “i didn’t know the princess cut her hair.”
