5 Minute Romantasy: Oath

“Tsuren?” Fear laced his name.

Her ocean eyes narrowed to the gleaming sword, and her alabaster throat dimpled beneath the tip. A single rivulet of sweat raced from her hairline and down her jaw before plummeting to her chest.

The assassin panted, arm shaking with effort as he fought internally with his curse to not kill the one person he loved.

It wasn’t always like this. His mind flashed from the hilt he squeezed to the past. Elves like Ren rarely strayed from their domicile trees, mystical waterfalls, and magic, but he’d dreamed of greatness. What mistakes he made to end up here, not as a knight but as an assassin.

“Kneel.”

He knelt upon the crimson rug and counted the granules of dirt between the threads. His jaw clenched as he heard wine goblets clink together and the tyrant upon the throne laugh.

“I find myself in need of a table. Ren.”

Although his muscles tensed, the enchantment placed upon Ren seized control of his limbs effortlessly. He woodenly walked forward then dropped to hands and knees before King Grimbold. A shiver traveled down his spine as a wine goblet dripping with condensation was placed upon his back.

“If my wine spills, I’ll have Finnigan cut off an ear.”

Ren let out a breath as he held his tired body firm. Hours before, he was on horseback, galloping through a wheat field, hunting down his latest victim. Flecks of blood were still under his fingers. He could still smell the man’s nervous sweat. To be treated like a dog when he’d razed so many enemies of Grimbold’s kingdom curdled his blood. Ren wanted recompense for the travesties with which he tolerated.

But he wasn’t free.

He was Grimbold’s plaything, leashed with an asinine oath made by a younger version of himself that he’d foolishly given in earnest. That had been over fifty years ago. A blink in time for most elves but an eternal torment for Ren.

What felt like an hour passed before the king let out a sigh and removed the wine goblet from Ren’s back. “I tire of this. Finnigan?”

The other servant appeared in the edges of Ren’s vision. The spriggan shuffled close, grabbed the goblet, and hurried off to the kitchens. Unlike Ren, Finnigan knew to keep his eyes down and his hatred hidden.

“Rise, Ren. I have yet another task for you.”

He did so stiffly. King Grimbold passed him a square of parchment with but a single name. Ren blinked, rereading what was there, and felt his heart grow brittle.

“You’re the perfect man to do it,” the king said with a cruel laugh. “Go slay your bitch queen, Ren. She’s stood in my way long enough.”

The memory burned, even as he found himself back in Queen Niamh’s quarters, staring at her horrified face. His body quaked with restraint. His teeth ground together. Within Ren’s chest, his heart thumped frantically.

The part of him that loved her still wanted to reach out and brush damp blond curls away from her flushed cheeks. He wanted to kiss her full lips. Tangle his fingers into her hair. But his oath to Grimbold bound him to murder, and his entire body was poised to strike.

“Tsuren,” Niamh started, using a name he hadn’t heard since he abandoned elvish monotony and rode off into the night.

“Don’t,” he ground out. “Don’t use that name.”

Niamh swallowed, eyeing the blade once again. Her complexion paled. The blade pushed forward a little further. The queen’s breath hitched. It wouldn’t be much longer before Ren exerted himself by trying to halt his sword and he ruined an entire nation.

But his oath was a garrote around his throat. Either he killed Niamh or the curse killed him.

“My knight,” Queen Niamh tried again. “Remember what you told me when I first took the throne.”

Then she did something unthinkable. She stepped into the blade. The blade jerked in his grip, to stab, to divert. He couldn’t think of anything but to stop the attack. Ren yelled, ready to see her blood on his blade and hands, only for the sword to cut a shallow wound on her cheek. Suddenly, the sword hit the ground with a reverberating clang.

His heart battered his ribcage.

Wide-eyed, Niamh lifted a hand to her cheek.

Their breathing was equally ragged.

“You—” Ren couldn’t form the words he wanted to say. His mind raced. “You fool. I could have—”

Niamh’s lips contorted between pain and relief. “Did you remember?”

My queen, he once uttered, fist to his heart, I vow upon my life to never harm you. My life is yours.

How could he have forgotten?

Ren grasped her shoulders, pulling her close, and uttered, “I’m a danger to you, my queen,” before pressing his lips tenderly to the cut on her cheek.

She sighed. “It matters not. Stay with me.”

“I can’t,” Ren said as he pushed back to look into her blue eyes. At his reflection. Already, he saw the countdown on his life.

“Stay with me,” Niamh stated again, “and I’ll remove that curse upon you.”

Desperation seized him, and he almost said yes automatically. Yet the wiser half of him knew that Niamh had once chained him with knighthood. Kept him confined in the palace. What could he do? Trade one poisonous oath for another?

“I’m no knight, my lady,” he muttered, bending over to pick up his sword.

Niamh took a step back.

“Would you cage me a second time?” An unspoken threat moved within the pauses between Ren’s words.

“I learned my lesson. A bird must take flight. Stay with me like the old days tonight, and you can leave tomorrow to tell your king the task is finished.”

Ren blinked at the seriousness of her words. Her face. “I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

Then Niamh untied her silk belt and let her robe-like gown slide off her shoulders to the floor. She stood before him bare. Sheathing his blade, Tsuren began to follow him to her bedchamber.

“As you wish.”

In the morning, the guards remarked to one another about their queen’s rare curses in the darkness. They never noticed Ren slip out into the hall, cloaked and ready to ride. In one hand, he carried a message written by Niamh. It was time to pay Grimbold a visit.

*

I hope you enjoyed this flash romantasy. It’s loosely based on one of the first stories I ever wrote about an elf, a pixie, and a vampire… I think I’ve improved since that. Loving my work and want to fuel more stories? Please consider buying me a coffee and subscribing.

Pronunciation:

• Niamh = Neev or Nee-av
• Tsuren = Sue-wren