Shadows in the Night

The night was deepening, shrouding the castle in darkness as Arthur and Leslie retreated to their private chambers, the sounds of celebration still echoing in the distance. Exhausted yet exhilarated, Arthur took a moment to appreciate the warmth of the flickering candlelight and the soft glow of Leslie's presence beside him.

"Today was perfect," Leslie said, her voice a soothing balm against the lingering stress of their kingdom's plight. "You brought joy to the people, Arthur."

He smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "I couldn't have done it without you. You remind me of what we're fighting for—the love, the happiness, the future."

As they settled into the evening, a shadow slipped unnoticed through the castle grounds—Nightcrawler, the assassin cloaked in darkness. He was a figure of legend, known for his stealth and cunning. With each silent step, he moved like a ghost, his keen eyes scanning the courtyard as the festivities began to wind down.

Nightcrawler had a singular focus tonight: John, Arthur's beloved younger brother. He was unaware of the danger that loomed, caught up in the excitement of the day, and that made him the perfect target.

Unbeknownst to Nightcrawler, however, he wasn't the only one watching. A pair of sharp eyes observed from a distance—Gawain, one of Arthur's trusted commanders, was assigned to guard John. He had sensed something amiss.

As Nightcrawler crept closer to his target, Gawain's instincts kicked in. He had been trained to protect the king and his family, and tonight, he felt an ominous presence that sent chills down his spine.

"Stay close, John!" Gawain shouted, his voice stern.

John turned, confusion etched on his face. "What's wrong?"

Before Gawain could answer, Nightcrawler vanished into the shadows, frustrated by the sudden change in the atmosphere. He had to reconsider his approach, but his mission had only just begun and he was only taking notes.

John was taken to his new chambers feet away from the Main Bedroom. That room used to belong to Arthur when he was young. Admirably, the five-year old chose to move into that room, to allow privacy for the newlyweds and to gain a quiet place for his studies.

As the evening wore on, Lancelot's son stood in the shadows, his brow furrowed in contemplation. He had watched the festivities with a mix of admiration and envy, longing for the power that his father wielded. With Arthur's marriage solidifying his claim to the throne, the young knight felt the stirrings of rebellion rise within him.

"I'll not be a pawn in their game," he muttered to himself, determination igniting a fire in his heart. "I will take what is rightfully mine."