Silently, Felix slipped through the door, dagger held purposefully at his side. A glint at the corner of his eye and he hurriedly yet imperceptibly shook his cloak to cover the shine of metal. He listened in nervous anticipation, as the tremolo strings of the majestic Emperor’s Waltz hung on the air, accompanied by the graceful tap of the heeled shoes of women twirling in fanciful unison on the flagged stone floor, easily returning to the waiting support of the eager and expectant arms of their respected partners. He looked longingly at the couples, wishing in that instance that he could be apart of them, carefree, not so alone their essence quaked with the need to belong. He stayed to the wall, advancing slowly, while his stone faced expression kept would be dance partners at bay. His resolve set, nothing would deter him from his goal. The atmosphere quickly changed, as the orchestra played the opening strain of Fishman’s ‘Gypsy Waltz’. His face flashed a pained expression as the prince stood and entreated Mariette to dance. His job would be much more difficult, and for the briefest of instances, he grinned devilishly, the thought of regicide an aphrodisiac.
‘Merde,’ He intoned, as he watched two guards sauntered toward him, a show of casual nonchalance meant not to unnerve the guests, while transmitting their threat clearly to their quarry. He quickly stowed the dagger in its sheath at his hip, grateful his gloved hands masked his sweaty palms. He made his way toward his guards praying his mock indignation would adequately cover his fear of discovery. The guards, seeing his manner in reacting to their advance, were fast rethinking their move, and made a progressive halt before circling him. The head of the group, now directly facing him, bowed curtly and bid him a good evening, Felix cementing his effect with an icy supercilious stare before resuming his slow pace, approaching the buffet table, relief etched in the lines of his face, his back now to everyone. He considered running, of screaming to the happy gathering his treacherous intent. His mind took solace in his mission and its significance.
. . .
‘It is for the greater good that our prince must meet his demise, Felix.’ He looked incredulously at the robed man, for the first time in his thirty years dumbfounded. Rolande spoke with utter conviction of the prince’s guilt and betrayal, showing his intercepted correspondences to the pope. All the evidence led to one plausible conclusion: their prince was making arrangements to return the province to a Catholic faith, after a century of protestant harmony. Felix looked on in disbelief, as the monk detailed the Prince’s duplicity…
