They’d both came to kill the king.

And they were both sure of the other’s intentions as they stood face to face, occupying the same hiding spot in the shadows behind the throne.

“Leave now, or else I’ll kill both you _and_ him,” the woman of the two threatened in a harsh whisper; she _needed_ to solidify her place in society as Queen, and she’d worked too relentlessly to be stopped now.

“Like you could ever be capable of doing that,” the man sneered back. He, like her, wanted the crown, and whoever could steal the king’s life would receive it swiftly on a silver platter.

“Don’t believe me? Let me demonstrate it for you,” she retorted, striding forward to strike the king, who’s back she could see sitting at ease on the throne in front of a small crowd of people. Unwilling to fall victim to failure, the man let his dagger fly towards her back, incapacitating her just as she sliced the neck of the unassuming king.

In spite of the droplets of red pooling from her mouth, she wouldn’t let herself die in vain, and, turning, she plunged the dagger she’d used to cut the king’s throat into the heart of the man, falling limp with him as they both tainted the white, marble floor.

Puddles of their blood seeped around the throne, and screams erupted from the crowd as the king tumbled down from his golden chair face first, all three of them left laying lifeless.