Chapter 69: Midnight Assassin

Basil snapped awake, the nightmare lingering around him like cobwebs, the coppery taste of blood still coating his tongue, his lungs straining against the phantom weight of the wreckage with every breath. His chest rose and fell heavily as he stared into the darkness, his heart hammering against his ribs while cold sweat slicked the back of his neck. The steady beep... beep... beep... of the monitor slowly cut through the haze clouding his mind. It was the same nightmare all over again. Every single night since the crash, he found himself reliving some twisted variation of it.

Sometimes it began with the two of them fucking each other in a room before everything suddenly shifted and he found himself standing in the middle of the road, staring at Darius lying in a pool of blood. Other times it began inside the same car they had been riding in on the night of the accident, only for the dream to spiral into something far darker and more horrifying.

But somehow, they always ended the same way, with Darius covered in blood, staring at him with accusing eyes and blaming Basil for everything.

His longing for Darius and the crushing guilt he carried seemed locked in an endless battle inside his subconscious, twisting together until he could no longer tell where one ended and the other began. For a second, he simply lay there, trying to steady his breathing before his gaze slowly shifted toward the hospital bed.

In the dim, pale-green glow of the telemetry monitors, a silhouette leaned over Darius’s IV line. The figure wore sterile white scrubs, a surgical cap, and a blue medical mask. Their hands hovered over the Y-site of the drip tubing.

A plastic syringe glinted beneath the fluorescent strip above the headboard. Basil’s mind struggled to process what he was seeing. His exhausted brain refused to catch up. The room felt unreal and disorienting, the line between his lingering nightmare and reality blurring into a sickening haze. Am I still dreaming?

Then the stranger turned toward him.

His surgical mask concealed most of his face, leaving only a pair of dark eyes that widened in surprise. "Oh... Your Highness. You’re awake," the man said, momentarily startled.

Basil slowly sat up, his voice low and gravelly with sleep, yet edged with sudden danger.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

The man hesitated. "I thought you were asleep, Your Highness. I didn’t want to disturb you."

Basil rose from the sofa and took a slow step forward, his eyes never leaving the syringe. The lingering fog vanished, replaced by an icy, hyper-vigilant focus. "I said, what the hell do you think you’re doing?"

"Oh, I’m... I’m administering the late-night medication," the intruder replied, his voice flat and unnatural, trying too hard to sound routine. "It was ordered by Dr. Conor to ensure the prince doesn’t spike a fever overnight like—"

"Step away from him," Basil cut in sharply. His gaze swept over the man from head to toe. "He always gets his medication at six in the morning, and no doctor in this unit wears heavy steel-toed tactical boots under their scrubs." He glanced down at the man’s feet before lifting his gaze back to the masked face. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Now tell me who the hell you are."

The fake medic moved instantly. Realizing his cover was completely blown, he lunged forward, swinging his right hand down and driving the sharp needle directly toward Basil’s throat.

Basil barely reacted in time.

He caught the attacker’s wrist midair with both hands, the force of the strike jarring his joints. The syringe stopped mere inches from his neck.

He twisted hard, driving his thumb into the nerve cluster at the wrist, expecting the man to drop the weapon. The assassin hissed through clenched teeth but didn’t let go. Instead, he slammed his left forearm directly into Basil’s chest, throwing him backward against the wall.

The impact knocked the wind from Basil’s lungs, but he bounced off the hard surface and came back with a brutal right hook that caught the fake doctor square in the jaw through the paper mask.

The man grunted and staggered backward, clearly unprepared for the raw, unyielding strength of the prince. Basil had trained with the elite royal guard since childhood.

He was no spoiled royal sitting in a gilded tower.

"What is that?" Basil demanded, breathing hard as he circled the man, keeping himself strictly between the intruder and the bed, terrified that a stray blow might knock Darius off the bed. "Who sent you?" The attacker didn’t answer. He ducked low, tackling Basil around the waist and driving him hard to the linoleum floor.

The air left Basil’s lungs in a violent rush.

The assassin scrambled to his feet instantly, abandoning Basil and sprinting straight toward Darius’s bed, raising the syringe to plunge it directly into the central line port.

"No!" Basil roared as he lunged forward.

His fingers wrapped around the man’s ankle in a vice grip and yanked with every ounce of strength he had. The assassin lost his balance and crashed heavily onto his stomach, the syringe flying from his hand and skidding across the floor.

"Shit!" The man rolled and lashed out with a kick. His boot caught Basil across the shoulder.

Pain shot down Basil’s arm, but he refused to let go. Where were the guards? he thought, panic spiking through him. There were six armed royal guards posted directly outside the heavy suite doors. How in the world had anyone walked past them, and why weren’t they storming into the room with all the noise they were making?

The assassin kicked back again, this time thrashing wildly, his heavy boot catching Basil across the cheekbone. Pain exploded behind Basil’s eyes, the skin tearing beneath the impact, but he ignored it. He scrambled over the man’s back, wrapped an arm firmly around his neck, and drove him face-first into the ground. He pinned the man’s wrists behind his back with his knee, pressing his full weight down.

"Who the hell are you?" Basil gasped, his chest rising and falling violently as he glared down at the back of the man’s head. "Who sent you here? Why are you trying to hurt him? Answer me!"

No response came from the prisoner, only strained, raspy grunts as he twisted and bucked beneath Basil, desperately trying to throw him off. Basil tightened his hold around the man’s neck and pressed his knee harder into his wrists, forcing his arms flat against the floor.

Why would anyone want to hurt Darius?

He had barely entered royal life and shouldn’t pose a threat to anyone at all. Who wanted him dead badly enough to send an assassin into a hospital? Did that mean the hit-and-run hadn’t been an accident at all, but a deliberate attempt on Darius’s life?

The thought sent another wave of panic through Basil. He shoved the man’s wrists down harder, his muscles straining as the assassin continued to struggle violently beneath him. "Guards!"

He shouted desperately toward the hallway, his voice raw and echoing off the high ceiling. "Guards! Someone get the fucking hell in here!"

Silence answered him. No one came running. No footsteps thundered down the hallway. Not even a shout came from outside the room. A terrible realization crawled down his spine.

Something was definitely wrong.

Where had they all gone?

The assassin suddenly bucked beneath him, twisting his body violently as he tried to throw Basil off. He clearly hadn’t expected to be caught like this, and desperation fueled every movement. Basil gritted his teeth and shifted his weight, driving his knee harder into the man’s wrists and pinning him firmly against the floor.

"Stay the fuck down!" he growled.

The man struggled harder, his shoulders twisting as he tried to free one arm. Basil immediately tightened his hold around the man’s neck and pressed his knee down even harder, forcing him flat against the floor. Before the assassin could make another move, the hospital room’s double doors suddenly burst open.

Leo and Marcus charged into the room, their guns drawn, their chests heaving as if they had just sprinted up five flights of stairs. They froze for a split second, taking in the chaotic scene—the overturned medical tray, the syringe on the floor, and Basil kneeling over the pinned intruder, blood dripping from a cut on his cheek.

The two men exchanged a swift, guilty glance. They had taken a quick five-minute break in the adjacent maintenance corridor, a moment meant to lose themselves in each other after hours of grueling, tense perimeter watch. They hadn’t seen anyone slip past. The lookout Tractor had assigned to alert them hadn’t sent any warning.

Their short, hidden indulgence had almost cost the Reaper his life. Basil glared up at them, his eyes narrowing into cold, suspicious slits. "You two are still here? And where the hell did you get those guns?"

Leo winced and pointed toward the attacker. "This is exactly why we couldn’t leave."

Basil frowned. "What’s that supposed to mean?"