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The church spire was perhaps the windiest places you could find in this
small town. Not to mention the hardest to get to, or the most
uncomfortable to cling to. But Shay found keeping his balance here an
easy job. Besides it gave him a perfect view of Palais de Versailles
which was his next destination.
His assignment for the last year or so had been to track down Charles
Dorian, a high-profile Assassin working in France, and then eliminating
him. The Templar order had found it too difficult a task for the local
agents to take care of, so they had sent for the Irishman who had made
his name with near-impossible feats of stealth during his life. Some
called him lucky, Shay was quick to correct them.
Looking down at the bustling town and the Palais in the distance, he
found his target and leaped off the church spire into a nearby haystack,
then making his way down the winding alleys to his quarry. Working out
ways to assassinate Charles Dorian had taken painstakingly long, but
Shay believed he had found a chink the target's impenetrable defense. He
was to appear at a soir?e this afternoon in Palais de Versailles and
that presented an opportunity for Shay to get close to him.
He followed the street strewn with stalls to its end and spotted his
target making her way back towards the town's outskirts. No longer on
the market street, the crowds had died down and the prying eyes were no
longer covering every nook and cranny of the street. Quickening his pace
he took advantage of the quiet of the surroundings and caught up with
the woman he was following. He looked around for a split second to make
sure nobody was looking at him and then quickly grabbed her, muffling
her mouth with one hand and dragging her to the nearby back alley with
the other.
He examined his target, now unconscious. She was in her late thirties
and had long dark brown hair that was in a tight bun and hidden under a
simple hood. Her clothes consisted of a simple black maid's dress and
white apron, accompanied by black thick stockings. Her feet were clad in
simple black ankle-high lace-up boots which were slightly muddy from the
grime of the town streets. Covering the outfit was a long dark patterned
cloak with an attached hood. The pattern was intricate and indicated her
status as a maid of the royal household up in Palais de Versailles.
This was the very reason why she was now slumped over in this dark
alley, knocked out and with Shay inspecting her body. The Templar showed
recognition in his face as her eyes went over the maid's small nose, her
slightly rouged cheeks, her usually smiling, but now motionless mouth
and her weary wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. From his surveillance
he knew that this woman's name is Elle, she is a longstanding employee
of the palace and that she is usually the one to make those quick market
trips down to the town if anything was urgently needed. Shay threw a
glance towards a pouch that Elle was carrying - full of parsley this
time.
Shay sighed quickly and resolutely and began to unbuckle and unfasten
his various belts and weaponry, throwing them into a pile further down
the alley. Having unarmed himself, he didn't stop there but continued
with his long coat, his boots, his breeches, his shirt, leaving him
standing there naked. But it wasn't a lean man's naked body, but a
woman's, with smooth tanned skin, graceful hands and feet, a thin but
lean waistline and average-sized breasts that were topped with slightly
erect nipples. Under his clothes and equipment he had worn a female
bodysuit, giving him the body of a woman and allowing him to advance
with his plan more smoothly.
This man, with a woman's body now, began undressing the unconscious
woman opposite him. Shay removed her black ankle boots, one at a time,
making sure not to get her stockings dirty. He unfastened the cloak and
removed her hood revealing the maid's outfit underneath. Then he
followed by untying the apron and pulling her simple dress off. Elle was
now left wearing plain underwear and black stockings that were attached
to a garter belt. Shay unclipped the stockings and removed the garter.
With each clothing item removed it became clear that the body of the
Templar was an exact replica of the maid, down to every detail, from her
trimmed pubic area and round ass, to her perky breasts and erect
nipples.
After a moment of deliberation, Shay decided to keep the woman's
underwear on and instead turned to the small stack of removed clothes.
First he put on the garter belt and slowly rolled up each stocking,
reveling in the feeling of it. He clipped the tops to the garter and
then proceeded to pull on and lace up the boots. Then he put on the
black dress on the bare skin he was wearing - no need for underwear, in
fact it might be an advantage. He tied the apron and threw on the cloak,
now looking exactly like the maid from the neck down, but with his
grizzled face still on top.
This was going to be fixed in a minute. He delved into a satchel he had
thrown into his equipment pile and produced a floppy mass of hair and
skin-coloured material. It was a mask - a perfect replica of Elle's face
and head that Shay was now pulling over his head. He aligned his nose
and eyes with the mask and filled the masks lips with his own, making
them come to life. He smoothed down the neck of the mask so it would
seamlessly fit with the rest of the bodysuit and shook out her long dark
hair. He opened his eyes and in his place was now the exact image of
Elle, the maid from Palais de Versailles.
She quickly gathered up her hair, tied it to a bun and pulled her hood
up. The body of her double, she dragged to a small alcove, along with
his equipment, making sure both were out of sight. Lastly she attached a
simple bracer to her arm - a concealed blade. Then the maid, now
grinning slightly, made her way out of the alley, down the streets of
Versailles and up to the palace.
The walk was exhilarating to the assassin. He had to actively try to
retain from pleasuring herself as he followed the road. The feeling of
the stockings rubbing together, the bounce of her breast with each step
and the secret of not even wearing any underwear was getting her close
to the point of release. But what nearly tipped her over the edge was of
course the knowledge that all this was fake - the breasts, the face, the
hair - all just an intricate disguise to hide the assassin in plain
sight.
She reached the palace and made her way around to the servants gate and
through that to the servants quarters. The place was abuzz with the
preparations for the soir?e. There was the kitchen staff bustling about
with half-filled trays and jugs and produce and ingredients. The stable
staff was on edge from the sheer amount of horses they had to care for
this evening. And of course the general servants of the house, tasked
with various missions from fluffing cushions and curtains to making sure
that musicians and entertainers were at right place at the right time.
Mixed in with the regular staff were also some other handmaidens and
masters that the esteemed guests had taken with them - looking lost and
exasperated as they were trying to find their employer the right sort of
pear flavoured fizz or finding a seamstress for an impromptu attire
repair.
The assassin swerved between the staff and the laden trays and carts and
deposited the satchel of produce on a passing countertop. She made a
small stop at the cloakroom and discarded her hood and cloak as well as
swapping her boots out for some simple flats. Then, following the
winding corridors she made her way to the upper floors of the palace
where the guests were enjoying the endless hospitality of the lord. She
climbed the stairs and reached a luminous open hallway that was almost
empty, only a faint clamor of the guests could be heard through the
heavy doors at the end of the corridor. She was about to turn around to
search for her quarry elsewhere until she noticed him right there - one
of two people standing in the corridor. The man, identified now as
Charles Dorian was speaking to a young boy, most likely his son, for a
brief moment and then turned to walk towards a large door just near the
stairs that the assassin was hiding at.
"I thought this was going to be a lot harder than this," she thought.
She had made preparations to assume the identity of monsieur Dumas once
she had found her target, and then publicly assassinate Dorian to hit
two birds with one stone, but that seemed too reckless for now, her
primary mission was to eliminate the man that was swiftly moving towards
the assassin's location.
As Dorian was about to reach the heavy wooden doors leading out of the
hallway, he was tapped on the shoulder by a gentle hand. Turning around,
he was facing the beautiful visage of the assassin. Her face was partly
shining in the afternoon sunshine glowing through the immense windows
and her expression betrayed sadness and pity as their eyes met. Monsieur
Dorian smiled, but that smile quickly faded as he realised his
consciousness was swiftly fading. He glanced down to see a blade between
his ribs and all he could do was gasp.
"No..." he whispered and finally fell with the last image of his life
being the face of the pretty servant.
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