The Rajad: In the Mountains of Aeyd by Linda Colin
The king, unable to breathe and gripped by panic, flailed his arms. Poisoned by its contents, he knocked over his goblet as he struggled to escape the bedcovers. Yet, as the toxin took effect, his arms fell slack, his features relaxed, and his body, having fought in vain, collapsed.
The murderer watched from the shadows as death claimed his king. The room stilled to the tick-tock of a clock. A candle sat burning on the bedside table. Bathed in its glimmer, King Aeythold lay slumped over the edge of his bed. The remains of his drink dripped from the nightstand to the floor like blood. Relieved that the king did not cry out, the assassin stepped from the darkness and fled the room.