'A Line of Blood.'

My red, leather-clad finger drew a line through the names. First born son to first born son, now connected, not just by the lines of the family tree, but by the blood that these hypocrites were oh so proud of.
          Turning, I leaned the small of my back against the magnificent, mahogany desk, that would have been passed down for generations. Holding the book at eye-level and to the right, I compared their version of the family tree to the one I had just created:

George. S. Seabourne

Born: January 10, 1941

First born son of Harold. M. Seabourne.

Mother: Evelyn Marie Samson

My eyes moved from the name on the page to it's physical embodiment. The once proud King of the Seabourne line now lay broken; his neck no longer able to support his head, let alone a crown. After all, even if he had become little more than a figure head in regards to the family business ventures, he was still King and it was still his crown.

          The shock of seeing me with my well-sharpened accomplice, paired with a cat underfoot and the corner of the imposing desk, had resulted in his paralysis and, thus, my opportunity to play executioner, without any royal pain.

          Dragging the fallen King to the other side of the room, I placed him directly across from the desk. The head of my family was now in place. My accomplice drew a line across the broken neck, and from it spilled that most treasured of liquids: Seabourne blood. I left it to spill. I needed to prepare for the arrival of the two names needed for the family tree: the Crown Prince and his recognised heir. I knew they would present more of a challenge, so preparation was necessary.
          I stretched fishing wire across the bottom of the doors, just high enough to cause an unsuspecting Seabourne to trip, I had to begin hiding additional knives around the room, when I heard a voice that stopped me cold. Her voice. Milly.