11
One evening, Prince Alaric appeared in my desolate east wing. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the spartan surroundings.
It was the first time he had ever come to me at night.
He dismissed the servants, looming over me. “I often wondered, Cassia,” he said, his voice a low drawl. “When would you finally break?”
If he could hear my thoughts, he’d hear a single, resounding word: [Psychopath].
He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“Why are you always like this, Cassia? That same stony face. So cold, so utterly devoid of charm.”
He leaned closer, his breath hot on my cheek. “But I must admit, I enjoy that pride of yours.”
“Bow your head for me, just once. Swear yourself to me, and I will protect you. Even if your family is destroyed, I can ensure you live, and live well.”
“Do you know what happens to the women of fallen houses? They are sold to brothels, Cassia. Put on display for any man with a few coins to
enjoy.”
I scoffed internally. The wife is never as tempting as the mistress, and the mistress never as thrilling as the one you steal. Men. Always chasing
novelty.
He already had his pure, white moon in Trista, yet he still wanted to taste something darker, even if it meant humiliating me to get it.
He was so certain I would fall to my knees and beg.
He was like a starving dog in winter, dangling a piece of juicy meat, just waiting for me to lunge.
“If Your Highness were to spend the night here,” I said, my voice steady, “wouldn’t the Lady Trista be… displeased?”
“What does her pleasure matter? I am the Prince. My favor is a gift I bestow as I see fit.”
A gift. He wasn’t even King yet, and already he believed his whims were law.
Alaric’s hands were on me then, pushing me back.
In that split second, a flash of steel.
From my sleeve, I drew a small, sharp dagger and slashed it across the back of his hand.
“CASSIA!”
He roared, his face contorted with rage. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and threw me to the ground.
My body ached from the impact, but the assault had stopped.
“I gave you a chance,” he seethed, cradling his bleeding hand. “Don’t blame me for what comes next.”
He stormed out of the east wing as abruptly as he had come.
I stared at the blood on my dagger, filled with a single, burning regret: that I hadn’t paid more attention to Damian’s weapons training. A few inches
higher, and I could have ended his line for good.
That night, the food sent to my rooms was nothing but watery broth and stale bread
That night, the food sent to my rooms was nothing but watery broth and stale bread.
Everyone in the palace knew. The Princess was finished.
