Cassandra (Book Two)

Chapter 5

Cassandra sat quietly on the bed opposite of Carter, who was searching through the drawers of shirts, deciding which would be best suited for a heist. Her eyes wandered onto his body, which seemed to have grown since last she'd seen him, or perhaps, it was larger because she'd actually taken the time to notice it. 

Once the perfect tunic, a loose-fitting, dark brown shirt with half-sleeves emerged from the depths of the drawer, Carter laid it aside. Then, he reached the bottom of his shirt and pulled it off over his head, revealing his toned, subtle muscular physique. 

Cassandra's eyes drank up the sight, not missing any detail from the defined lines to the perfect form fitting for an archer. Amidst her admiration, her breath caught in the throat when she spied the criss-cross marking etched onto his back. Scars reaching the length and width of his back covered his slightly bronzed skin.

Upon hearing her subtle gasp, Carter glanced away ashamed and replaced the shirt quickly. "A friendly reminder?" Cassandra inquired.

"They're gifts, at least that's what he calls them," Carter's deflated voice dragged through the air, revealing his grief at the memory. "He isn't always easy to get along with."

"I gathered that," She nodded slowly. "I thought your father was dead," she added solemnly.

"A person doesn't have to be dead physically to be dead emotionally."

"True," Cassandra stood up and placed a tender hand upon his shoulder, gaining Carter's attention. "I want to see them,"

"Why?" Carter hissed.

"I want to see the marks that tried to break you, but instead made you stronger."

Carter's eyes lingered on Cassandra, pondering her request, but at the sight of her sincerity, he was compelled to do as she asked, and turning around, he removed his shirt, displaying once again the awful marks of abuse. Cassandra's eyes widened, seeing the marred tissue up close. Each one was different, and yet the same. Her hand strayed onto one, and with a single finger, she traced along the ridge of skin.

Carter bristled at her touch but soon relaxed. "That one was made his belt." Cassandra found another one and fingered it, wincing at the rigid feeling of the unnatural heeling. "That one was with a whip,"

"Why," she breathed, coming to his side and turning him to face her.

His countenance screamed in agony, defeated only by the woman staring into his soul. "Because I wouldn't kill, or become hard like him."

With his chest in full view, Cassandra was startled to see the marks stretched around his body. Her finger drew across the scars across his chest before her eyes managed to connect with his. "How-" She couldn't finish the question. She had her own pain, and he had his, but she couldn't fathom walking through the hell he had at such a young age and still come out alive and unharmed- or was he?

"My mother was there for me." He breathed, watching Cassandra affectionately.

Cassandra caught the look in his eye, one she'd seen in all men when they saw her beauty. Quickly, she turned away and replaced her hand to her side. Not long after, she felt his hand gently cup the side of her cheek and redirect her attention to him. Their eyes locked, and Carter's eyes strayed to her lips.

Slowly, he leaned in. She followed instinctively, refusing to listen to the voice in her head, screaming at her to stop. Their lips were mere inches from each other. Her breathing escalated as she felt his breath trickle down her neck. 

A loud thud aroused them from the spell-binding moment. "I'm back!" Yelled Trent from the other room.

The duo exchanged glances, and albeit disappointed, Carter's hand fell from Cassandra's cheek, and he begrudgingly exited the room to speak with his father. Cassandra inhaled deeply before expelling a sigh. It was wrong. She couldn't be with him, nor did she want to. He'd get in the way with her duties, but so much of what he had was the strength of her weakness. The only problem was a growing one. He was becoming her weakness.

Recomposed, she entered the kitchen where the men were waiting, the plans sprawled on the table. When Cassandra arrived, Trent offered sarcastically, "I hope you're better tonight than last night."

"A day of rest can do wonders," She spat, glancing at the layout.

"I planned on your lady and me taking the heat. I will draw a distraction, and you'll take her with you. Reinforcements will come from the west wing. I trust you can handle a few guards?"

"Do you have any armor?"

"Some in the back, nothing fit for a lady." Trent scoffed.

"I'll make do," Cassandra answered cooly.

"Good. You'll take the extra soldiers and allow Carter to flee into the third room on the right. There will be a safe to your left a little way into the room. Get in, get the contents, and get out."

"What am I after?" Carter repeated.

"A small box. Should be the only thing in there. Your escape will be off the balcony just outside. I'll meet you below. You'll hand over the box, and we'll part ways." Trent stood with a smile, proud of his seemingly flawless scheme.

"How will Cassandra get out?" Carter inquired with a hint of concern.

"Balcony as well. The entire level has them. She can escape through the same one as you."

"Why are we taking the long way. We'd have better luck sneaking in through a window." Carter noted, to which Cassandra nodded.

"That's where I make good on my end of the bargain. The Lord will see me as the infiltrator, and temporarily call his dogs off you and put them on me."

"She was injured," Carter mentioned, remembering her sluggish behavior the other night. "She won't be able to climb the ropes without reinjuring herself."

"I'll be fine," Cassandra assured him sternly, closing the discussion.

"You got a good one, son," Trent snickered, elbowing his son in the side. "Maybe you learned something from your old man after all."

"Oh, yes, you know how to love them. You were so good to mom," Carter spat, finding the courage to face his face head-on.

A sickening slap echoed in the silent air causing Cassandra to grip the hilt of her returned sword, but she was uncertain if she should fight, or stay quiet. Carter took the hard hit and dabbed his mouth with his sleeve, spying the slight crimson staining it. Enraged, his breathing picked up, but he did nothing with it. After a minute in suffocating silence, Carter recomposed himself and again eyed his father.

"Grab your things, and let's go," Trent ordered calmly, gesturing to the arrows, sword, and picks. He strutted out of the door, and it was then that Cassandra spied the great sword sheathed across his back, and the many daggers lining his clothes. What caused her to worry was the seal on the sword he wore. It was a royal symbol, implying he'd received training or had enough to kill a royal guard. Suddenly, she realized just how dangerous he was, not only to herself but others.

Carter finally recomposed, jutted his head to the door. "Let's go." His voice was void of life, and the happy boy she saw him as was gone, replaced by the hardened criminal she knew he harbored. With his back turned, she reenvisioned the scars, imaging the sting of each one as metal connected with flesh and bone. She would have killed such a man long ago, but that was what she couldn't understand about Carter. He said he could steal anything, but truthfully, he couldn't steal back the life his father took.



Hi, Guys and Gals! Well, as always, I'd love to hear from you all, especially because- well, come on, they almost kissed! (giggles) So, anyway, I've been in Australia, which is why the updates are so random, but I will return to the states this Friday, and everything will go back to normal. Please don't forget to vote and comment.