*Trigger Warning* - I never thought I'd preface one of my chapter with this, but here we are. I wanted to make sure you guys were aware that there's going to be some foul play (i.e. assault) in this chapter. It is disturbing. In fact, I disturbed myself writing it, but it's a part of Cassandra's story, and I couldn't leave it out as it play an important part in a chapter coming up. Well, without further ado. . .
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A shiver, that had nothing to do with the temperature, shook her body. It must be nearing midnight, and the sky would be fiercely dark, but she was blindfolded so her world was black, anyway.
"I had expected something a little more clever." Lord Fulsmith's—the Lord Chancellor's assistant—silky chuckle was like scraping fingernails on pewter, and Cassandra didn't try to veil her disgust. "Did you people really think Granger wouldn't warn me when the one person, who knew our plan, turned out to be alive? I've been waiting for you to show up at my door." Fingers stroked her arm. "I didn't imagine there would be something so. . .enticing involved."
Cassandra jerked away from his touch, eliciting only a laugh from him. She had nothing to say to him—even if she'd been ungagged. In fact, there wasn't much she could do but wait. She had to be on her toes in case a chance to escape presented itself.
The fleeting thought that Nickolas would save her had fled her mind along with the paralyzing grips of fear and despair. Nickolas had no idea how to find her or even where to start looking. She had only herself to rely upon.
She was going to die.
The knowledge had hit her the moment she'd thrown that shoe in a last, desperate attempt at escape. When she'd finally come to her senses in the violently rocking carriage, she'd realized it was the truth.
She'd almost cried at the realization. Honestly, it would have been so much easier to just throw it all down and give up. There wasn't anything she could do, anyway.
Then, in the midst of her near-despondency, her pride kicked in. Maybe this was the end, maybe there would be no 'after' for her, but that didn't mean she had to make it easy for them. Fulsmith could have killed her, but she was still alive. Obviously, there was some reason for that.
Defiance had followed, and when Fulsmith taunted her, her only response was an imperious inclination of her head. She sat with all the regality of a monarch, and next to her, his threats and taunts were cheap. She was a lady of high birth, and he was nothing more than the dirt beneath her feet.
"Don't worry, love. I like my possessions fiery: it gives me so much more entertainment when I'm mastering them." He leaned close, his fingers tracing the neckline of her gown from her bared shoulder to the swell of her breast.
Cassandra pulled away, gagging on his foul breath. Fulsmith was a much older man than she'd anticipated.When Nickolas and Julian had first begun talking about him, she'd imagined a young man in his lates twenties, desperate to prove himself in a harsh world. Instead, she'd been directed to a man in his late forties with unkempt hair, a bulbous nose and extravagantly fine clothes.
As they'd sat at the bar talking, she'd learned very little about him. She knew he felt slighted in some way by the higher powers, and to her surprise, she thought he said something about being dismissed from his prestigious position. Perhaps, that was the reason for his deception and betrayal?
A shout met her ears, and Fulsmith tensed beside her for a brief moment. A swell of hope and excitement flooded her heart. Had Nickolas somehow located her? Was he coming to save her? But no, that was impossible. Fulsmith had told her of the trap he'd set to eliminate Nickolas and Julian. As talented as Nickolas was, even he couldn't survived an explosion of the sort Fulsmith had described.
"Well, well, it seems it's time for you to sleep, my lovely." Fulsmith's voice was eerily close.
She tried to flinch away, but she was already touching the carriage wall, and there was nowhere else to go. A sickeningly sweet smell invaded her senses. She tried to hold her breath, but the scent was overpowering, and she could feel her mind shutting down. Nickolas's face was the last thing she envisioned before total darkness overtook her.
•>>><><<<•
When she woke, it was night again. Or still night. She wasn't really sure how much time had passed. There was a dull ache in her head from the blow she'd received at the pub, but she was no longer gagged or blindfolded.
She sat up slowly, pressing a palm to her temple. Her memory was fuzzy, and her mouth tasted metallic. Soft light was coming from somewhere, but she didn't have the mental capacity at present to locate the source.
Surprisingly, she felt sufficiently rested. Her very bones, however, ached from her rest on the hard floor. She rotated her head to relieve the pinch in her neck and stretched slowly and satisfactorily.
"It's a pleasure to see you awake."
The voice made her stiffen, and she whirled about, discovering the source of the light in Lord Fulsmith's hands. She glared at him fiercely.
"Oh, come now, you're not going to use that pretty mouth? We're alone, and the gag is gone. I remember you being very verbal in the pub." He grinned at her, his eyes scanning her body. She had been around enough men to know he wanted her, and badly at that.
Internally, she smiled. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to have so much power over an individual. Nickolas had always seemed impervious to her charms.
She shook herself mentally. Now was not the time to be distracted. She had the chance to prolong her existence right now, and she couldn't ignore it.
There was little doubt in her mind that Fulsmith would kill her if he discovered her true involvement in all this. She would die slowly, and they would get every piece of information she knew—as small and insignificant as it was—out of her. She got to her feet with regal grace.
"My mouth hurts." She said accusingly, leveling him with a glare. Her mouth felt rough and foreign. She swallowed heavily. "Your gag did that. And I'm thirsty."
"So many demands. I think I liked you better tied up." Fulsmith raised a brow.
"No, you liked me better in the pub." She corrected.
His eyes darkened slightly, and he looked her up and down again. His gaze stopped at breast level. "I could like you even better." He whet his lips. "If I hadn't known you to be a deceiving little temptress, we would have gotten on a lot better."
Cassandra swallowed her disgust at the meaning behind the words. Thankfully her self-preservation kicked in before she spouted off a retort. She had to tread carefully now.
"What do you mean?" She gave him her best innocent look.
"Don't give me that!' He said, suddenly ferocious.
He leapt toward her until they were almost touching. Cassandra didn't have to play act her fear. She scrambled backwards, struggling not to cry out as she stumbled to her feet.
"What kind of fool do you take me for, girl? Did you idiots really think I would travel alone? Did you imagine you could take information from me like I was nothing more than a babe in arms?" He grabbed her arm with surprised strength. "I didn't work my way into this position without learning to be aware of my surroundings, and your bodies won't be the first I leave behind me in my journey to the top. I've grasped every opportunity to rise up in life, and I'm not about to let some ill-plotted raid take it all from me."
His breath came in hoarse, ragged gasps and smelled putrid. Cassandra didn't acknowledge her disgust or fear. He was going to kill her, so she might as well make him remember her for her bravery.
"Look, all I was interested in was the twenty pounds!" She jerked away from him.
"What?" It was his turn to display a look of confusion.
"That's what that man offered me. I thought it'd be the easiest twenty I ever made. They never told me I'd get accused of. . .of. . .whatever you're accusing me of. I wasn't to ask questions or get involved more than they told me. I'm used to doing what I'm told." The more she spoke, the more confident she felt until she was holding her head up high in a subconscious demand for respect.
"You were to be paid?" His brows drew closer together.
"I've said it twice now." She scoffed in exasperation. "Go in, flirt with you a bit, provide a distraction, and leave as soon as they were done. It was simple. Just another night of work only far less demanding and exhausting." She shrugged.
"Wait. You're a whore?" He looked her up and down, then, "You expect me to believe that? You, a common street whore?" He was incredulous. "I'm not a fool, girl. I know well-bred females when I seem them."
She whet her lips. She hadn't thought about that. Of course she wouldn't come off as a street urchin: her accent and manners were far too refined. She had to say something quickly before he saw through her little story.
"Well, I didn't always work the streets." She sniffed. "I was in a big house once."
"Yes, you were born in a noble house. Raised as a ladies' maid, weren't you? I'd bet my life on it. Then one day, they treated you poorer than usual, and you decided you'd had enough. You thought it would be easier living on your own, but you soon discovered a young, penniless girl on her own only has one choice of profession, so you became a whore to keep food in your mouth." He looked so pleased with himself, proud of his deductions. She need only stroke his ego a bit.
"Well, that's about the gist of it. How'd you know?" She looked at him with awe.
"You'll find there are few things that escape my notice, love." He grinned at her. "However, most street whores are far less guarded with their merchandise."
He looked at her body brazenly, and Cassandra struggled not to fidget. She got the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that he was undressing her with his eyes.
"That's because I haven't seen your money." She stuck out her chin defiantly. "What kind of business would I run if I put out all my wares before making sure the customer could pay?" She grinned at him coquettishly.
"Well," he licked his lips. "I've spared your life. I think that buys me as much of you as I want."
Before she could react, his hand snaked out and grasped her breast. His grip was painful even through her corset, and Cassandra gasped in shock. She tried to escape him by moving backwards but only found the wall with her back. She was trapped.
Fulsmith pressed closer, a dark glint in his eyes as he began lifting her skirt. Raw desire played across his features, and Cassandra felt completely helpless.
"I don't play gently like all those young men who've shared your bed. I'm going to ply you." His voice was husky, and he tightened his grip until she cried out. "Oh yes, I'm going to have you screaming for mercy before I'm done." He pressed against her fought to force her legs apart.
Cassandra struggled futilely against him, but it only seemed to make him more violent. She tried to push him back, and in response, he stooped and captured her lips in an open-mouthed kiss. She squirmed, and his teeth closed on her lower lip so fiercely that he tore through her flesh.
She was just prepared to start an all out fight with him when he suddenly pulled away from her. Lust and passion lurked on his features, but he put space between them, grinning.
"No, not like this. I want to ride you on a table. I'm going to do this properly, treat you like a lady." The way he spoke to her made her feel cheap and dirty.
Fulsmith snapped a finger, and a door on the other side of the room swung open, revealing two men standing in a lit hall. They must have been there the whole time, waiting for Fulsmith's signal. Cassandra felt disgust writhe through her. If they could hear a little snake, they had most certainly heard her struggling and had done nothing.
Was this the only kind of man left in the world? The king to happily turn a blind eye to what wrongs were going on around them. How could anyone ignore such horrible things? What kind of people were they that they were numbed to such evils?
"Come along. I'll show you to your room." Fulsmith said, moving toward the door.
For a moment, Cassandra didn't budge. She weighed the logic of defying him carefully. Every fiber of her being told her to ignore his command.
Fulsmith turned to face her, raising a brow at her hesitation. There was a dark promise in his eyes of the consequences she would face if she chose to ignore him. It was a promise of hell, and Cassandra knew he held the upper hand in this situation.
Gritting her teeth, she followed him. She had to choose her battles and save what strength she had. If she was going to escape, she would need to get out of this room.
She couldn't remember making plans to escape, but an idea was forming in her mind as she followed Fulsmith. She had only two clear paths: escape by running or but dying, because there was no way she was staying here to find out what kind of master Fulsmith was.
The men fell in behind them, obviously waiting for her to try something. She found herself painfully alert, aware of everything they passed as they walked down a long hall and into an open foyer. This must be a tiny picture of what it was like to be Nickolas, she realized as Fulsmith led the way upstairs.
Surprisingly, Fulsmith chose to remain silent as they walked. He didn't even turn to look at her. It was clear that his mind was on something else, and Cassandra understood that she was only present to offer him a distraction when he wanted it. Her only value was to give him pleasure, and she felt no remorse about wishing painful death upon him.
Reaching the top of the stairs, they took an immediate left before pausing outside of a door. Fulsmith waited until she was in full view to push the door open. He grinned at her as she looked within, and she didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her reaction.
The room looked surprisingly the warm and comfortable. Warm lighting flooded the entire area, and on the wall farthest from her, a door opened to reveal a steaming bath. A big, four-poster bed was the centerpiece of the room, and she hadn't seen anything so welcoming in a very long time.
Despite herself, she stepped into the room. The carpet on her unshod foot was plush and comfortable. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to throw off her filthy clothes and dive into the reassuring warmth of the bath suds.
Warm as she felt in the room however, she felt no safety. Her body was rigid with awareness as she physically felt Fulsmith's eyes boring into her backside. She was on edge, the heavy beating of her heart pounding a painful rhythm in her chest. She could still feel the bruises his fingers had left on her breast.
"It will be dinner time soon. I thought it might be fun to dress for the occasion." She stiffened further at the sound of Fulsmith's voice behind her. Turning slowly, she noticed the outfit he was indicating lying on the bed.
Disgust and horror crawled up her spine at the shimmering, shear material of the. . .she didn't know what to call it. It certainly wasn't a dress. It had no sleeves, and the entire bodice was shear black chiffon. There were laces up the back, and black lace was embroidered across the breast area to keep just enough concealed from view.
There was no skirt, she realized. The little 'suit' ended where her thighs began—more black lace to cover other. . .areas. Looking at it, she knew the back would barely cover half of her backside, most of the cheek would be visible to the eye.
She looked from the outfit to Fulsmith's darkened eyes, and felt bile rise in her throat. "I'll be more comfortable in this." She indicated her dirty dress. "Thank you." Her voice was a little more clipped than she'd intended. In her ears, it seemed to echo what she really wanted to say: 'You're out of your damned mind if you think I'm going to put that on.'
Fulsmith chuckled, and she shivered. It wasn't a nice sound. "Look here, my sweet, you're going to wear this tonight. I want the material to give easily beneath my fingers once we get started. I want to rip it off your body." The bile threatened to spill out of her mouth. "You have two choice. Either the maids can help you bathe and dress," footsteps from the bathroom told her he'd beckoned said maids to enter the room. "Or my men will oblige."
The two men stepped a little too eagerly into the room. Her eyes darted from them top Fulsmith to the outfit, and she felt a cold sweat break out on her skin. In a flash, she saw what scenario was about to unfold if she hesitated too long. She could almost feel their bruising fingers on her skin, taking liberties and tearing her last shreds of dignity from her fingertips.
"If you're so set on it," her voice was dimmed by the drumming in her ears. "Sir, I'm sure the maids would know better how it works, and you will be much more pleased with the outcome." She tried to smile sweetly at him, but she was sure it came off as shaky as it felt.
"Oh dear, I've gotten their hopes up for nothing." Fulsmith grinned, seeming to know the triumph he had just won. Indeed, his men look completely disappointed, but the hunger in their eyes didn't die away. "Heel, boys. We'll leave our lady to her pleasures for now. I'm not too keen on you handling her just yet, anyway. Next time."
The unspoken promise chilled her. Just like that, they were all gone. A flash of relief filled her, but her chest still felt tight.
Hands took hold of her, unlacing her garments with calming gentleness. She turned to find two young women, their eyes glued to the floor, were to be her helpers. Immediately, she was resolved to ask—no, beg—them for help. Surely, they had suffered her same fate once, and they would lend a sympathetic ear.
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Ah, there we have it. We're in a bit of a pickle now, aren't we??? Gah! I'm REALLY excited for the next chapter(s). I can't wait to write them, but unfortunately, my work schedule this week is gonna be fairly busy. *insert sad face* So were you guys expecting worse from this chapter? I wasn't anticipating writing a lot of that stuff, but Fulsmith is a dirty creep, and he surprised me just as much as he surprised Cassandra.
So what's it to be?? Death or more running? Is this the end? Well. . .almost. Everyone has to die first, obviously. Hahaha! Just kidding! I don't believe in terrible endings like that. My endings might not be what everyone wants or expects, they might not even be what you think of as happy, and I certainly hope they aren't cliche, but there will always be a hint of happiness and hope left. That's my promise.
Anyway, do you have any ideas on what will happen next? How's Cassandra going to get out of this one? Heck, how's Nickolas going to make it?? They're running out of options. . .
Anyway, sorry for yapping on and on! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter on some level! I'll try to post a chapter next week, but there's a lot of thought that has to go into the next few chapter, and I might be on low brainage mode. . . :P