The Girl Who Lived

Cassandra. She shakes her head. C…a…s…s…a…n…d…r…a, her inner voice slowly articulates each letter. Her own name feels alien, as if belonging to someone else entirely. She stops in the middle of the hallway, looking past the stone gargoyles serving as sconces. No one else ever comes to this part of the castle. Her own personal quarters, as the king framed it. More like prison, she scoffs. She should have known things weren’t as they seem. The signs were there, even more painfully obvious now that she looks back on her life.

Cassandra. The little orphan girl found in the rubble left behind by the Great War. She wasn’t more than a few months old when she fell casualty to the world’s senseless cruelty. But she wasn’t an orphan. She clenches her fists. That was just the first lie in a series that would define her existence. She resumes her pace, the sound of her feet on the marble floor filling the empty space. Steady, despite the mental turmoil, moving with precise accuracy. A left turn, followed by a right one, then another left.

Cassandra. The king’s protege who trained for years on end, even when her body was sore and her wounds bleeding, because that was the least she could do for the man who gave her a home. His kindness always came with a cost, which, more often than not, was far greater than the so-called generosity. By the time she realized that, it was already too late. Instinctively, her hand goes to the dagger strapped to her right thigh. The familiar feeling of the cold metal against her fingertips brings her a sense of certainty. She knew how to handle a knife before she could form coherent sentences, and, right now, that’s all she needs.

Cassandra. The shadow killer, Gildermire’s best assassin. Never doubting her orders, never asking unwanted questions. She lost track of how many people have found their end in the edge of her blade. How much blood she spilled in the name of a king who only cared for her as long as it was convenient. A king who only ever saw everyone else as pawns in his endless game of chess. She reaches the end of the corridor, a massive wooden door being the only thing remaining between her and the throne room. The guards are nowhere to be seen. Good. For once his paranoid desire to keep her identity a secret works in her favor.

Cassandra. The princess who never existed. Raised in the depths of the castle, kept a secret from the entire world, until he decided it was time for the heiress of Eldervale to come back from the dead. The rival kingdom lost its newborn successor at the end of the Great War; or so it was thought. She places her hand on the door and, for the first time in her life, she hesitates. He never saved her; he stole her, groomed her to be part of his master plan. So why is she hesitating? The life she knew is a lie, and yet, she feels like she’s betraying herself. The king, the purpose that kept her going through the hard years, she’s turning her back on everything she once believed in. And what about those who died at her hand? Had it all been for nothing?

Cassandra. The king’s most beloved weapon. The one who could give him everything he ever wanted: the power to rule the entire realm. She closes her eyes, mustering all the courage she possesses. This time she isn’t there to serve him. She’s there to kill him. She has to, if she’s ever to be free. She pushes away her doubts and opens her eyes. She can make peace with the past after she decides her future.

The wood groans as she opens the door. Inside, the cold air makes the room feel like an old mausoleum. It surely looks like one. Nothing but a stone throne towering over the empty room, from which king Alexander watches closely as she approaches and kneels at the end of the platform. She has to maintain appearances; for now, at least.

“On your feet,” he commands.

Cassandra gets up, her eyes meeting his piercing look. There is a question hovering in the space between them and she worries he may be able to read her true intentions.

“You wanted to see me.” She keeps her tone as neutral as possible.

“I have a new mission for you, assassin.”

She nods obediently. A glimmer of curiosity ignites the dark eyes measuring her from head to toe.

“No hesitation?” He pauses. Fuck, she swears, catching her breath. “Good. I see the recent news haven’t made you question you loyalty.”

“My loyalty lies with you, my liege, as it always has.” Cassandra bows her head, to mask the lie carried by her words.

Alexander gets up from his throne and makes a few steps towards her. The faint trace of satisfaction on his features stills her rising unease. He believes her. Now, if he’d only get a little closer. She can feel the weight of the blade hanging by her thigh, heavier with each passing moment.

“We will achieve great things together, Cassandra.”

The sound of her name coming out of his mouth is sickening, stirring the rage boiling within her veins. She grits her teeth behind the lips, fighting down the emotions threatening to break her facade.

“Thanks to your service I have Gildermire under my absolute control and, soon enough, you’ll deliver Eldervale’s crown to me.”

He walks down the stairs at the end of the platform and stops right in front of her. Almost. A wicked grin spreads across his lips, as he reaches out his hand to touch her cheek.

“You’ll make a wonderful queen, my dear protege.” He speaks with a fervent conviction, as if he’s already ruling a realm that isn’t his.

The audacity, the unwavering belief that she’ll rule Eldervale in his name. It makes her stomach turn and her fury grow. Just a little more. Every atom of her being aches to slit his arrogant throat, but she must wait. This is the assassination of her life, her only chance at freedom.

“And the realm will have its greatest emperor, my liege.” She swallows the bitter taste left behind by those atrocious words.

Thankfully, Alexander accepts her praises, too full of his own imaginary glory. He turns around, giving her the opportunity she desperately waited for. In just a moment, her hand reaches for the dagger. In the next one, the blade rips through his flesh, carefully traversing the small place between his ribs to finally find his heart. A single swift motion, one she has done countless times before.

“Too bad it will only be in your dreams.”

She pulls out the knife, letting the blood flood out of the open wound, soaking his clothes. The king lets out a groan, bending forward before his inert body hits the cold floor.

As for Cassandra, she stands still, her hand frozen on the bloodied dagger. She did it, she actually killed the king. For a moment, doubt creeps through the rage which has been driving her so far. What have I done? There’s no going back now. She shakes off the initial shock and looks around. There is no telling when the guards will return to their posts, so she must hurry. She knells next to the body and wipes her blade clean against the fabric of his shirt.

Cassandra. The king slayer. As she gets up, she examines the dead monarch one last time. Killed by his own secret weapon, a fitting end for a devious man. A half-smile curves the edges of her lips, as she puts the dagger back in its case. One clean cut, short blade, dead within seconds. That’s the most the guards will be able to decipher out of the realm’s biggest mystery. No real suspects, no possible connection to her.

Cassandra. The assassin who never failed. She rushes out of the room, carefully closing the door behind her. By the time they’ll find him, she’ll be long gone. Free. She’s free. A concept she’s not quite sure she fully understands. She followed orders her entire life; nothing she ever did was the result of her will. Now, everything will be.

Cassandra. The phantom killer haunting the halls of Gildermore castle. She retraces her way back to the secluded chamber which served as her room. As expected, the dark halls are empty, and yet, she cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. She killed the tyrant who controlled her entire life. She should be happy, right? Then why is she feeling empty? She finally has the one thing she desired the most: her freedom. All she had to do was sacrifice everything she once was. A searing question gnaws at her from the back of her mind: who the hell is she now?

Cassandra. The woman who endured and, against all odds, prevailed. She stops in her tracks, a few meters away from her room. With the adrenaline gone, the insidious howl of doubt begins to echo through her mind. Every horror she committed before she justified as being in the service of the king. This time, however, the kill was entirely her choice, which makes her wonder if she indeed did the right thing. But she has no time for such moral dilemmas. She has to get out of this place before the king’s corpse is found. She enters the small room, familiarity and repulsion fighting for dominion over her heart.

Cassandra. The girl who lived. On the bed, awaiting her return, the backpack and cloak are ready for her departure. All she has to do now is slip through the secret tunnel that leads to the main city. And then what? She has nowhere to go. It’s not like she can walk in Eldervale and claim she is the lost princess. Nobody will believe her. And is that what she really wants? To be tied yet again to a throne? Having the liberty to decide one’s fate is more overwhelming than she thought. What she does know is that she needs to get moving. She can figure out the rest later.

Cassandra. Her name is Cassandra. She puts on the black cloak and grabs the bag. She gives the room behind her one last look, before leaving it once and for all; like she dreamed so many times before. Gone without a trace, just like she lived. Her future may be unsure, hell, it may even scare her, but it's hers nonetheless. Of one thing she’s certain: she can finally decide who Cassandra is.