I knew who I was this morning, but I've changed a few times since then.

― Lewis Carroll,

As the feeling slowly returned to my legs, I started to scope my surroundings for an escape. Unfortunately, to break free and run wasn't an option. Not with the man, Cassian, having his hand cuffed around my forearm so tightly it was cutting off circulation. It also didn't seem practical to try and run when I could hardly walk in a straight line.

As hard as I tried to make out the dimly lit hall, lit by only flickering lanterns dangling from the ceiling, it was impossible. It wasn't until Cassian pushed through a large, dark black door that I was blinded once more and staggered back, the sudden action causing him to loose grip momentarily. If I were smart and able to see, I would have rushed in the opposite direction then, hid in the darkness until I was able to conjure some kind of escape plan. Instead I just stood as still as a statue with my hands over my eyes as Cassian grumbled incoherently under his breath.

Peering through my fingers, it didn't take long for my hands to fall back to my sides altogether. We stood at the end of a long corridor, the marble tile beneath my bare feet glistening enough that I was able to catch a bit of my reflection in it. I felt my breath catch in my throat as my hands shot to my hair and I took a thick blonde braid between them.

I'd gone to sleep with dark brown hair. Sure, on occasion, especially if in the sun, it'd lighten. But never to this extent. My hair was platinum, so light it was almost white in the fluorescents of the hallway.

"Let's go." Cassian reached for my arm again, but I dodged his hand. "It's best we do this the easy way, Assassin. I'd rather not bloody the floor. It was just cleaned."

I held his gaze for a few minutes, trying to find a break in character. When all that met me was icy grey eyes and a scowl, I deflated and whispered, "I'll go willingly. No need to manhandle me."

He didn't seem pleased with my words, but made a gesture for me to continue. It took a few minutes for my legs to readjust to walking on my own and had my thoughts wandering. How long had I been down here? Where is here?

"Where are we?" I asked aloud, cautious of my proximity to the man.

Cassian eyed me as if I were speaking another language. "Excuse me?"

"Where are we?" I repeated slower. "This place."

"What did they drug you with?"

I cocked my head. "Who?"

He eyed me angrily and huffed. "Just keep your mouth shut."

"Sadly sarcasm is my coping mechanism, so I can't do that, buddy."

"I will cut your tongue out if you continue to speak, Assassin."

Despite knowing that the man had not only my daggers, but likely weapons of his own, I raised a brow and glanced his way. "I was the one with daggers strapped to my chest, in case your forgot, your highness."

He pulled one of the said daggers from the belt and in a quick movement had me pinned against the wall with the serrated edge of the blade pressed into my jugular.

"What were you saying?" he was taunting me. That smirk, the amusement that lit his peculiar eyes when they weren't empty voids. He was getting some sick, twisted enjoyment out of threatening me.

"I just want to go home." I breathed, hyperaware of the heat of his body against my own. I tried to slip away, but he'd encased me between his arms. "Please."

He dropped the dagger slowly, then took my arm and drug me behind him like an animal the rest down the hall to the next set of double doors.

Cassian, though brooding and intimidating, had nothing on the immediate power I felt stepping foot in the room. There was an indescribable coldness and tension that hung thick in the air. I wasn't at all surprised when a man emerged from the shadows. He, at one point in time, may have been as beautiful as the man at my side. Crystalline eyes and thick, tousled black hair were overshadowed by a thick pink scar from his right temple all the way to the bottom of the left side of his chin. His lips were chapped and bloodied. He walked with stealth, the back of his black cloak trailing behind him. The closer he edged to us, the more I fought against Cassian's grip and wished to leave.

All hope that this was a joke, some sick prank or a live action role playing story was out the window the minute I saw the hilt of a sword peeking out from the sheath strapped to the man's belt.

I had enough time to inhale sharply before the man shoved me down so hard Cassian nearly hit the ground with me. He fell back a few steps and bowed in respect to the man. I stared up in horror, terrified of what he may do.

"Who sent you, Assassin?"

I shook my head, as confused as I'd been when I'd answered it the first time, but far more afraid. "I. . . I don't know what you're talking about."

Much quicker than Cassian, the man lifted his hand and swatted me so hard across the face I hit the ground, and blood was pooling on the tile when I lifted my head again. Tears stung the back of my eyes as my nose throbbed. Cassian remained unaffected and indifferent at my side, only watching in silence.

"It is imperative I know who it was that sent you, Assassin." the man repeated, falling into a crouch. "We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. The choice is yours."

I didn't have time to shake my head this time. He hit me again, this time I tasted copper and brought the back of my hand to my mouth. A cry escaped me when I saw the glove of blood that formed when I pulled my hand away. I tried to scoot away, cowering away from both men.

The man finally tore his eyes from me as he looked to Cassian, rising so he was standing over me again. "You couldn't get anything out of her?"

Cassian, refusing to spare me even a glance, bowed his head and said, "No, My Lord. It's possible that our knights might have mistook her for someone else. She does not seem to be skilled in anything but running her mouth."

The king looked skeptical of the sediment, and given that I hadn't said a word outside of my denial, I could understand why. If I wasn't in excruciating pain and terrified for my life, I may have thrown something at Cassian, perhaps one of those daggers.

"Take her to your quarters for the night and have one of the maids clean her up." The king ordered. "Assassin or not, if Roan and Matthias want to play dirty, we can too."

At this point, everything was lost on me. Cassian followed the orders with a bow and dug his hands under my arm, yanking me to my feet, then pressed his open palm against the small of my back until we were outside of the room. I didn't want to look at him, I couldn't. My fear and anxiety were so strong that I could feel my heart racing again and my vision beginning to blur with every step we took.

"Don't cry." Cassian comment came out in a groan. "Don't be weak."

I wiped at my face, a sob escaping me when I saw my tears had become bloodied too.

"What is your name?" Cassian wondered aloud, eying me with the same skepticism that'd been in the king's eyes as he stared me down. "If you are not an assassin, if you are not who we assume you to be, what is your name and who are you?"

Even if I desired to answer, I couldn't. Between the trembling in my body, the blood soaking the bottom half of my face, and my fear, I wanted nothing more than to curl in a fetal position and disappear.

As soon as we were outside a room, Cassian shifted uncomfortably, but just as he whispered something to a petite dark-haired, olive-skinned woman dressed in tattered rags, he pulled one of the daggers from where he'd tucked it securely in his boot and rested it in my unexpectant palm, slowly curling my fingers around it. Then wordlessly, he spun on the heel of his boots and disappeared.