Stars Reversed

Cait "Miss, wake up, wake up!" Althea, my maid, shakes me, rattling my brain inside my skull. Her tone is frantic, impatient and I? I had way too much wine last night for this s**t. I swat blindly at her, missing and only striking the still air. Something crawls under my bed, but I don't care-that's a tomorrow problem. Curling back into my pillow, sleep threatens to again lull me away, back to the salacious dream of the man at the tavern tonight. Maker above, yes... his tawny skin, rough chiseled jaw, the scar across his dark eyes. "In here!" shouts a loud voice, gruff and angry outside my door. Seconds later a resounding crack, and Althea's scream from under my bed forced me to sit, my heavy, drunken gaze fighting to focus as armor-clad men burst through. My father's guards? What the actual...? "Slit her throat!" Grunted another voice, lighter, but still masculine. My eyes fight to focus and my body attempts to rise. But... alcohol gets the better of my legs and equilibrium. I trip on my own nightdress. I fall right onto the floor. Smooth Cait, real smooth. My eyes catch Althea's where she shakes, hidden under my bed, her dark brown eyes holding back tears as her light brown hands hold back her cries of terror. Shackles enclose my hands, then feet before I can even start to think about unleashing drunken, unholy Hell on these intruders. "Whhattss... tha.." I slur. Stupidly, if I'm honest. I swear, when I get out of this situation I will never drink again. "No." A cold, practiced voice echoes. "This is his daughter. Bring her to me." The intruders lift me, raising me to my stumbling feet to present me to who I guess is orchestrating this whole thing. Rough fingers pull at my chin with bruising force. In and out, my eyes focus and unfocus as I squint, until my worthless hazel eyes finally find purchase. One eye patched over with leather, the other a brilliant emerald green-chiseled jaw, graying hair. The Royal Spymaster, the lord and master of Northwood, is focused, in high definition, right in my face. Well, this is a good time to remind them of how f****d they will be if they hurt me. "Muh fah-jah..." I slur out, trying to force venom into my threat but failing spectacularly. "Your father is dead, princess." He strokes a back a lock of my dark, ash-brown waves behind my ear as my whole world stills and my blood runs cold. Dead? No. NO. "Thank the maker that you're too valuable to kill-at least as of now. Take her to the carriage but separate her from the others- she must arrive in one piece, unharmed and unbruised. The sweetest apples fetch the highest price, but they bruise the easiest." His voice is like gravel, and dark promise wraps around each word, every one as indecipherable as the last one as they echo inside my wine-addled brain. Nothing registers in my shocked state, nothing pierces the numbness as they drag me from my room. All of these things become secondary issues ricocheting around my only coherent thought: My dad... is dead.