The Moros Murders
Chapter 8

Cassius

Before she left, she gave me a seemingly lower dosage of the drug. I’m sure she wanted me to be at least coherent at the wedding . I’d been kidnapped by a delusional nutter, who had it in her head that we’re in some sort of relationship. That really wasn’t something I needed. On what I expected was the morning of the wedding, I think maybe two days after she last visited me, her pet entered my cell. He’d come the previous night to give me more drugs, something about not seeing the bride the night before.

“Up,” he commanded. Luckily, they’d kept away from physical torture the past few days, so although my body was still aching all over, I could at least get to my feet. The man grabbed my arm and shoved in a needle. He didn’t give me as much of the drug as usual, but still enough to keep me confused enough not to try anything.

He grabbed my arm and yanked me down the hallway, slowing only to throw open a door. The room smelled of sweat and mildew, and I noticed the tiled walls were stained with blotches of discoloration. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a faint yellow light, which illuminated the cracked sink and broken shower head. In one corner, a hose dangled from a hook above a grimy cast iron tub filled with murky liquid soap. My gaze followed a trail of rusty red droplets along the floor. It traced a pattern around the drain in the centre of the room. As my eyes lingered on this ring of what I could only assume was blood, I felt a chill run down my spine and wondered how much of mine would stay here when they were finished with me.

He forced me to take off what remained of my clothes, and I peeled away each layer reluctantly, wincing in pain as the cold tiled floor sent a shiver through my body. As soon as the last bit of cloth was removed, he turned on the hose, and icy water blasted my skin with such force that I stumbled back, breathless. I felt my muscles tense up in an attempt to stop the shivering. My skin had gone pale and ghostly, and I could feel my lips turning blue from the bitter cold that seemed to seep deep into my bones.

The man grabbed a hard sponge and poured a stream of soapy water over my head. I gasped as suds trickled into the deep lacerations on my scalp and back, stinging like fire with every movement. He worked methodically, scrubbing each inch of my body in harsh circles, dirt and blood swirling down the drain. My wounds felt tender when he used the bristles on my scalp, but I said nothing. Finally, he stepped back from me and picked up the hose again and blasted away the residual soap and the last bits of filth that had been embedded in my skin. I shivered violently with the cold, unable to move or protest.

Dried and fresh blood alongside filth ran into the drains. When he was done with the hose, he yanked me to my feet. He pulled a clean towel from a bag, rubbing it harshly over my body and through my dripping hair. He unhitched the baton that had until now stayed firmly at his waist and jabbed it into the small of my back, instructing me to walk on.

Still naked and freezing, I timidly stumbled down the hall. We came to a little room with a table and chairs. A man that I hadn’t yet seen was sitting there with an array of medical supplies in front of him. Supplies like that would be difficult to find and too expensive for any Dreg, not to mention that the man before me wore a docs pin. A horrid realisation dawned on me; I wasn’t in the Dregs.

A middleman or woman wouldn’t spare the expense of a doc for a prisoner, even one they planned on marrying. The only people who have that much money to waste are uppers. That makes my position even worse. This woman probably has an entire fleet of guards that would hunt me down if I tried to escape. Not to mention that if she marries me, even if I was in the public eye, no one could help me because she would just claim I had mental health problems or something like that, and people would take her word for it. Because she’s an upper. I realised in just a second how bad my situation really was.

I was pushed down into a chair next to the doc, the cold metal really wasn’t helping my impending hypothermia. The doc cleaned and bandaged my wounds, and even stitched up a few of the worse ones. He muttered something about me being lucky that I didn’t get an infection and die. “I’ve never met a real doc,” I said and he only glanced up at me with a little pity before resuming his examination of my wrist wound. He put a brace on after bandaging it, I suppose that the nail had hit my bone after all.

“These scars on your arms, are they self-inflicted?” The doctor asked, observing the old and new scars that covered my body.

“What’s it to you?” I felt a little defensive, as I always did if people saw them. Not to mention that it was none of his business.

“Just curious, Miss Cerys has a testing personality. It seems she likes you, she’s been looking for a husband for quite some time. A little advice, don’t say no to her. You won’t suffer if you always say yes,” he said before standing and walking towards the door. Before he left, he turned to the man, “Get that poor boy some clothes before he freezes to death.”

That room was clean compared to my cell and the washroom. But it was still cold. The man who had washed and drugged me placed some clothes on the table in front of me. It was a nice suit, dark blue and black patterned. I reluctantly put it on, and the man escorted me to a nice drawing room somewhere in a big mansion. I grimaced as I caught my reflection in the mirror, I looked gaunt, rough like I’d just come off of a four-day bender and I felt the way I looked. But that’s not what disgusted me, I was dressed like one of them. When I looked in the mirror, even I might’ve mistaken myself for a bratty upper kid, but looking at my face, one that spends my trust fund on drugs and parties.

I was told to sit down and wait, the man left and was replaced by a guard. I was unbearably restless, I couldn’t sit still. I kept pacing and changing my sitting position on the sofa. The guard didn’t say anything, he just observed me quietly. Luckily, the room had a clock. It was around twelve when they brought me in, and when the door opened, it was just gone one. A richly dressed man strode in followed by servants with tea and cake. He was slightly older, with a few strands of hair forming at the front of his dark hair.

When he came in, I was standing by the window, he gestured for me to sit. I complied, and a maid placed a teacup in front of me, I watched as she filled it. The man watched me closely. I didn’t touch the tea or cakes, I only sat and waited for him to talk. He sighed and picked up the cup, taking a sip. “It isn’t poisoned. I think, why waste perfectly good food with poison?”

“I didn’t think it was,” I said, looking him in the eye. He smiled and leaned back.

“She said that you weren’t much of a talker. Aren’t you hungry?” he queried.

“I haven’t eaten in two weeks, that will make me ill,” I stated, pointing at the cakes.

“My daughter’s only had you for five days, two weeks is a long time to go without food.” I shrugged, uninterested. “Are you alright? You seem rather twitchy.”

“Yeah well, drugs’ll do that,” I responded looking out of the window.

He took another sip of his tea, “For what it’s worth, I am sorry for your ill treatment. My daughter has an interesting way of doing things. She chose you to marry so I must oblige.” He looked a little pitiful of me, “She won’t hurt you after the wedding, if you do what she wants, she’ll be quite kind. I know that it’s not ideal for you, but arranged marriages happen all the time. Now unlike my daughter, I’m not under the impression that you’re here willingly.”

“This isn’t how you choose a husband,” I said, sulking into my seat.

“Yes, well, it’s a little unconventional, I agree. And while I do hold pity for you, if you break my daughters heart, you will experience unimaginable pain.” The last bit was a pretty scary warning, his entire demeanour and tone changed. I nodded, and he smiled. “The ceremony is at two, someone will escort you. I best be off, Cerys will have my head if I’m late.”What a strange man, I thought as he walked out of the door.

At ten to two, I was bustled out the door by two maids, followed by a few guards. They opened the doors to a beautiful garden, where white ribbons were draped delicately over the shrubbery and large flower arrangements adorned every corner. The ground was covered in a mosaic of soft petals, with pinks and whites mingling together like a painting. The trees parted, revealing a clearing. Sunlight cascaded down in rays that pierced the lush-green canopy of leaves above. The centrepiece was a grand floral arch adorned with roses the colour of cranberries, peonies in hues of lavender and blush, and lilies as white as snow. Chairs made of woven willow branches were placed on either side of a red carpet that stretched out toward the arch. It was like stepping into a surreal dreamscape - a perfect place for nuptials.

The amount of people here made me nervous. Did it mean they weren’t worried about me making a scene? I really was helpless. I began to walk down the aisle, but was stopped about midway when someone grabbed my wrist. I turned and was either mortified or relieved to see my mother sitting there, looking up at me. If she was there, she could be involved, or she might help me. Either way, there was relief in seeing a familiar face.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, noticing my unusually nice clothes. I recognised some of the men sitting on the row with her - lieutenants.

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” I said angrily.

“Don’t take that tone with me. I was invited, why are you here?” she asked with a stern expression that told me that there would be consequences when we got home. But I was happy to hear that she wasn’t involved.

“I’m the bloody groom.” I wasn’t holding in my aggravation, but I did whisper.

“Excuse me?” She genuinely looked shocked, at least I knew that she wasn’t feigning ignorance. “You didn’t get her pregnant did you? Why wasn’t I informed of this?” Her men were laughing at the thought of me having to marry a noble girl that I knocked up.

“No, she kidnapped me mum, you have to help me,” I pleaded but she just smiled.

“You access other hitters’ case files, without permission, and then vanish for days. Why should I help you?”Is she actually having a laugh?Is all I could think.

“I didn’t go on a pub crawl, I got bloody kidnapped, and you’re my mother. Please.” The guard had started to walk towards me to see what the holdup was.

“You’ve been an absolute horror to deal with ever since that Moros business. Perhaps this will teach you a lesson.” She smirked at me and I couldn’t believe it, my own mother. Well actually, I could believe it. It was exactly the sort of thing she’d do.

“Please mother. Mother!” I said a little louder as the guard nudged me down the aisle. Standing at the altar, I thought about Medea. I wondered if she was okay. If this wedding happened, I might not have been able to warn her. I hoped that she would find out about Tarin on her own. The music picked up and the chatting died down. I turned to see Lady Cerys, her arm locked around her fathers. I couldn’t deny her beauty, she looked wonderful in her dress.

Had I not known about her personality, I might’ve been a little more complacent in this ‘arranged’ marriage. She wore a white silk dress that glistened in the soft light, the material swaying and shifting with each breath. The draping sleeves were embroidered with silver thread, sparkling with diamond accents. Her dark hair was swept up into an elegant bun, held together by a shining silver pin topped with a ruby shaped like a knife blade. The detailing of the knife-like hair pin matched the sapphire brooch that they’d placed on my collarbone.

I watched as she walked towards me, her father kissed her cheek and sat down. Standing opposite me, I was surprised to see that she was a little nervous. The minister instructed us to wash our hands in the prepared bowl. An old Borian wedding tradition. You’ll find Borians, Anatollies and Polarians all across the central continent. Part of the alliance was that citizens are allowed to move freely between the countries and move wherever they like. Cerys and her father had seemed to have Borian roots but had most likely lived in Polaris for generations: so, they were Polarian.

We each drank wine from the same chalice after repeating the vows that the minister spoke. Usually I would protest if I found myself in a situation like this, but the drugs were really hindering my ability to give a fuck. The ceremony was fast, at the end, according to Polarian tradition, we exchanged rings and kissed. Well she kissed me, I kind of just stood there. That may seem a little rude but to be fair, I was high and unwilling.

We walked down the aisle with our arms linked. I glared at my mother as I passed her, I don’t think that she’s ever looked as smug as she did in that moment. After the ceremony, there was a party with food and dancing. I sat at the head table next to my wife, her father sat on her side and they had changed the setup to allow my mother and her goons to sit next to me. I’m sure that Lord Byun was surprised when he realised that he’d unknowingly invited my mother to the wedding. He was probably more surprised to realise that she didn’t care that I’d been kidnapped and had allowed me to be forced into a marriage that I didn’t want.

I was sulking, I refused to talk to my mother but she didn’t mind, she found the whole thing amusing. She just talked to her men, unaffected. I sat and listened to Lady Cerys blabber like we’d known each other for years. Lord Byun clearly felt bad as he’d had a light soup prepared for me so I wouldn’t get sick, which I appreciated. But still, I was sulking so I refused to eat. Probably wasn’t the best idea when recovering from injuries and with the drug use on top of that, my body was screaming at me to do something to help it.

“Why aren’t you eating honey? You’re too thin,” Cerys said, leaning closer to me and running her fingers through my hair.

“Sorry luv, I haven’t got much of an appetite,” I replied, downing the rum in my glass. The only upside to that wedding was the masses of alcohol floating around.

“Daddy told me that you haven’t eaten in a while, you’ll get sick if you don’t eat.” She seemed genuinely concerned which made me wonder just what type of person that Cerys was. It was almost like she had two personalities. One kind and seemingly innocent, the other cruel and sadistic. That’s what made her so scary, I never knew who I was going to get. She was unpredictable.

“I’m fine,” I said as a servant refilled my glass and I told him to leave the bottle.

“You really should eat, I’d hate it if you got ill.” Her eyes showed no malice, just worry.

“I’m not hungry,” I said again hoping she’d drop the issue.

Suddenly, Cerys grabbed my thigh digging her claw like nails into it, reopening the wound that the doc had only just sewn. Her expression was cold and her tone was deadly as she said, “She told you to eat.” She? In that moment I realised that it wasn’t that Cerys seemed to have two different personalities, as in her mood could change in an instant; she did have two different personalities. The girl who had threatened me wasn’t Cerys, she referred to Cerys as if she was a different person. I doubted that it was Cerys who tortured me, that would explain why she appeared unaware that I’d been kidnapped. She might not have known.

“If you’re not Cerys, who are you?” I asked and she looked a little shocked, loosening her grip.

“No one has ever seen me as someone else, who am I? I’ve never been asked that before.” Her anger towards me appeared to dissipate.

“No one ever asked you your name?” I was truly curious. Dissociative identity disorder tends to stem from trauma. When someone’s mind can’t handle it, their mind creates someone who can, it’s a coping mechanism and usually starts in childhood. Obviously, not everyone with DID is violent. This girl is clearly the protector, or enforcer, she protects Cerys and makes sure that she always gets her way. I wondered what could’ve happened for Cerys to develop this other, seemingly violent personality.

“It’s Ruana. My name,” she said shyly. I wondered what she was truly like, under all her armour. I didn’t doubt that she would be violent, but I’m sure that there was more to her than meets the eye.

“I like it, befitting a warrior like yourself,” I said before giving up on using a glass and just drinking straight from the bottle.

“What makes you think that I’m a warrior?” she asked, closing the distance between us. Technically Cerys hadn’t done much to me, and Ruana was the one I should be angry at. But talking to her now, I really wasn’t sure what to think of her. I, of course, wasn’t happy with the whole torture ordeal but at the same time, with my mother involved, I was unlikely to get out of this marriage. The entire situation got a lot more legal when my mum consented to it and signed the papers. I’m only sixteen so in Polaris, legally my mother can marry me off to anyone she wants, without my consent.

“You protect her, don’t you?” I answered her question with a question. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

She nodded and gestured to the soup, “Eat. You’ve been drinking all evening, and you’re not accounting for the drugs in your system. I will not have you embarrass her during the first dance because you’re too drunk to stand,” she ordered sternly, snatching the bottle from my grasp. Reluctantly, I slowly ate the food, it was nice and I knew that it would do me good.

Ruana watched as I ate which made me feel quite self conscious. “Do you want to know why we chose you?” Ruana spoke with a surprisingly gentle tone.

“The question might’ve crossed my mind,” I admitted

“Cerys saw you in the market. She thought you were handsome. She also made a point of saying that you looked lonely. She thought that you needed a hug. I myself thought that you looked a little sketchy with all the leather and weapons. Anyway, after that, she couldn’t get you out of her head. She regretted not asking if you were okay that day. Cerys didn’t know about the kidnapping or torture. She thinks that I met you at some soiree and you fell in love,” she explained, looking a little guilty.

“Why didn’t you just approach me the normal way? I mean, why the torture?” I asked, finishing my soup.

“I needed to know what kind of person you are. You looked like some criminal, and I couldn’t have you hurting her. I watched you for a little while, I was right, you’re an assassin. Cerys didn’t seem to care, she couldn’t stop thinking of how sad you looked. She can be a bit of a dreamer sometimes. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about the torture. When I saw your scars, I realised that even though you killed people, you’re still only human. I also noticed that you’re a tough bastard to kill. You won’t leave.”

“You tortured me, because you have trust issues? You understand that our relationship might be a little jaded for the foreseeable future?” I said, laughing at what a state our marriage is going to be in.

She laughed too, taking a swig out of the bottle. The music changed and so did Ruana’s expression. I could tell that Cerys was back because she smiled at me sweetly. “First dance time,” she said excitedly. I hate dancing, with a passion. I was dreading it. Everyone was staring at me, it wasn’t fun. I was just glad that I’d been drinking straight rum all night.

Cerys led me to the centre of the dance floor and we danced to a beautiful violin and piano piece. It began with a gentle, lyrical melody that produced a bittersweet feeling. The violin’s delicate, high-pitched notes were interspersed with the piano’s soft chords and rolling harmonies, creating a light, airy atmosphere. As it progressed, the music gained more momentum, transforming into a lively, jaunty rhythm as the trilling violin took centre stage. The music was hopeful and uplifting, but with a hint of sadness underneath. As we danced Cerys grinned at me, she looked really happy. I felt bad that I couldn’t return it.

We retired to Cerys’ rather grand quarters. I mean it was three times the size of Mory’s apartment. I couldn’t help but feel disgusted at the fact that people could live in such luxury when there are thousands of starving children in the Dregs. She led me over to her four poster, king sized bed that looked as soft as a marshmallow. She unbuttoned my overcoat and threw it on the floor, she made her way through my layers in record time, she practically tore my shirt off of my body. All I could think was the amount of meals you could buy with that shirt, and she destroyed it so carelessly.

This would’ve had to happen at some point, so there was no point trying to postpone. I didn’t hate it, but I felt very uncomfortable. Because although I might’ve wanted to do this with her in a different situation, it wasn’t exactly consensual. I was forced into a marriage, and what would happen to me if I said no to this? Would she hurt me? How could I know?

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