To His Hell and Back
Chapter 82: Swirling Thoughts

Chapter 82: Swirling Thoughts

Arabella’s head was aching as she dragged herself back to Cassius’s room. She rarely fights... or at least that’s what she wants to say. Due to her nature of being too outspoken and sometimes going for the sorest wound someone had and attacking it with her words, she might have had a few fights here and there. But she wasn’t someone who would poke someone’s wounds unprovoked. It had always started with the person in question who tries to bring her self esteem down or to hurt her feelings.

But that doesn’t mean she enjoys talking back to people.

She found it a stinging pain to think that somewhere Iliza and Donna thought that she was someone untrustworthy when throughout her life she had always made sure to be the most loyal person to her friends and families.

She couldn’t understand from why they had seen her action as selfishness.

But unless she had heard it from Donna herself, she would rather not acknowledge that her friend had seen her as unloyal. Not that she wants to doubt Iliza, but Iliza’s bitterness can cause her to say things she doesn’t truly mean or right.

As she pushed open the door to Cassius’s chamber, her movements as natural as if it were her own space, she froze at the sight before her. A broad back faced her, the fabric of the maroon tunic slipping off the pale skin, revealing the raw, unforgiving marks that marred that trained body.

The wounds were narrow, yet deeply etched into his flesh; the cuts seemed almost deliberate, a cruel tapestry of pain and defiance. There was blood still fresh and mingled with the remnants of dried skin, caked the wounds, evidence of a torment far beyond the physical.

Arabella sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers still curled around the door handle as she took in the sight before her.

Cassius stood by the grand mirror, his back to her, undoing the last ties of his tunic with slow, methodical movements. The maroon fabric slipped further, exposing more of his wounded skin and the lacerations carving through the pale expanse of his back like cruel calligraphy. Some had scabbed over, and others still bled sluggishly, as if they had been reopened too many times to properly heal. The maroon tunic that then fell down to the ground was soaked with blood. The color didn’t seem obvious to be blood, but the deepening of the color meant that it was wet from a liquid like substance.

For a moment, she couldn’t move. The sight of him like this, so unguarded, so marred, was something she had never expected. Cassius was always immaculate, always composed. Even when he bled in battle, he did so with a kind of ruthless elegance, as if pain was nothing but an inconvenience.

But this... this wasn’t a wound from war. This was punishment. She knew it well as these weren’t simple cuts; they were wounds from something like a whip but sharper and heavier. Like a whip made out of metal. She could tell as she had been whipped by her father with a horse’s whip in the past when he flew out of rage, she could tell it at a glance that it was a whip mark but from the count of it, it was not only a couple, it was almost a hundred and it healed slowly.

Her voice slipped out before she could stop it.

"Who did this to you?"

Cassius stilled. The air in the room thickened, heavy with something unreadable. Then, slowly, he turned his head, just enough for her to catch the flicker of something dark in his crimson gaze. His lips seemed to curl up almost instantly, his eyes brightening, but it was still malicious with his beloved sarcasm.

A slow, mocking smirk curved his lips. "Ah," he murmured, his voice dripping with mirth. "How touching. Is that concern I hear, my birdie?"

Arabella’s fingers tightened around the doorframe, her pulse hammering in her throat. "That wasn’t an answer." She furrowed her eyebrows. At least today, he wasn’t cold or ignoring her; he was replying, though there was still distance between them.

Cassius turned fully now, the tunic now on the ground revealing the full extent of the wounds. The paler his skin, the worse those wounds look. His expression was unreadable, his gaze sharp as he watched her; there was concern on her face. His foolish little birdie, wasn’t she desperate to kill her and leave the castle?

She took a hesitant step forward, the question still lingering on her tongue. But before she could ask again, before she could even think to reach for him, Cassius tilted his head, his smirk deepening.

"You shouldn’t look at me like that, Arabella," he mused, voice silk soft but laced with something colder underneath. "It might give you the foolish idea that I am something to be pitied."

Her breath caught.

Cassius didn’t like being pitied, as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

Cassius stepped closer, closing the space between them until she had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes. The scent of blood clung to him, mingling with the faint trace of his usual dark, spiced cologne.

"I’m not," he whispered, crimson gaze locking onto hers. "So don’t waste your sympathy."

Arabella’s throat was dry, her mind screaming at her to step back to listen. But she didn’t.

Instead, she lifted her chin, her voice steady.

"Then tell me who did it."

Cassius chuckled, low and sharp, before leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost over her skin. "Now, why would I do that?"

Arabella swallowed. She didn’t know why this mattered so much to her. Why the sight of him like this, wounded, taunting, yet undeniably alone, made her chest tighten.

But it did. And she hated it.

Perhaps because she was once unfairly whipped as a punishment. Maybe that’s why seeing this hurt her.

She sighed and thought about how the last person he had seen was the King himself. It would make sure that the King had been the one who had punished him as well. After all, who else could harm the precious and cruel Crown Prince of Versailles?

Cassius hadn’t turned around when he heard the door click closed and her presence disappeared for good from the chamber.

He could tell that the birdie must have been scared as her heartbeat was racing. He didn’t mind that she left after seeing the bloodied wounds; it was too much for her either way. So he was going to simply take a bath and leave the wound as it was.

Without much thought, Cassius did as he had planned. Moving to the bathroom, the drawn bath allowed him to soak all his wounds into the large bath. Stinging pain strummed all over his body, but rather than pain, it was energy that surged through him.

His father had always made wounds to hurt him so he would feel hatred. After all, with hatred, everything becomes possible.

With hurt, pain, anger, and a taste of vengeance, people could even turn Heaven into Hell. He was going to throw his Hell into this world, engulfing everything, including his father, so rather than anger, it was happiness that filled him. His father had once again woken him up from his brief taste of distraction.

His red eyes drew to a close as his black lashes fell over his close eyelids. He continued to soak, turning the water crimson red. The smell of blood that had always been his fragrance comforted all the tense muscles of his body, and for once, he could think clearly again.

His arms flexed as he let out a sigh; the bath haze then reminded him of Arabella’s smooth back. The curve of her small waist that dipped into her fuller bottom. She wasn’t truly aware that she had not only the look to seduce a man but also the body that felt so tantalizing.

The way her delicate skin seemed to glow under the dim candlelight of the bathtub the other night. The smell of her milky skin, her smooth legs, and the softness of her flesh. She lingered inside his mind, enough for his jaw to clench and harden.

He shook the thought away, forcing his mind to focus, but it lingered, a subtle burn that gnawed at him in the quiet of the water. His thoughts, as sharp and volatile as ever, couldn’t seem to escape the haunting image of her standing there, her eyes searching, filled with something dangerously close to concern.

He smiled. Seeing Arabella panicking for him, her eyes desperate for an answer of who had hurt him, everything tasted sweet.

He could also tell if his fangs had sunk down those soft and supple inner thighs of her, it would taste even sweeter. He imagined what it would be like to sink them into that fragile, exposed skin, to taste the warmth that coursed through her veins. Something was intoxicating in the thought, something that made his pulse quicken, his mind cloud with a dangerous desire.

His birdie would cry for certain, with tears in her eyes, but not those tears of anger and sadness; he would like to see something different, something he could only see, something that he could elicit from her. Such as tears that came from an unbridled sense of extreme pleasure.

Cassius let his fingers slide along the water’s edge, the red swirling as he flexed his hand beneath the surface. The ache from his wounds was almost comforting now as he looked at the color of water that was akin to her hair color. He sighed, his thoughts swirling from the pain into Arabella, and his smile quirked up into a grin.

Things were getting too dangerous.

Arabella had somehow turned into a fire, and he loved to play with fire. The more it could burn him, isn’t it more fun?

Though still that fire wasn’t something he would choose over his throne, the very one his mother had died for.