Two gore-splattered men held Polyxena between them.

The fat of youth had dissolved from her face to reveal straight, striking lines and her body had matured into attractive curves. The torn, dirty peplos she wore exposed parts of her battered torso and legs.

A man stepped in front of the terrified princess. He backhanded Polyxena and the two men that kept her prisoner snickered. Polyxena gasped, and blood trickled out of her mouth—she'd bitten her tongue.

The man who'd hit her dragged a finger through the blood that stained her chin. His full lips broke into a horrible grin.

The breath caught in Polyxena's throat and she struggled against the men's grip.

The man with the princess' blood drying on his finger glanced from Polyxena and took in the sight of Troy burning in the background.

The entire city glowed with an unholy light.

Cries of anguish and fear filled the fast-approaching night.

Combating the sounds of the damned were the cheers of Troy's attackers.

"Cassandra?"

The concerned voice broke the tight grip of the vision and knocked Cassandra into reality. Dizziness made her queasy as her eyes focused on her where she stood, in her part of the royal gardens.

Nearby, Paris and Polyxena gazed at her as if she'd grown another head.

Cassandra drank in the uninjured sight of Polyxena. Her sister was safe, hadn't a care in the world.

Someday, though, somebody would harm her while Troy collapsed in the distance.

Maybe what Cassandra had seen had only symbolized events to unfold. Apollo had made it clear during her third training session all her prophecies would come to pass, but not every image revealed to her was literal.

Maybe the wounded, trapped older version of Polyxena meant Cassandra's beloved sister would be left heartbroken.

What of Troy ablaze?

What could that mean other than what it presented?

How did it connect with Cassandra's desperate hope she'd only witnessed a dramatic expression of Polyxena's unhappiness over a lost love?

Paris stepped toward Cassandra. "Are you all right?"

He made a tentative move to comfort her, and Cassandra recoiled.

As sure as she was of her name, Cassandra knew the vision she'd just had would come about because of Paris' imminent actions.

Paris frowned, and the hurt in his eyes ripped through Cassandra's all-consuming apprehension.

Since his arrival, he'd been nothing but kind and refined. He never tried too hard to fit in with his long-lost family. He accepted they all needed time to adjust, though it hadn't taken long. Everyone loved Paris, even Deiphobus, and treated him as if he'd been raised with his siblings.

He couldn't bring pain to anyone. Paris would take a blade meant for someone else.

Cassandra's gut-instinct lied.

"Yes, of course," Cassandra said. She wiped away the sweat that had gathered on her brown during her vision. "It's this heat."

"It's not that bad," Polyxena said. She looked at the overcast sky. "It'll rain. I can smell it."

Cassandra shrugged. "Yes, well..."

Paris watched her; his eyes shadowed with worry.

Polyxena's attention to the conversation had already evaporated. She now chased a white butterfly through the flowers Cassandra had tended.

On any other day, she'd tell the child to behave, but she couldn't bring herself to raise her voice, not after what she'd seen. Besides, any damaged flowers would grow back.

"I think I should go lie down," Cassandra told Paris.

"Would you like me to escort you?"

Cassandra shook her head and pointed at their distracted sister. "I'd hate to ruin her fun." She flashed a smile. "I'll be fine, I swear. I just need a little rest."

Paris regarded Cassandra.

The skin around his mouth went taught, a gesture many of the King's children shared when dissatisfied but trying to conceal it.

Cassandra squeezed Paris' hand until her brother's expression softened.

"I hope you feel better," he said.

Cassandra called goodbye to Polyxena before she hurried into the palace.

She wished she could stay outside longer (only two days before Cassandra had been given leave from her confinement) but Cassandra hadn't lied when she'd told Paris she needed to relax. Her most current vision had upset her more than any others before it, so much so all the progress she'd gained over the past five days had evaporated.

The palace buzzed with activity.

A marvelous party had been planned for the Queen's birthday. Every servant and slave seemed eager to make their Queen's celebration one she'd never forget.

No one noticed Cassandra's quick passage to her bedchamber, or if they did, they didn't care.

She pushed open her door, thoughts focused on the promise of sleep, and jerked with surprise.

A tall, older man with a belly rounded by wine sat on her bed. His golden robes announced his prized station and had the added benefit of complementing his black hair and vibrant eyes—traits he'd inherited from his mother.

Cassandra smiled at Aesacus. "To what do I owe this visit?"

Her brother pointed at the door. "Close it, please."

He had a voice much like the King's, only rougher as if he had gravel caught in his throat.

She did as she asked, then faced Aesacus. "Why are you here? I was about to nap."

The barest hint of amusement danced in Aesacus' eyes. "You've been keeping an interesting secret."

The time she'd spent with Dimus flooded her mind. They'd only talked, much like she did with Apollo, but that didn't matter. Cassandra was forbidden to fraternize with a man the King didn't approve of. If found out, her virtue would be questioned, she would be cast out to beg on the streets, and Dimus would die.

The seer wouldn't come to her first if his talent had revealed Cassandra had misbehaved, would he? Shouldn't he have gone to the King with his knowledge?

Aesacus' first duty was to his father, not a sister he hardly saw.

"A secret? Whatever do you mean?"

Her steady, nonchalant tone didn't betray her hammering heart.

"I don't know how you've gained Apollo's favor, but the god has granted you the mighty gift of prophecy. It seems your mother was right."

Aesacus' statement floored Cassandra. "I-I... What makes you say that?"

"Don't worry." Her brother offered her a rare, brilliant smile that transformed his stern face, so it glowed with alluring benevolence. "I've no intention of exposing you. I only wish for you to tell me what's been revealed to you since you've gained the sight. Anything to do with Paris."

"Why?"

Aesacus regarded her, and his pleasant expression faded. He nodded. "I'm going to trust you with information you're not to repeat."

His hushed voice forced Cassandra closer to the seer.

"The King didn't give Paris away at birth because he was ill. No, I had a vision while your mother was laboring, and what I discovered forced the King's rash decision."

Cassandra's stomach dropped to the floor. "What did you see?"

Her brother rubbed the space between his thick eyebrows. "I saw Troy ablaze with soldiers running around, pillaging and killing the people. Between the images of carnage your brother's face loomed, and I knew he'd caused the destruction."

Fear gripped Cassandra.

Aesacus was Priam's favorite prophet, not because of blood, but because whatever was revealed to the seer always came true. If she'd had the same visions as someone as experienced as Aesacus, that had to mean they'd come to pass.

Polyxena would be tortured. Cassandra's home would fall to ruin.

All because of Paris.

"Have... have you had that vision since then?" she asked.

If her brother hadn't, then she couldn't trust her prophecies. Someone who'd been a seer for decades would have had such an earth-shattering vision since the lost prince's return.

Aesacus shook his head. "All I've seen is you."

Sharp relief replaced Cassandra's concern. "What makes you think I would have had a prophecy about it?"

"Mere curiosity. Have you?"

"No."

The prophet scrutinized Cassandra, and she knew he suspected her lying.

Aesacus sighed. "I've heard he's a well-adjusted young man, but you mustn't ignore your visions. As frightening as they can be, they must be addressed. It's a gift from the gods to aid us, we vulnerable mortals."

"Of course." Cassandra's eyes focused on her brother as she uttered her next lie. "I'll come to you if I ever see anything about Paris."

Aesacus didn't believe her, and they both knew it.

Cassandra expected the seer to press the issue, but he astounded her by rising from her bed.

He gazed at her until she grew uncomfortable, then patted her shoulder.

"Find me when another—If you have a vision. I'm more than willing to help you control the sight."

He exited the room.

She watched him leave before she threw herself on her bed.

For a moment, Cassandra regretted deceiving the seer, but she quelled the emotion and shut her eyes.

Aesacus was mistaken, her prophecies showed nonsense.