A Glimpse Into My Mind

The Point Of A Dagger

The music from the ballroom flows through the door that awaits to be opened, filling up the space of the hallway. People rush around me, adjusting the red ballgown fitted to my body with a slit running down my left side, exposing my leg. A gleam of metal catches my eyes, forcing me to quickly adjust my dress.

"Is that necessary, Cassandra?" Maeve, my lady in waiting asks me, scowling at the dagger, strapped to my thigh.

"Very," I reply, curtly, looking forward to the large doors, hiding the bustling ballroom, filled with my guests. Tonight, we celebrate my coronation set for next week. We celebrate the first woman to ever sit on the throne of our tiny country.

Maeve sighs, pulling my dress to cover my ever so scandalous leg.

"I hope you know what you are doing." As the words leave her mouth, I hear the music change to the strong melody, signaling royalty is entering. The doors open before me, revealing the guests. A wicked grin grows on my face, admissible as either a smile or a scowl.

The music flows through the air as I walk down the grand staircase. Women and men dressed in gowns and suits bow their heads as I enter. The music slows when I stop, standing above the rest, looking down at the Dukes, Duchesses, Earls, Countesses, and the rest of my subjects whom make up my court.

"Her royal highness, Cassandra, Princess of Plora," a man, dressed in our nation's emerald colors, announces.

The guests clap as I wave and dismiss them, the music returning, watching them for a moment, as they dance through the room. My eyes scan the room, eventually landing on the person my dagger awaits. The scowl grows on my face, hatred burning in my chest. He stands off to the side of the room, leaning against the wall. His appearance matches the setting: a formal suit, accentuating the muscles in his arms and chest, his black hair styled in a way where it looks messy but isn't. The god-like face portrays no emotion as he picks at his nails, looking bored. I force my eyes away from his jawline that is prickled with a dark, unshaven, stubble. His posture, however, seems to be of someone you could find in a pub rather than in the center of your enemy's castle, your chest awaiting the fine point of my silver blade.

My scowl must rely my fury as Lords and Ladies move out of my way, not daring a word in my direction, as I glide across the grand room.

I ignore the gawking stares, keeping the fury radiating.

The nerve...

I close the space between us quickly, taking him by the tie, moving out of the room when a sever passes in front of us, obstructing the guests view for a quick moment.

Cold air hits my bare back when I slide into the hallway, the warmth from people gone.

"Your majesty," he smirks, taking a step closer to me. My hands quickly find their way to his chest as I push him against the wall, hard, earning a small groan. The warmth between my legs grows, turning me on, slowly, though I am face to face with the man I despise most in the world.

"What the hell, are you doing in my castle, Griffin?" I sneer, almost spitting at him. I ignore the tingling warmth under my fingertips coming from Griffin's skin, through his shirt. My face is inches from his, so close that our breaths mingle.

"I was invited." His grin grows, full of mischief and hatred. Hatred toward me, toward my country. Griffin moves under my hands, trying to get out from under my death hold. I push him back even harder. My knee moves out of the slit in my dress, pushing into him, making me become acutely aware of his hardness, as I slip my hand down my leg, toward my dagger. Before my fingers can clasp it, Griffin moves from under my arm, flipping us around so that my back is pressed against the wall. His eyes darken. I feel his hand graze my thigh, moving dangerously close to my undergarments.

With a quick and skilled movement, my dagger is out, slammed in the wall just next to my head. My heart race slams in my chest.

"Why is it," he says, his voice husky. My whole body heats up, despite the cold of the stone pressing into my back. "That you always want to kill me?"

Without thinking, my hands move to his chest, ripping off his tie, breaking the buttons holding his shirt together, desperate to feel his burning skin. Griffin's hands move to my hair, pulling my neck back, kissing it roughly, biting. One of my arms snake around his back, inside his shirt, my nails digging into his skin. My other hand moves to the blade of the dagger, unbeknownst to Griffin. I allow myself one second of pure pleasure, only allowing Griffin to pull a single moan from my throat as his hands and lips move skillfully on my body, before I pull the blade from the wall, pushing it against his throat. Griffin freezes and an evil smirk of victory dances on my lips.

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A/N

hey y'all! i really hope you guys enjoyed this plot line! this is the story that inspired this little collection haha.

if you enjoyed this story, vote and comment to let me know that you do!! chapter with the most votes and comments may be written further and turned into its own story!!

anyway, enjoy the rest of these snippets!

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SECOND PART PUBLISHED NOW!
(seventh chapter)

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