As much as she did not want that moment to haunt her, it did. Even more so than the destruction of her beloved Troy. Clytemnestra had been laying in wait as Agamemnon brought Cassandra into his palace. It all happened in an instant—the sudden swing of sword whistling above the head of the king of Mycenae, the shouting of his guards, and the tackling of Clytemnestra to the ground with a heavy thud. It was a wonder that she did not crack her skull from the impact. It should not have happened that way. Cassandra foresaw her death and Agamemnon's death, resigning herself to a bloody end. All of her prophecies came true. But this one did not.

For the past few weeks, Cassandra found herself searching for answers. Clearly, she did not understand her powers as well as she thought she did. In the dead of night, she left Agamemnon's chambers quietly while he slept soundly in bed. She walked as quietly as possible, pausing when she heard guards on patrol and hiding behind stone pillars. After Clytemnestra's assassination attempt against her and Agamemnon, they were all on high alert. Cassandra stepped lightly across the inner courtyard, the soft glow of torches flickering against the stone walls. A sudden commotion reached her ears — the clatter of armored feet, the rattle of gates swinging, and the sharp cry of sentries. Her brow furrowed, and she climbed up on hidden stone steps to peer through a hole in the wall.

A figure stood there, sword at his hip.

"Who are you?" She said quietly to herself. She did not yet know if he was a friend, a spy, or some new danger sent by the Fates themselves. But he spoke authoritatively, maybe seeking an audience with Agamemnon.

She looked away for a moment as the palace gates clanged shut. So they had let him inside. As much as she hoped the guards didn't notice her snooping, she hoped this stranger didn't see her either. She had enough trouble.