Arabella smiled at the crease between his brows. Cassius had not been born gentle; the court and a hard childhood had taught him that pity was a blade that cut the holder. He had learned to survive by hardening, to trade mercy for advantage.
And yet, day by day, she watched something in him ease. His words came softer now; his rare smiles lasted a fraction longer. Even after he had executed three men the day before for trading children on the black market, there was a new, unsettling thread of mercy in him, a humane restraint that had not been there before.
He shrugged off the change when she mentioned it, but everyone at court had noticed: servants lingered a little longer, officers answered him with less fear, and whispers of approval followed his name. Cruelty still lived in him like an old habit, but it no longer defined every motion. He could still strike without remorse, yet he could also lean close to a wounded man and say something that felt like comfort.
