The message from Luceris was folded so precisely that Cassian had to take a breath before unfolding it—his fingers trembling slightly, his thoughts running ahead of him. It was coded, of course. Only a few lines, but heavy with implication. Look beyond the Doctrine of First Flame. Viremont once petitioned for revision. Ask why it was denied.
Cassian stared at it for a long time, heart beating a dull, anxious rhythm in his chest. He burned the message carefully after memorizing it, watching it turn to embers in the small iron basin near the hearth. He didn't sleep after that. His thoughts were loud enough to crowd out the night.
He had stayed too long in the archives. And now, it was beginning to show.
---
The palace halls were empty when he finally left the library. That was fortunate. He didn't want to be seen like this—sleepless, hollowed, trembling faintly from the edges of his own heat. He pressed a hand to his chest as he walked, breathing through the pressure that threatened to climb his throat.
"Cassian," came a voice behind him. He stilled.
Leontius.
His brother's scent reached him before the rest did—cool pine and steel, like winter stillness—and it grounded him just enough. He turned slowly.
Leontius' face twisted in concern, and then a frown settled deep across his brow. "Have you been researching all this time?"
Cassian tried not to look away.
"Leo, I'm fine. I'll sleep after I'm done."
Leontius sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Stupid brother. Watch your health, okay?" His hands found Cassian's shoulders, firm and grounding. Then, softer, "If it doesn't work out… I'll be here. Just please don't get hurt."
Cassian froze. He felt the tremor in Leontius' voice before he heard it. A quiet vulnerability. It cut deeper than any rebuke.
"I understand," Cassian said at last, voice hoarse. "I'm sorry. I'll be more careful."
His brother pulled him into a brief, fierce hug. For once, Cassian didn't resist.
---
Back in his chambers, Cassian tried to rest, for Leontius' sake if nothing else. But rest wouldn't come. The sheets felt too hot. His skin itched. His breath caught in his chest. His heat wasn't at its peak yet, but the edges of it gnawed at him, muddling his thoughts and overwhelming his body.
He rolled over, hating the weakness, hating how it made him feel—like prey, like a thing trapped between need and shame.
That was how Hadrian found him.
The door opened softly, and then Hadrian was beside him in an instant, his eyes dark with concern.
"You're burning," he murmured, his voice low and calm as his hand brushed Cassian's forehead.
Cassian blinked up at him, dazed and breathless. "Hadri—"
"Ssh. I'm here. Let me help you."
Cassian nodded faintly.
Hadrian's scent—normally powerful, enigmatic—washed over him like cool shadow. Whatever made Hadrian an Enigma curled gently into the space between them, no longer a storm, but a balm.
He leaned closer, letting Cassian feel the quiet promise of it.
Then, carefully, Hadrian took Cassian's hand, turned it, and brushed his scent against the gland at his wrist. His other hand cupped the side of Cassian's neck, touching the second gland with reverence and restraint.
Cassian felt something inside him unwind. Not completely, but enough. His pulse slowed. The pain dulled. His breathing came easier.
It was intimate. But not possessive.
A gesture of comfort, not claim.
He closed his eyes as Hadrian's presence cradled him in silence, the scent of him threading through every nerve like a promise kept.
This moment was refuge, not surrender.