The golden hall gleamed with unnatural light, too polished, too bright. Cassian sat with the other nobles—diplomatic, composed—yet his fingers curled slightly beneath his gloves. The weight of everything that had passed still ached in his bones. Hadrian stood farther down, silent in his post as shadow and sword.
Emperor Valerius Thorne spoke with cold precision. Each word carved the air. The subject: the increasing instability near the borders, and the Ashen Coil's growing reach. Around the table sat the key border lords—House Draewyn's Lady Colienne, Sir Lysander Meroveil, and Lady Nyra Vance standing in place of Lord Thesan Viremont.
Cassian kept his gaze steady, though he felt Lord Kael of House Ardin watching him. An inner court house, not a border one. Unaligned. Neutral, for now.
Then Mavren Thorne stepped forward, charming, polished—a golden snake. His eyes brushed over the gathered border nobles before lingering on Cassian.
"I believe House Caerwyn has encountered these creatures firsthand," he said smoothly. "Surely, you can provide... clarity."
Cassian didn't flinch. "Only what was permitted in my report."
The air chilled.
Before Mavren could press further, the Emperor spoke again—cutting, measured. "That will suffice."
The meeting continued, but Cassian felt a shift.
---
After the meeting, the halls outside the court were too quiet. Cassian turned a corner—and stopped.
Mavren.
"Lord Caerwyn," he said with a smile far too gracious. "You've become... quite the curiosity."
Cassian tensed. "Lord Mavren."
"You're not like the others." The alpha's voice dropped, pheromones sliding into the air like invisible fingers. "You don't kneel. Even now, you're—still."
Cassian blinked slowly. "Should I be affected?"
Mavren stepped closer. "You should be on your knees."
But the expected pressure never came.
Cassian's eyes narrowed. "Your scent means nothing to me."
And indeed, it didn't. Not since Hadrian. Whatever had passed between them—whatever tether Hadrian had left—made Cassian unshakable.
Mavren's smile faltered just a little.
Cassian bowed, shallow and cold. "If you'll excuse me, Lord Mavren."
---
The meeting left Cassian with more questions than answers. Why Hadrian? Why him? Was it because of their bloodline or something else? What can I do?
"Cassian," his father called, snapping him from his thoughts.
"Father," he bowed as Lord Rhain Caerwyn walked toward him.
"Follow me."
The room the palace had given them was austere, but elegant—stone walls laced with fine gold leaf, a carved wardrobe of dark oak, velvet drapes drawn back from tall windows. A bed with silver-threaded linens. Yet still impersonal. Temporary.
His father's hands moved subtly, enchanting the room—barriers of silence and scrying prevention woven from aether and arcane. Rhain was a master of enchantment.
Cassian sat beside him.
"Were you going to tell me?" Rhain asked.
Cassian lowered his head, fingers clasped tightly in his lap. "No. I didn't want you to worry."
"What nonsense are you talking about?" Rhain's tone sharpened. Then softened. "Sunray... you're my son. Of course I'll worry."
Cassian's grip tightened.
"That's the problem," he whispered. "You're sick."
The words cracked in the air like ice.
"You've gotten weaker. You don't eat properly. You bleed after long walks or magic use. Your skin is paler. I'm not stupid. Don't lie to me, papa—"
The name slipped out, raw and aching. His voice broke.
Rhain's breath caught.
"Come here," he said softly.
Cassian leaned into him, trembling. His father's arms wrapped around his shoulders, grounding.
"I'm sorry," Rhain murmured. "This father of yours never meant to worry you."
"But you did," Cassian whispered. "You're important to me."
"And you, to me. You have a long life ahead of you. That's why I didn't want you involved in this war."
"But—"
"Ssh. I know. But promise me you'll take care of yourself. And your brother too. I'll stop hiding my condition if you promise that."
Cassian nodded into his father's shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of ink, frost, and old steel.
---
Elsewhere, Hadrian stood in a narrow hallway—one hand braced against the wall, the other trembling faintly.
The scent of ash.
A boy's scream. His own?
A collar. A knife. A voice in his ear telling him to kill or be killed.
Then—another voice. One warm. A tether.
His mind lurched—then quieted.
His breathing slowed. His hand clenched.
It wasn't the memory that scared him.
It was the reminder that he wasn't supposed to forget.
---
The corridor was quiet by the time Hadrian returned.
Cassian was there.
Still dressed from the meeting, pale, but steady. He looked up the moment Hadrian appeared.
Hadrian reached for his gloves—then froze when Cassian caught his hand.
"I couldn't feel Mavren's scent," Cassian said softly. "Only yours."
Hadrian stilled.
"You said you'd tell me, one day. When you're ready." Cassian's gaze was unwavering. "But you're not alone in this, Hadrian. I won't let you be."
"...I know," Hadrian whispered.
They stayed there, hand in hand, as the world drifted quietly around them.
---
They walked together toward the firelit guest wing.
Past the whispers of courtiers. Past the paintings of emperors long dead.
Two sons of different houses.
Two men who had every reason to remain apart.
And yet—they did not.
Not anymore.
Somewhere, far deeper in the palace walls, hidden gears began to turn. Mavren's eyes narrowed over parchment. Lady Nyra sent a quiet message under seal. And Lord Thesan—wherever he was—lifted a candle in the dark.
The war moved on.
But so did they.