Cassian's cell was nothing like the filthy dungeon reserved for common thieves or assassins. No, the Duchy of Valthorn couldn't afford to tarnish its image, even for a disgraced son. The polished stone walls were cold but clean, the golden chains—those again—gleamed softly in the light of a single torch. A narrow bed, a table with a pitcher of water, and a barred window overlooking the palace gardens.
'What a delicate touch,' Cassian thought, a wry smile on his lips. His father had always had a knack for appearances, even in punishment.
He leaned against the wall, legs crossed casually, and let his mind wander.
The North. The frozen lands, the barbarians, the wild beasts.
'A perfect chessboard,' he mused. Luminar was a gilded cage, full of prying eyes and stifling conventions. The North, though, was a blank page, and Cassian had always loved writing his own rules.
A clank at the door broke his thoughts. He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. The guards had already brought his meal—fresh bread and wine, a far cry from the slop of ordinary dungeons—and his departure for the North was set for dawn. Who could possibly come to disturb his early exile?
The heavy door creaked open, and a familiar figure slipped inside, cloaked in dark fabric that didn't quite hide her fragile grace.
Seraphine.
Cassian stifled a laugh. 'Oh, this is almost too perfect.'
His brother's fiancée, the one he'd so delightfully humiliated at the Ashen Ball, stood there in his cell. Her auburn hair, neatly braided, framed a face where anger and confusion vied for dominance. Her pale green eyes shimmered with an intensity that betrayed her turmoil. She closed the door behind her, casting a nervous glance at the corridor before turning to him.
"Cassian," she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. "I need to know."
He tilted his head, feigning curiosity. "Know what, dear Seraphine?" His tone was soft, syrupy, as if addressing a petulant child. Inside, he was gleeful. She had come here, alone, to a cell, to talk.
What delicious absurdity. Was she truly so naïve? Or perhaps it was desperation, a frantic attempt to understand why he'd shattered her reputation with such precision.
Seraphine clenched her fists, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Your feelings," she said, her voice gaining strength. "Everything you told me, those words, those looks, those moments… Was it all a lie? Was it just to hurt Renner?"
Cassian fixed her with a slow, spreading smile. 'Oh, Seraphine, you're perched so high in your illusions.'
He remembered those moments vividly—the whispers in a corridor, stolen glances at banquets, the letters he'd slipped under her door, full of promises he never intended to keep. It had all been a game, a way to crack the flawless armor of Renner, the perfect brother, Eryndor's hero. But Seraphine… she had believed in something more. She had believed in him.
He straightened, approaching her with feline grace, the chains clinking softly. "My feelings?" he repeated, his voice dripping with false tenderness. "Seraphine, how could you doubt me? Every word, every look…" He paused, letting his eyes roam over her, as if rediscovering her beauty. "It was all true. I love you, Seraphine."
She flinched, her eyes widening with a mix of shock and disbelief. "You're lying," she breathed, but her voice lacked conviction. "You can't… After everything you did, after what you said at the ball…"
Cassian let out a light laugh that echoed in the cell like a discordant note. 'Oh, she's adorable.'
He wondered how long he could toy with her before boredom set in. For now, it was too delicious to stop.
"The ball?" he replied, feigning indignation. "A misunderstanding, nothing more. The court is a nest of vipers, Seraphine. I merely… shed light on certain truths."
She shook her head, her trembling hands clutching her cloak. "You ruined my reputation, Cassian. You made me a laughingstock. Why? If you loved me, why?"
He stepped closer, until only inches separated them. He could smell her jasmine perfume. "Because I can't stand to see you chained to him," he murmured, his voice low. "Renner doesn't deserve you. He's a hero, yes, but a boring one. You, you're…" He let the word hang.
Seraphine stepped back, her back brushing the wall. "You're a monster," she whispered, but her eyes held that familiar gleam—the look of someone desperate to believe a lie. "And yet…" She hesitated, then lifted her chin, as if summoning courage she didn't know she had. "And yet, I can still save you."
Cassian raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. 'Save me? Oh, that's new.'
"Save me?" he echoed, his tone wavering between amusement and curiosity. "And how do you plan to do that, my sweet?"
She took a deep breath, as if the words she was about to say cost her every ounce of courage. "You have supporters," she said quickly. "Nobles, servants, even some guards. They're loyal to you, Cassian. We can arrange your escape. Tonight. You don't have to go to the North. We can leave, far from Eryndor, far from all this."
Cassian stared at her, and inwardly, he roared with laughter. 'Supporters?'
The idea was so absurd it was almost endearing. He'd never sought loyalty—people were too unpredictable for that. But he'd sown enough chaos, slipped enough promises and half-truths, that some fools had begun dreaming of a Cassian Valthorn, savior or revolutionary.
What irony.
And Seraphine, sweet, naïve Seraphine, thought she could convince him to flee like a thief in the night.
He tilted his head, pretending to consider her offer. "Flee," he murmured, as if the word itself were a puzzle. "Abandon all this, everything you've built… for me?" He took another step, his smile widening. "Are you truly ready to give up everything for me, Seraphine?"
She swallowed, her cheeks flushing deeper. "I… I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "But I can't let you go to the North. You'll die there, Cassian. The cold, the barbarians… they'll break you."
He laughed silently in his mind. 'Break me? Oh, Seraphine, you have no idea who I am.'
In truth, he'd let himself be captured, let the mercenaries fail, let Gavren wave his parchments, because Luminar bored him. The court's intrigues, his father's stares, Renner's insufferable shine—it had all grown stale. The North, with its chaos and promise, was a new stage, a new game.
But Seraphine… she deserved one final act.
He adopted a resigned air, his shoulders slumping slightly, his eyes softening as if moved by her offer. "Seraphine," he murmured, his voice laced with feigned vulnerability. "You're… more than I deserve. But flee?" He shook his head, as if the idea tore at him. "I can't. Not now. The North is my punishment, and I must face it."
She stared at him, her eyes filling with tears. "But why?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Why resign yourself? You, Cassian, who never bends?"
He stepped closer, until their faces were mere inches apart. "Because sometimes," he whispered, "you have to fall to rise higher." Then, before she could respond, he leaned in and kissed her.
Her lips were soft, hesitant, but she didn't push him away. He felt her breath quicken, her body tremble slightly under the weight of emotion.
'What a fool,' he thought, even as he deepened the kiss, his hands brushing her arms with tender care.
When he pulled back, she stared at him, cheeks aflame, eyes glistening. "I'll wait for you," she whispered, a promise to herself as much as to him. "When you return from the North, when you've proved them wrong… I'll be here."
Cassian tilted his head, a sad smile on his lips, but inside, he was laughing uproariously. 'Oh, Seraphine, you're a tragic poem.'
"Then wait for me," he said softly, his tone heavy with feigned gravity. "For our love, I'll come back to you."
She nodded, wiping a tear, then turned and left the cell, her cloak trailing behind her. The door closed with a thud, and silence settled once more.
Cassian leaned against the wall, a low laugh shaking his shoulders. "Poor Renner," he murmured to the darkness, his eyes sparkling with irrepressible mischief. "I almost pity you."