As the last blossom of fireworks faded into smoke and embers across the capital's sky, Elira and Cassian remained standing together. Their eyes found one another in the hush that followed, the world holding still in that tender silence. Elira smiled with all her heart, her laughter caught in her lips as she shyly lifted a strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear. For a fleeting breath, it seemed as though nothing could disturb them.
Until a voice, sharp as a blade, cut through the night.
"ELIRA, YOU BITCH!"
The venom in those words made Elira's chest seize. Her heart thundered in terror as her eyes widened. She turned, trembling, towards the familiar voice behind her.
"M–Mother? W–why… why are you here?" Elira's words quavered as she instinctively stepped back, fear crawling up her spine. Her mother, Elinor, had found her—Elinor, who so often left bruises on both her body and soul. Cassian stiffened, unease tightening his features as he stood at Elira's side.
"Ha! Look at you, pathetic creature!" Elinor spat, her lips curled into a cruel sneer. "And tell me, where have you been? Why are you dressed so finely? Because of him, is it? Your… boyfriend?" She jabbed a finger towards Cassian, mockery dripping from every syllable.
Elira froze. Shock rooted her to the ground, her body stiff and powerless before her mother's scorn. She longed to answer, to defend herself, but fear choked her voice. She could not defy Elinor—not without inviting another round of blows.
Elinor stepped closer, her presence suffocating. "He is not worthy of you, girl. I shall find you someone else, someone who can satisfy you."
Cassian's brows drew low and dark. Fury stirred in his chest as he watched Elira's mother heap insult upon her own daughter, the cruelty almost too much to bear.
"Come, my daughter!" Elinor snapped, her voice sharp as a whip. "You will return with me to the Lust District. You will work where I command you to work!"
"No, Mother! I will not go!" Elira's voice cracked but held firm, courage burning through her trembling frame.
"What!?" Elinor's eyes flared wide, her face twisting with wrath. She lunged to seize Elira's wrist, intent on dragging her home like a prisoner. Elira squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the familiar violence.
But before Elinor's hand could close, Cassian stepped forward, blocking her path. His sudden defiance made Elinor's eyes widen in shock.
"Don't you dare lay a hand on her!" Cassian's voice rang out, louder than he intended, and people nearby began to turn their heads towards the commotion.
Elinor hissed, her face hardening into something venomous. "And what makes you think you can stop me, you bastard?" she snapped, her anger spilling unchecked. She was desperate now, desperate to drag her daughter back to the brothel where she herself worked.
Cassian's anger boiled over. "You cannot have her—not when you're nothing but a pitiful whore. Thank the gods Elira has not inherited your vile heart. Tell me—are you truly her mother? What kind of woman would sell her own blood to a tavern?"
Elira clutched the back of Cassian's coat, her hands trembling against him. His fury raged for her sake, for her innocence, and he could feel the fragility in her grip.
Elinor laughed bitterly, masking her own unease. "You don't know me, boy. Why are you so protective of my daughter? Or perhaps…" She leaned closer, eyes narrowing with malice. "Perhaps she already satisfies you in bed?"
Cassian's fury snapped. His once-bright blue eyes darkened, storming with a rage that threatened to consume him. His hands twitched as though he might seize her by the throat, crush the venom out of her with his bare strength. Hatred blurred his vision—he longed to end her cruelty once and for all, for Elira's sake.
Elinor, in her arrogance, did not grasp the enormity of her mistake. She had hurled her poison at the very crown prince of the empire, blind to the truth of who stood before her. Unaware of his true identity, she had dared to defile him with insult after insult, and now her folly hung heavy in the air.
Cassian's fingers curled, his arm shifting as though he would reach for Elinor's neck—an inch more, and his wrath would have been unleashed.
"Cassian, no!" Elira's desperate cry shattered through his fury. She pressed herself against his back, eyes squeezed shut, begging him not to become a monster in her mother's shadow.
"YOU WRETCH! COME HERE AT ONCE!" Elinor screeched, seizing the moment to grip Elira's wrist. Her nails dug deep as she yanked hard, the force enough to bruise. Elira cried out, pain lancing through her arm.
"Mother, please! You're hurting me!" she sobbed, twisting to free herself. But Elinor's grip was iron, dragging her daughter towards her will. Cassian reached desperately to pull Elira back, their struggle drawing gasps from the onlookers.
And then—suddenly—a hand intervened.
Elinor's grip faltered as another, stronger hand seized her wrist. Both women froze, their eyes snapping to the towering figure before them.
Elira's breath caught in her throat. Her lips parted in disbelief as she stared up at him.
Elinor herself recoiled, stunned by the imposing figure that loomed before her—six feet and four inches of silver-haired presence, eyes burning with a sharp, metallic glint.
"My son," Mrs. Joana's voice called, slightly breathless as she hurried to catch up, "what is happening here?"
Elira trembled, voice faltering as she looked to the one who had caught her mother's hand. "S–Sylas…?"
Sylas stood there, his silver eyes narrowed, the light within them shadowed into something far darker. His grip upon Elinor's wrist was firm, unyielding. His silver hair stirred faintly in the night air, a cold wind circling the tension between them. He looked at Elinor with the full weight of his fury—sharp, merciless, and utterly unafraid.
With a sharp motion, Sylas released Elinor's wrist, his left arm still steady upon Elira's right hand. The warmth of his touch spread through her trembling fingers, a comfort that calmed her frayed heart. Sheltered behind the strong breadth of his back, Elira felt a rare ease, as though safety itself stood before her.
"Ha! And who is this now, Elira? My, you do collect men, don't you?" Elinor sneered, her voice dripping with irritation.
Sylas said nothing, his silver gaze fixed coldly upon her. But Mrs. Joana could bear no more; she stepped forward to face Elinor directly.
"Goodness, madam, will you please calm yourself? Who are you, by the way?" Mrs. Joana asked, her tone even though her patience was thinning.
Elinor only scoffed, her face twisted with fury. She jabbed her finger towards Elira.
"That bitch! She's my daughter—give her back to me! I need her!" she shrieked, her voice climbing ever higher, drawing stares from the growing crowd.
"Oh, you mean Elira?" Mrs. Joana replied, her expression still calm, composed as stone.
"Yes!" Elinor snapped, her voice sharp as a whip.
"You cannot have her," Mrs. Joana answered firmly. "She belongs with me. She is my daughter, not yours."
The words struck like a blade. Elinor's face twisted, and in a blaze of temper she spat her venom.
"Ha! Are you serious? Elira, what on earth have you been feeding these people, that they choose your side over mine? Don't you all know my daughter is a slut? A cheap bitch who tries to seduce my clients the moment my back is turned! Elira, you even have debts with one of them still!"
The plaza fell tense. Anger boiled in Sylas and Cassian alike, their jaws clenched, veins sharp upon their temples. In their minds, had Elinor been a man, they would have dragged her to the riverbank and ended her misery there. Yet bound by honour, knights do not raise a hand against a woman.
"No, Mother!" Elira cried, her voice shaking yet defiant. "That man tried to rape me!"
"Ha! You only tempted him with your fucking breasts!" Elinor spat, arms crossed, her eyes darting to the onlookers as if eager to gather their scorn.
Sylas nearly surged forward to drag the shameless woman away, but Mrs. Joana's hand restrained him. Her calm was unravelling, her silver eyes flashing dark.
"If you do not return my daughter to me this instant, I will report you!" Elinor shrieked.
"What!?" Cassian barked, fury spilling past his restraint.
Before Elinor could spew another word, Mrs. Joana moved. With startling force, she clamped her hand over Elinor's mouth, her other hand wrenching a fistful of her hair. Elinor's eyes went wide, her shrill scream muffled as she thrashed helplessly.
The crowd gasped. Elira, Sylas, and Cassian froze, jaws slack in shock. Sylas rubbed his temple in disbelief, while Cassian and Elira stared wide-eyed.
"You truly don't know how to hold your tongue, do you, woman?" Mrs. Joana hissed in Elinor's ear. Her voice was low, serpentine, coiling tight like a viper around its prey. Elinor felt her body lock in terror, her limbs stiff with helplessness.
"Report me, then," Mrs. Joana whispered, her grip tightening in Elinor's hair. "But remember this—Elira's body is marked with the bruises of your beatings. You cannot hide them. And if you still refuse to leave her be… do not forget, I was once an apothecary. I know the craft of poison. If you wish your life to stretch longer than this day, stay away from us—and from Elira."
With that, Mrs. Joana shoved Elinor aside.
For in her youth, Joana Laymeniya Crowholt had served as a combat medic, side by side with her husband upon the battlefield. It was there, amidst blood and fire, that they had fallen in love.
"Shit! Who the hell are you?" Elinor gasped, shaken, unable to stomach her defeat.
"I am Joana Laymeniya Crowholt, wife of the great Commander of Highthorne," Mrs. Joana declared, her voice carrying with pride.
The murmurs of the crowd swelled at once, whispers racing through the plaza. Elinor's eyes widened—realization struck her like a blow. She had crossed the wrong woman. No choice remained but retreat.
"You'll pay for this!" she snarled, glaring at Elira before vanishing into the crowd, her presence like a foul stench finally swept away.
At last, the four were left in uneasy quiet. Yet guilt pricked Elira's heart. Shame weighed heavy upon her—shame for her mother's scandalous display, shame before Sylas, Cassian, and Mrs. Joana.
Elira, are you all right?" Sylas asked, his cold yet steady tone reaching her ears. She turned her face away, unable to meet his silver gaze. No answer came from her lips. Instead, she gently withdrew her hand from his and stepped towards Mrs. Joana.
"I am sorry, Mrs. Joana," she whispered, her voice flat with despair.
Mrs. Joana's anger faded into pity. She could see the girl would heap all the blame upon herself. With a sigh, she chose to end their visit at the plaza.
"Come. Let us return," she said, leading them back to the waiting carriage.
The joy of the evening had shattered. Elira's heart weighed heavy, Cassian's face lingered in shadowed worry, and even Sylas—though cloaked in his usual coldness—seethed with silent fury at what he had witnessed. Neither he nor Cassian had ever imagined that Elira's own mother could sink so vilely low, bartering away her daughter's very blood for the indulgence of men. Even Mrs. Joana, seasoned by years of hardship, struggled to believe that such mothers truly walked this earth.