I’m in the war room when Vaela arrives, staring at maps that might as well be decorated napkins for all the strategic value they hold. Border disputes. Trade negotiations. The kind of bureaucratic horseshit that makes me miss the honesty of bloodshed.
But I smell her before I hear the rustle of silk—jasmine, amberwood, and that heady perfume of entitlement. The scent of someone who’s never been told no and still thinks kingdoms bend with a smile.
“Announcing Lady Vaela of the Western Vale—”
“I know.” My voice cuts through the air like a blade. I don’t lift my eyes. Can’t. Not when the bond flares through my ribs, sharp and urgent. From three floors up, Lucy’s heartbeat stutters. She knows.
Of course she knows.
Vaela doesn’t wait for permission. She never does. Her heels click across stone like punctuation marks in a letter no one asked to read.
“I thought you might have at least brushed your hair,” she says coolly. “But I see war makes even Dire Alphas uncivilized.”
I don’t reply.
She hums, circling the table until she’s opposite me. “Didn’t miss me, then?”
“Like I’d miss an arrow to the lung.”
She laughs—light, elegant, and completely rehearsed. “Still poetic, I see. Still brooding. Still pretending the entire kingdom doesn’t wonder when you’ll finally stop grieving long enough to remarry.”
I glance up now, just enough to meet her eyes. Too sharp. Too knowing.
“You came all this way just to insult me?”
“I came because your council practically begged,” she says, fingers grazing the edge of the table. “And because I’m tired of being polite while men fumble their way through peace talks like drunken puppies.”
“You don’t care about peace.”
“No,” she agrees. “I care about leverage. And right now, I have it. You’re bleeding wolves on two borders, your coffers are low, and your little Omega scandal is making you look… vulnerable.”
My jaw clenches. The bond flickers again—Lucy’s fear, or worse, her understanding.
“You want something,” I mutter.
She smiles, slow and gleaming. “Always.”
“What is it this time? A marriage proposal in exchange for reinforcements?”
She steps closer, her voice dropping like silk over steel. “A seat at your table. A name that holds weight when the new order rises. And yes… a union. One the Elders will approve of.”
I take a slow breath. “I’m not in the market.”
Her lips part, mockingly surprised. “No? That’s strange. Because I heard your little flame from the border was… extinguished.”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
“You really should keep better track of your toys,” she whispers.
There’s a crack in the air, sharp and thin. A sound only the bond could carry. Lucy—furious, frightened, burning. I grip the edge of the map until my knuckles whiten.
“The banquet starts in an hour,” Vaela says, pivoting like she hasn’t just tried to set the world on fire. “Wear something that makes you look less… haunted. The kingdom needs an Alpha. Not a ghost.”
Then she’s gone, the door swinging shut behind her like the slam of a judge’s gavel.
The banquet happens without me making excuses. I show up because absence gets noted, catalogued, weaponized. Smile at the right moments. Nod when Vaela mentions “stabilizing the Dire bloodline.” Watch nobles applaud like she just solved every problem in the kingdom.
She’s everything they want. Battle-scarred cloak, blade at her hip during formal dinner, perfect balance of warrior and lady. When she laughs at something Toren says, the sound cuts through conversations like a bell.
I excuse myself early. Protocol violation, but I’ve got bigger problems than court etiquette.
Lucy’s pacing when I slip through her door at midnight. No surprise there.
“Is she the one they want for you?” Direct hit. No warm-up, no small talk.
I don’t answer right away. Stand by the hearth instead, letting firelight carve shadows across whatever expression I’m wearing. My jaw works around words that taste like glass.
“I don’t want to talk about her.”
“Too late,” she says. “She’s everywhere, Cassian. Her name. Her face. Her scent—on your clothes.”
That last part hits different. Jealousy, raw and uninvited. Fair enough—I spent three hours in the same room as Vaela, making political nice while my actual mate’s locked in a tower.
I cross to her slowly, sit on the bed’s edge. Pull off my gloves finger by finger because this conversation burns and I need something to do with my hands.
“They want a queen,” I tell her. “Someone polished. Untouched. Someone they can parade around without questions.”
“And me?” Her voice goes small. “What does that make me?”
I look up—really look. Her eyes aren’t accusing. They’re wrecked.
“It makes you mine,” I say quietly.
The words hit harder than I intended.
“I fought for you,” she says. “Bled for you. Bonded with you before I knew what that meant. I chose you when running would’ve been easier.”
“I know.” My voice sounds like I gargled gravel. “And I see it, every damn day.”
“Then why does it feel like you’re pulling away?”
I shake my head, defeated more than angry. “I’m trying to keep you safe, Lucy. From them. From her. From what this court does to people like you. People like us.”
She pulls her hand back. Expects me to let her.
I don’t.
I grip her hand hard, let my warmth flood hers.
“Vaela wants me,” I say, looking her dead in the eyes. “They all do. For power. Bloodlines. But I don’t want her.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I don’t flinch. Lean closer instead, drop my voice to something meant only for her.
“She smiles at me because they tell her to. I smile back because I have to survive. But I come here every night. I come to you.”
“Because I’m a secret?”
“No,” I say, fierce now. “Because you’re the only part of my life that isn’t built on lies.”
Fire cracks in the hearth, but the only warmth that matters comes from her skin against mine.
“I love you, Lucy,” I say. “Not her. Not the court. Not the crown. You.”
Her throat works. “Then why haven’t you marked me?”
“Because once I do, there’s no turning back. No undoing it. And I won’t put that on you until you’re ready. Until you know it’s your choice—not something I force because I’m afraid of losing you.”
She stares at me. This woman who tried to poison me, who survived Valen’s games, who’s still fighting even locked in a tower.
“I just… I need to know I matter more than politics.”
I lean in, press my forehead to hers.
“You are,” I whisper. “You’re the reason I’m still fighting.”