The banquet’s a masquerade of opulence—golden light, silk gowns, and wolves pretending they’re gods instead of political parasites with fancy titles.
I’m sitting at Toren’s right hand like a good prince, wearing ceremonial bullshit that costs more than most people’s houses, watching nobles kiss ass and pretend they care about anything beyond their own power.
Through the bond, I feel Lucy somewhere in the shadows. She’s not dressed for worship—smart girl. The unease rolling off her hits me in waves, sharp and bitter. I haven’t spoken to her all day because every conversation we have gets weaponized by someone, and I’m tired of giving them ammunition.
But she’s here. Watching. Waiting for whatever political theater Toren’s got planned.
I don’t have to wait long.
The music dies. Conversations fade. Toren rises, goblet in hand, and his voice cuts through the silence like steel through silk.
“Tonight, we honor the union of House Vale and House Duskthorne. The future of the Dire line—secured.”
The words hit like physical blows. Union. Future. Secured.
Applause erupts. Confused laughter from people who think they’re witnessing some grand romantic gesture. Then stillness as everyone realizes what just happened.
Toren just announced my engagement. To Vaela. Without asking me. Without even having the courtesy to give me a heads-up before publicly auctioning off my life.
I stand slowly, chair scraping against marble. My jaw feels like stone. Eyes like ice because that’s the only way I can keep from losing my mind in front of half the kingdom.
“I never agreed to this,” I say, voice carrying across the suddenly silent ballroom.
Toren doesn’t even blink. “And nobody asked you.”
There it is. The truth laid bare for everyone to see. I’m not a prince. I’m property. A breeding stallion with a fancy title, and my father just sold me to the highest bidder.
I turn and walk out. No bow. No explanation. No pretty words to smooth over the political clusterfuck he just created.
Just gone.
The halls are quieter up here—cold, echoing with centuries of secrets carved into stone. Gold-cloaked guards avoid my gaze because they can smell the violence radiating off me in waves.
I make it to the upper towers before I stop moving. Lean against a marble column, let the night wind tear at my shirt, try to breathe around the rage choking me.
“I should’ve burned this place to the ground the day I arrived,” I mutter to the darkness.
“You didn’t.”
Her voice. Soft, steady, cutting through the chaos in my head like a lifeline.
“I should’ve,” I say again, jaw tight. “Instead, I let them convince me I could rule it. I thought if I played their game, I could keep you safe. That maybe it was enough.”
“It’s not,” Lucy whispers.
“No,” I agree. “It’s never been.”
The wind catches my hair, and I can feel her watching me. See the way my hands shake—barely—from rage and restraint and the desperate need to tear something apart with my bare hands.
“They think they can parade me like a prize hound,” I mutter. “Announce my future like I’m already dead. They think marrying her will wash the curse from my blood.”
“You’re not cursed,” she says. “You’re more alive than any of them.”
I laugh, bitter as poison. “That’s not what they see. To them, I’m still the Dire heir who lost control.”
She steps closer until our shadows touch. “Do you still want me?”
The question hits like a sucker punch. I turn, look at her like she’s air I need to breathe.
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”
The space between us vanishes. The world goes quiet.
“I would burn it all for you,” I say, voice low and raw. “Every crown, every council seat. I would walk into that throne room tomorrow and tear it apart with my teeth if it meant you were free.”
She touches my chest, right over my heartbeat. “Then stop letting them chain you. You’re the Prince, but you’re still letting them choose for you.”
“They’ll never stop coming for you,” I say. “Not while the bond lives.”
“Then let them come,” she whispers. “Let them see what happens when two wolves stop pretending.”
She’s staring at me like she just handed me a blade and dared me to use it.
“You’re mine,” I say softly. “In a world that hates us both, you’re the only thing that makes sense.”
She presses her forehead to mine. “Then stop fighting it.”
My lips hover over hers, hesitant. “This will change everything.”
“I know,” she breathes.
That night, we stop pretending.
I close the door behind us, lock it, then turn slowly—like I’m holding something dangerous that might explode if I move too fast. My eyes meet hers, and the air shifts.
“You sure?” I ask, voice already rough.
She nods, pulse visible in her throat. “I’m sure.”
I step close, slide my hand around her waist, pull her in. My mouth meets hers in a kiss that’s not cautious—it’s claiming. Her fingers fist in my shirt, tugging it up. I break away just long enough to strip it off.
Bare chest against bare chest. Heat against heat. She gasps at the contact, and I kiss down her neck, slow and deliberate.
“If we’re doing this,” I murmur against her collarbone, “I want to feel every part of you.”
“Then do it,” she whispers.
I smile like she just handed me the world.
I unbutton her top, one by one, eyes locked on hers. When I slide it off her shoulders, I let my fingertips graze skin, slow enough to make her shiver.
“Can I?” I ask, fingers brushing her bra strap.
“Yes.”
It comes off smooth. My gaze drops, and I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath for hours.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Then my mouth’s on her—tongue circling, lips sucking until she arches, gasping. I lick, kiss, bite gently, and the friction makes her thighs clench.
“Cassian…” Her voice barely exists.
I kneel, hands gripping her skirt’s waistband. “I’m taking this off.”
She nods.
I peel it down slowly, eyes dark with want. Then I see she’s bare underneath.
“Fuck,” I breathe. “You’ve been naked under your clothes all night?”
“Just for you.”
I groan—low, raw—and lean in, kissing the inside of her thigh, then higher, teasing with breath and heat.
“Can I taste you?”
“Please.”
I don’t hesitate. My mouth slides over her, tongue working slow, firm strokes. She moans—loud, honest. My hands grip her hips as I suck and lick, tongue circling until she’s grinding against my face, helpless.
I pull back only when she’s shaking.
“You’re ready.”
She watches me undress. I roll on protection, crawl over her on the bed.
“I’ll go slow,” I promise. “Tell me if it hurts.”
She nods, wrapping her legs around me. I guide myself to her entrance, rubbing through her slick folds. When I push in, she gasps—tight, full, stretched.
“You okay?” I ask, jaw tight, holding back.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers. “I want all of it.”
I slide deeper, inch by inch, filling her completely. I’m shaking with the effort to stay controlled.
“Jesus, Lucy,” I groan. “You feel like heaven.”
I start moving—slow thrusts, grinding deeper each time. She feels every stroke, every inch. Her hands grip my back, my hair, anything she can reach.
“More,” she begs. “Cassian, please.”
I pick up pace, hips snapping into hers, eyes locked on her face. Her moans turn to cries—raw, loud, needy. My fingers find her clit, rub tight, fast circles until she clenches around me.
“Come for me,” I whisper. “I want to feel it.”
Her orgasm hits hard—hips lifting, body trembling, breath lost. She squeezes around me and I groan, buried deep, and come with a rough growl of her name.
I don’t move at first. Just stay inside her, forehead against hers, breath hot and ragged.
Then I kiss her—slow and deep—and whisper,
“You’re mine now.”