The decree hits my desk like a death warrant with fancy letterhead.
Seven days. That’s how long I have left before I become someone else’s political accessory.
I’m staring at the parchment—all official seals and flowery bullshit—when she knocks. Because of course Vaela delivers the engagement ring personally. Can’t let some servant handle the symbolic destruction of my entire future.
“Thought we should discuss the arrangements,” she says, stepping into my room like she already owns it.
The ring box in her hands might as well be a coffin. Small, expensive, designed to contain something that used to be alive.
“Nothing to discuss.”
“Seven days isn’t much time to—”
“To what? Fall in love? Pretend this isn’t a business transaction with ceremonial bullshit wrapped around it?”
She opens the box. The ring’s everything you’d expect—massive diamond, enough gold to fund a small war, cold as the political calculation that created it.
“You don’t need to love me,” she says, reaching for my hand like we’re already engaged instead of two people trapped in the same nightmare.
I pull back. “Good thing.”
“Just stop chasing ghosts.”
Ghosts. Right. Because Lucy’s dead to everyone except me.
The bond flickers in my chest—barely there, but still humming with something that might be hope or might be delusion. Either way, it’s mine.
“She’s not a ghost.”
“Isn’t she? When’s the last time you actually felt her through that connection you’re so convinced matters?”
Four days ago. When everything went arctic and wrong. When whatever was left of us turned into static and fear.
But I don’t tell her that.
“Not your concern.”
“It is if I’m marrying someone who’s in love with someone else.”
“Then don’t marry me.”
She laughs—sharp, bitter. “Like either of us has a choice.”
Fair point. We’re both pawns in Toren’s chess game, just on different squares.
“I’m trying to make this work,” she continues. “I’m trying to offer you something real.”
“Real?” I take the ring box, weigh it like I’m considering her offer. “This is a political arrangement with wedding cake. Nothing real about it.”
“It could be.”
“It won’t be.”
“Because you won’t let it.”
“Because I’m in love with someone else.”
The words hang between us like a confession nobody asked for. True, devastating, completely fucking inconvenient.
“She’s gone, Cassian. Valen has her. She’s probably—”
“Don’t.” My voice cuts through whatever bullshit comfort she was about to offer. “Just don’t.”
“You can’t build a life on probably.”
“I’m not building anything. I’m just refusing to tear down what’s left.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and I catch something almost like pity in her expression. Which is rich, considering she’s the one about to marry a guy who’d rather be anywhere else.
“The ring,” she says finally, holding out her hand.
I snap the box shut. “I’ll hang onto it.”
“Seven days.”
“I can count.”
“You can’t run from this forever.”
“Watch me.”