The door slammed shut behind them with a hollow, echoing thud.
Selene stood frozen just inside the king's private study, the grand court fading behind thick stone walls. Only the two of them remained now, no ministers, no courtiers, no watchful eyes.
Just Cassian.
And her.
The room smelled faintly of smoke and leather, a worn, masculine scent that settled around her shoulders like a too-heavy cloak. A fire crackled in the hearth, throwing long, restless shadows across the towering bookshelves and polished floors.
Cassian walked ahead of her without a glance, unfastening the silver clasps of his dark cloak with sharp, economical movements. He tossed it onto a chair, the fabric collapsing like a fallen banner.
Selene didn't move.
She didn't dare.
There was something coiled tight beneath Cassian's calm surface now, something raw and waiting.
A storm gathering behind his silver eyes.
Without turning, he spoke with voice low and deadly soft.
"Take off the crown."
Selene blinked, startled.
Her fingers rose instinctively to the delicate silver circlet nestled in her hair, the bridal crown placed there hours ago by trembling handmaidens.
She hesitated.
Another test.
Another line she had to decide whether to cross.
Slowly, she lifted the crown from her head and set it down on the nearest table, the metal clinking softly against the wood.
Cassian finally turned.
For a long moment, he simply looked at her.
No mask.
No smile.
No pretense.
Only a brutal, assessing silence.
"You may play the part of queen before the court," he said, voice a blade sliding across her nerves, "but understand this, Selene Arlont."
He took a step closer.
Selene's spine stiffened.
"You are not my partner."
Another step.
"You are not my equal."
The fire crackled louder.
"And you are not," he said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper, "someone I trust."
Selene met his gaze head-on, forcing the steel back into her own voice.
"Then why marry me at all?" she asked quietly.
Cassian's mouth twisted, something between a grimace and a smile.
"Because even a blade I don't trust," he murmured, "is better wielded in my hand than against my back."
The room seemed to shrink around her, the weight of his words pressing down.
Selene fought the instinct to step away, to lower her eyes, to yield.
No.
Yielding was death.
Instead, she lifted her chin, feeling the embers of her own fury ignite.
"And if your blade cuts you anyway?" she asked.
Cassian studied her for a long, heavy moment.
"Then I bleed," he said simply. "And I end you."
No threat.
No anger.
Just brutal, matter-of-fact certainty.
Selene's stomach twisted, not with fear, but something colder. Sharper.
She was not the only one here who had gambled their life on a knife's edge.
Cassian moved to the hearth, leaning one arm casually against the mantle.
The fire painted his face in shades of copper and crimson, turning his already sharp features into something almost inhuman.
"I will not force you to share my bed," he said, voice almost bored now. "Nor will I parade you through the court like a prize hound. Your role will be what you make of it."
Selene narrowed her eyes.
"And what do you expect of me?"
Cassian's gaze flicked to hers, cold and unreadable.
"Loyalty."
A bitter laugh threatened to slip from her throat.
Loyalty.
The word tasted like poison on her tongue.
"Loyalty cannot be demanded," she said softly. "It must be earned."
Cassian's mouth curved again, that same humorless, broken almost-smile.
"Then let's both pray," he said, "that one of us is better at pretending than the other."
The fire crackled.
The silence between them deepened, thickened, pulled taut until Selene thought it might snap.
Finally, Cassian pushed off the mantle and crossed the room toward a small side table where two goblets and a crystal decanter sat.
He poured dark wine into both glasses with steady hands, the rich scent filling the room.
Without a word, he handed one to her.
Selene accepted it carefully, her fingers brushing his.
Heat flared through her at the accidental contact, sharp, unwelcome.
She pulled her hand back too fast.
Cassian noticed.
Of course he did.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he raised his glass slightly.
"To survival," he said.
Selene hesitated for half a heartbeat.
Then she lifted her own goblet.
"To survival," she echoed.
The wine burned down her throat, rich and bitter.
Cassian set his goblet aside and moved to the tall windows overlooking the palace grounds.
Beyond the glass, the city of Veredon sprawled under a cold, bruised sky. The river glinted like a blade winding through its heart. Smoke curled from a thousand chimneys. Lanterns flickered against the dark.
A kingdom resting uneasy in its king's palm.
Cassian spoke without turning.
"There are enemies within these walls, Selene. You are not the only one with knives hidden in your skirts."
Selene froze.
The admission was a crack in his armor.
Small.
But there.
He knew.
He knew there were traitors in his court, in his council, maybe even closer.
And yet he still let her stand here, in his private chambers, blade tucked against her skin, secrets coiled behind her tongue.
Was it arrogance?
Desperation?
Or something more dangerous still hope?
Selene gripped the goblet tighter, the cool metal digging into her palm.
Hope was a weapon.
One of the deadliest.
She would not forget that.
"You will have your place beside me at court," Cassian said, his voice quiet. "But do not mistake visibility for power."
He turned back to her then, his gaze hard as winter.
"Power in Veredon," he said, "is taken. Never given."
Selene felt the words settle over her like a second skin.
Heavy. Unforgiving. True.
She inclined her head in a gesture of submission that was no submission at all.
"As you wish, Your Majesty," she murmured.
Cassian's eyes darkened at the title.
"Save the titles for the court," he said. "Here, you may call me Cassian."
Selene hesitated.
It was another move on the board.
Another gambit.
He was blurring the lines between enemy and ally, between stranger and husband.
She would not fall for it.
But neither would she refuse.
"Very well," she said, voice soft as silk and twice as dangerous.
"Cassian."
His name tasted strange in her mouth.
Sharp and intimate and wrong.
He watched her for a long moment, the fire casting restless light between them.
And Selene realized with a cold, sinking certainty:
This man was not her mark.
He was her mirror.
And the war between them had only just begun.