The knock came just before dusk.
Vivian looked up from the window seat, the dying sun casting long shadows across the floor. She hadn't left her chambers since the ball, hadn't seen the king since their tense conversation in the library. Yet still, she felt him in every quiet moment, like smoke clinging to her lungs
The knock came again—three precise raps, followed by silence.
She opened the door to find a tall guard in black and silver armor.
"His Majesty requests your presence," the guard said, voice low. "You're to follow me to the East Wing. Alone."
Vivian's fingers tightened on the edge of the door. "Now?"
The guard only guarded.
She changed quickly, choosing a deep emerald gown with long sleeves and high collar. Her hair she left loose. There was no use pretending she wasn't nervous—Cassian always seemed to see through her, no matter how carefully she masked herself.
The halls were quiet as she walked. The torchlight flickered against the polished floor, casting distorted shapes along the walls. She didn't recognize this path—the turns were unfamiliar, the air cooler. More ancient.
At last, the guard stopped before a pair of tall, obsidian-colored door carved with serpents and thorns. Two silent sentinels stood at either side. Their eyes, beneath their helms, glowed faintly red.
This wasn't just a room. It was his sanctum.
The guard knocked once, and after a brief paise, the doors opened inward.
The chamber beyond was nothing like she expected.
It was shadowy and vast, the ceiling rising into darkness. A fire roared in a black marble hearth, casting warm gold light over dark tapestries and shelves filled with strange artifact—skull, old weapons, faded scrolls. A wall of windows overlooked the darkness valley below, where clouds moved like creeping mist over the trees.
He stood there, by the fire, back to her.
Cassian.
He was dressed simply—dark trousers, a half-unlaced black shirt. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and the glow from the fire danced along the sharp edges of his.
Vivian stepped in.
The doors closed behind her with a soft thud. She was alone with him.
For a moment, he didn't speak. He simply watched the flames.
Then--"You came."
His voice was quiet, but it settled into her skin like a chill.
"You asked," she replied, her own voice steady despite the hammering of her heart.
He turned to face her slowly.
"You asked," she replied, her own voice steady despite the hammering of her heart.
He turned to face her slowly.
"I don't ask often," Cassian said. "But with you… it's different."
Vivian met his gaze. "Why?"
"Because I don't quite know what to do with you"
That disarmed her more than any flirtation might have.
He stepped forward, gaze unwavering. "You're unlike anyone I've brought here. And I've brought many."
Vivian didn't move. "You didn't bring me. You took me."
Cassian's lips curved, slow and unapologetic. "Semantics.'
Silence settled between them again, thick as velvet.
She looked away, towards the objects lining the shelves. One in particular caught her eye—a dagger made of obsidian and bone, etched with runes that pulsed faintly.
"What's all this?" she asked.
"Relics," he said. "Of my kind. Of older things."
Her gaze flicked backed to him. "What kind are you?"
He stepped closer. "Would it frighten you to know?"
"Maybe," she whispered.
Cassian voice dropped, a low murmur. "Then let's save that answer for another night."
Vivian's skin prickled. Her instincts warned her to leave—but something deeper held her there. Not fear. Fascination.
His eyes burning red in the firelight, looked at hers.
"I told you before---there are many things you're not ready to know yet," he said.
"You keep saying that. Yet you keep drawing me closer."
Cassian tilted his head. "And you keep coming."
He stepped forward until there was hardly any space left between them.
Vivian's breath caught.
He lifted a hand—not to touch her, but to trace a lock of her hair, letting it fall through his fingers like silk.
"You belong here," he said, voice low. "Even if you don't understand why yet."
Her throat tightened. "What do you want from me?"
He didn't smile this time. "The truth. In time."
He stepped back then, just slightly, his gaze still fixed on her. "But for now… I want you to stop calling me 'Your Majesty.'"
She blinked, "What?"
"I want you to call me by my name." his tone left no room for refusal. "Cassian."
Vivian didn't answer at first. She could still hear the way the courtiers whispered that name. Reverent. Fearful.
"Why me?" she asked instead.
A flicker of something passed through his expression—almost human. Almost regretful.
"Because," he said quietly, "you don't bow. And I don't want you to."
The room seemed to hum around them. Her heart hummed in her chest.
"Cassian," she said, finally.
He closed his eyes at the sound of it—just for a second.
Then, from the corner of the chamber, a shadow shifted.
Vivian turned—but there was nothing there. Just a flicker of movement, gone too fast to see clearly.
Cassian didn't look.
But he said, "You're being watched."
Her breath hitched.
He poured a glass of wine, handed it to her without meeting her eye. "Don't look for them. You won't find them. They're meant to keep you safe."
Vivian took the glass, her fingers brushing his. They lingered there for a moment longer than they should have.
"And if I don't want to be watched?"
Cassian smile was razor-sharp. "Too late for that."
She drank. The wine tasted of nightshade and berries—rich, heady, dangerous.
He took a step back, letting the distance settle again.
"When the time comes, I'll tell you everything," he said.
"And when will that be?"
Cassian's eyes flicked to hers. "When you're ready to remember."
That stopped her cold. "Remember"?
But he said nothing more. Just turned back to the fire, as if she wasn't there.
Vivian stood frozen, the height of his words pressing into her bones.
When she left the room minutes later, the hall outside felt colder. Emptier.
And high above in the rafters, something moved. Not a bird. Not a shadow. Something older. Watching her.
waiting.
Chapter Twelve
The Crimson Room
The knock came just before dusk.
Vivian looked up from the window seat, the dying sun casting long shadows across the floor. She hadn't left her chambers since the ball, hadn't seen the king since their tense conversation in the library. Yet still, she felt him in every quiet moment, like smoke clinging to her lungs
The knock came again—three precise raps, followed by silence.
She opened the door to find a tall guard in black and silver armor.
"His Majesty requests your presence," the guard said, voice low. "You're to follow me to the East Wing. Alone."
Vivian's fingers tightened on the edge of the door. "Now?"
The guard only guarded.
She changed quickly, choosing a deep emerald gown with long sleeves and high collar. Her hair she left loose. There was no use pretending she wasn't nervous—Cassian always seemed to see through her, no matter how carefully she masked herself.
The halls were quiet as she walked. The torchlight flickered against the polished floor, casting distorted shapes along the walls. She didn't recognize this path—the turns were unfamiliar, the air cooler. More ancient.
At last, the guard stopped before a pair of tall, obsidian-colored door carved with serpents and thorns. Two silent sentinels stood at either side. Their eyes, beneath their helms, glowed faintly red.
This wasn't just a room. It was his sanctum.
The guard knocked once, and after a brief paise, the doors opened inward.
The chamber beyond was nothing like she expected.
It was shadowy and vast, the ceiling rising into darkness. A fire roared in a black marble hearth, casting warm gold light over dark tapestries and shelves filled with strange artifact—skull, old weapons, faded scrolls. A wall of windows overlooked the darkness valley below, where clouds moved like creeping mist over the trees.
He stood there, by the fire, back to her.
Cassian.
He was dressed simply—dark trousers, a half-unlaced black shirt. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and the glow from the fire danced along the sharp edges of his.
Vivian stepped in.
The doors closed behind her with a soft thud. She was alone with him.
For a moment, he didn't speak. He simply watched the flames.
Then--"You came."
His voice was quiet, but it settled into her skin like a chill.
"You asked," she replied, her own voice steady despite the hammering of her heart.
He turned to face her slowly.
"You asked," she replied, her own voice steady despite the hammering of her heart.
He turned to face her slowly.
"I don't ask often," Cassian said. "But with you… it's different."
Vivian met his gaze. "Why?"
"Because I don't quite know what to do with you"
That disarmed her more than any flirtation might have.
He stepped forward, gaze unwavering. "You're unlike anyone I've brought here. And I've brought many."
Vivian didn't move. "You didn't bring me. You took me."
Cassian's lips curved, slow and unapologetic. "Semantics.'
Silence settled between them again, thick as velvet.
She looked away, towards the objects lining the shelves. One in particular caught her eye—a dagger made of obsidian and bone, etched with runes that pulsed faintly.
"What's all this?" she asked.
"Relics," he said. "Of my kind. Of older things."
Her gaze flicked backed to him. "What kind are you?"
He stepped closer. "Would it frighten you to know?"
"Maybe," she whispered.
Cassian voice dropped, a low murmur. "Then let's save that answer for another night."
Vivian's skin prickled. Her instincts warned her to leave—but something deeper held her there. Not fear. Fascination.
His eyes burning red in the firelight, looked at hers.
"I told you before---there are many things you're not ready to know yet," he said.
"You keep saying that. Yet you keep drawing me closer."
Cassian tilted his head. "And you keep coming."
He stepped forward until there was hardly any space left between them.
Vivian's breath caught.
He lifted a hand—not to touch her, but to trace a lock of her hair, letting it fall through his fingers like silk.
"You belong here," he said, voice low. "Even if you don't understand why yet."
Her throat tightened. "What do you want from me?"
He didn't smile this time. "The truth. In time."
He stepped back then, just slightly, his gaze still fixed on her. "But for now… I want you to stop calling me 'Your Majesty.'"
She blinked, "What?"
"I want you to call me by my name." his tone left no room for refusal. "Cassian."
Vivian didn't answer at first. She could still hear the way the courtiers whispered that name. Reverent. Fearful.
"Why me?" she asked instead.
A flicker of something passed through his expression—almost human. Almost regretful.
"Because," he said quietly, "you don't bow. And I don't want you to."
The room seemed to hum around them. Her heart hummed in her chest.
"Cassian," she said, finally.
He closed his eyes at the sound of it—just for a second.
Then, from the corner of the chamber, a shadow shifted.
Vivian turned—but there was nothing there. Just a flicker of movement, gone too fast to see clearly.
Cassian didn't look.
But he said, "You're being watched."
Her breath hitched.
He poured a glass of wine, handed it to her without meeting her eye. "Don't look for them. You won't find them. They're meant to keep you safe."
Vivian took the glass, her fingers brushing his. They lingered there for a moment longer than they should have.
"And if I don't want to be watched?"
Cassian smile was razor-sharp. "Too late for that."
She drank. The wine tasted of nightshade and berries—rich, heady, dangerous.
He took a step back, letting the distance settle again.
"When the time comes, I'll tell you everything," he said.
"And when will that be?"
Cassian's eyes flicked to hers. "When you're ready to remember."
That stopped her cold. "Remember"?
But he said nothing more. Just turned back to the fire, as if she wasn't there.
Vivian stood frozen, the height of his words pressing into her bones.
When she left the room minutes later, the hall outside felt colder. Emptier.
And high above in the rafters, something moved. Not a bird. Not a shadow. Something older. Watching her.
waiting.
Chapter Twelve
The Crimson Room
The knock came just before dusk.
Vivian looked up from the window seat, the dying sun casting long shadows across the floor. She hadn't left her chambers since the ball, hadn't seen the king since their tense conversation in the library. Yet still, she felt him in every quiet moment, like smoke clinging to her lungs
The knock came again—three precise raps, followed by silence.
She opened the door to find a tall guard in black and silver armor.
"His Majesty requests your presence," the guard said, voice low. "You're to follow me to the East Wing. Alone."
Vivian's fingers tightened on the edge of the door. "Now?"
The guard only guarded.
She changed quickly, choosing a deep emerald gown with long sleeves and high collar. Her hair she left loose. There was no use pretending she wasn't nervous—Cassian always seemed to see through her, no matter how carefully she masked herself.
The halls were quiet as she walked. The torchlight flickered against the polished floor, casting distorted shapes along the walls. She didn't recognize this path—the turns were unfamiliar, the air cooler. More ancient.
At last, the guard stopped before a pair of tall, obsidian-colored door carved with serpents and thorns. Two silent sentinels stood at either side. Their eyes, beneath their helms, glowed faintly red.
This wasn't just a room. It was his sanctum.
The guard knocked once, and after a brief paise, the doors opened inward.
The chamber beyond was nothing like she expected.
It was shadowy and vast, the ceiling rising into darkness. A fire roared in a black marble hearth, casting warm gold light over dark tapestries and shelves filled with strange artifact—skull, old weapons, faded scrolls. A wall of windows overlooked the darkness valley below, where clouds moved like creeping mist over the trees.
He stood there, by the fire, back to her.
Cassian.
He was dressed simply—dark trousers, a half-unlaced black shirt. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and the glow from the fire danced along the sharp edges of his.
Vivian stepped in.
The doors closed behind her with a soft thud. She was alone with him.
For a moment, he didn't speak. He simply watched the flames.
Then--"You came."
His voice was quiet, but it settled into her skin like a chill.
"You asked," she replied, her own voice steady despite the hammering of her heart.
He turned to face her slowly.
"You asked," she replied, her own voice steady despite the hammering of her heart.
He turned to face her slowly.
"I don't ask often," Cassian said. "But with you… it's different."
Vivian met his gaze. "Why?"
"Because I don't quite know what to do with you"
That disarmed her more than any flirtation might have.
He stepped forward, gaze unwavering. "You're unlike anyone I've brought here. And I've brought many."
Vivian didn't move. "You didn't bring me. You took me."
Cassian's lips curved, slow and unapologetic. "Semantics.'
Silence settled between them again, thick as velvet.
She looked away, towards the objects lining the shelves. One in particular caught her eye—a dagger made of obsidian and bone, etched with runes that pulsed faintly.
"What's all this?" she asked.
"Relics," he said. "Of my kind. Of older things."
Her gaze flicked backed to him. "What kind are you?"
He stepped closer. "Would it frighten you to know?"
"Maybe," she whispered.
Cassian voice dropped, a low murmur. "Then let's save that answer for another night."
Vivian's skin prickled. Her instincts warned her to leave—but something deeper held her there. Not fear. Fascination.
His eyes burning red in the firelight, looked at hers.
"I told you before---there are many things you're not ready to know yet," he said.
"You keep saying that. Yet you keep drawing me closer."
Cassian tilted his head. "And you keep coming."
He stepped forward until there was hardly any space left between them.
Vivian's breath caught.
He lifted a hand—not to touch her, but to trace a lock of her hair, letting it fall through his fingers like silk.
"You belong here," he said, voice low. "Even if you don't understand why yet."
Her throat tightened. "What do you want from me?"
He didn't smile this time. "The truth. In time."
He stepped back then, just slightly, his gaze still fixed on her. "But for now… I want you to stop calling me 'Your Majesty.'"
She blinked, "What?"
"I want you to call me by my name." his tone left no room for refusal. "Cassian."
Vivian didn't answer at first. She could still hear the way the courtiers whispered that name. Reverent. Fearful.
"Why me?" she asked instead.
A flicker of something passed through his expression—almost human. Almost regretful.
"Because," he said quietly, "you don't bow. And I don't want you to."
The room seemed to hum around them. Her heart hummed in her chest.
"Cassian," she said, finally.
He closed his eyes at the sound of it—just for a second.
Then, from the corner of the chamber, a shadow shifted.
Vivian turned—but there was nothing there. Just a flicker of movement, gone too fast to see clearly.
Cassian didn't look.
But he said, "You're being watched."
Her breath hitched.
He poured a glass of wine, handed it to her without meeting her eye. "Don't look for them. You won't find them. They're meant to keep you safe."
Vivian took the glass, her fingers brushing his. They lingered there for a moment longer than they should have.
"And if I don't want to be watched?"
Cassian smile was razor-sharp. "Too late for that."
She drank. The wine tasted of nightshade and berries—rich, heady, dangerous.
He took a step back, letting the distance settle again.
"When the time comes, I'll tell you everything," he said.
"And when will that be?"
Cassian's eyes flicked to hers. "When you're ready to remember."
That stopped her cold. "Remember"?
But he said nothing more. Just turned back to the fire, as if she wasn't there.
Vivian stood frozen, the height of his words pressing into her bones.
When she left the room minutes later, the hall outside felt colder. Emptier.
And high above in the rafters, something moved. Not a bird. Not a shadow. Something older. Watching her.
waiting.
Chapter Twelve
The Crimson Room
The knock came just before dusk.
Vivian looked up from the window seat, the dying sun casting long shadows across the floor. She hadn't left her chambers since the ball, hadn't seen the king since their tense conversation in the library. Yet still, she felt him in every quiet moment, like smoke clinging to her lungs
The knock came again—three precise raps, followed by silence.
She opened the door to find a tall guard in black and silver armor.
"His Majesty requests your presence," the guard said, voice low. "You're to follow me to the East Wing. Alone."
Vivian's fingers tightened on the edge of the door. "Now?"
The guard only guarded.
She changed quickly, choosing a deep emerald gown with long sleeves and high collar. Her hair she left loose. There was no use pretending she wasn't nervous—Cassian always seemed to see through her, no matter how carefully she masked herself.
The halls were quiet as she walked. The torchlight flickered against the polished floor, casting distorted shapes along the walls. She didn't recognize this path—the turns were unfamiliar, the air cooler. More ancient.
At last, the guard stopped before a pair of tall, obsidian-colored door carved with serpents and thorns. Two silent sentinels stood at either side. Their eyes, beneath their helms, glowed faintly red.
This wasn't just a room. It was his sanctum.
The guard knocked once, and after a brief paise, the doors opened inward.
The chamber beyond was nothing like she expected.
It was shadowy and vast, the ceiling rising into darkness. A fire roared in a black marble hearth, casting warm gold light over dark tapestries and shelves filled with strange artifact—skull, old weapons, faded scrolls. A wall of windows overlooked the darkness valley below, where clouds moved like creeping mist over the trees.
He stood there, by the fire, back to her.
Cassian.
He was dressed simply—dark trousers, a half-unlaced black shirt. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and the glow from the fire danced along the sharp edges of his.
Vivian stepped in.
The doors closed behind her with a soft thud. She was alone with him.
For a moment, he didn't speak. He simply watched the flames.
Then--"You came."
His voice was quiet, but it settled into her skin like a chill.
"You asked," she replied, her own voice steady despite the hammering of her heart.
He turned to face her slowly.
"You asked," she replied, her own voice steady despite the hammering of her heart.
He turned to face her slowly.
"I don't ask often," Cassian said. "But with you… it's different."
Vivian met his gaze. "Why?"
"Because I don't quite know what to do with you"
That disarmed her more than any flirtation might have.
He stepped forward, gaze unwavering. "You're unlike anyone I've brought here. And I've brought many."
Vivian didn't move. "You didn't bring me. You took me."
Cassian's lips curved, slow and unapologetic. "Semantics.'
Silence settled between them again, thick as velvet.
She looked away, towards the objects lining the shelves. One in particular caught her eye—a dagger made of obsidian and bone, etched with runes that pulsed faintly.
"What's all this?" she asked.
"Relics," he said. "Of my kind. Of older things."
Her gaze flicked backed to him. "What kind are you?"
He stepped closer. "Would it frighten you to know?"
"Maybe," she whispered.
Cassian voice dropped, a low murmur. "Then let's save that answer for another night."
Vivian's skin prickled. Her instincts warned her to leave—but something deeper held her there. Not fear. Fascination.
His eyes burning red in the firelight, looked at hers.
"I told you before---there are many things you're not ready to know yet," he said.
"You keep saying that. Yet you keep drawing me closer."
Cassian tilted his head. "And you keep coming."
He stepped forward until there was hardly any space left between them.
Vivian's breath caught.
He lifted a hand—not to touch her, but to trace a lock of her hair, letting it fall through his fingers like silk.
"You belong here," he said, voice low. "Even if you don't understand why yet."
Her throat tightened. "What do you want from me?"
He didn't smile this time. "The truth. In time."
He stepped back then, just slightly, his gaze still fixed on her. "But for now… I want you to stop calling me 'Your Majesty.'"
She blinked, "What?"
"I want you to call me by my name." his tone left no room for refusal. "Cassian."
Vivian didn't answer at first. She could still hear the way the courtiers whispered that name. Reverent. Fearful.
"Why me?" she asked instead.
A flicker of something passed through his expression—almost human. Almost regretful.
"Because," he said quietly, "you don't bow. And I don't want you to."
The room seemed to hum around them. Her heart hummed in her chest.
"Cassian," she said, finally.
He closed his eyes at the sound of it—just for a second.
Then, from the corner of the chamber, a shadow shifted.
Vivian turned—but there was nothing there. Just a flicker of movement, gone too fast to see clearly.
Cassian didn't look.
But he said, "You're being watched."
Her breath hitched.
He poured a glass of wine, handed it to her without meeting her eye. "Don't look for them. You won't find them. They're meant to keep you safe."
Vivian took the glass, her fingers brushing his. They lingered there for a moment longer than they should have.
"And if I don't want to be watched?"
Cassian smile was razor-sharp. "Too late for that."
She drank. The wine tasted of nightshade and berries—rich, heady, dangerous.
He took a step back, letting the distance settle again.
"When the time comes, I'll tell you everything," he said.
"And when will that be?"
Cassian's eyes flicked to hers. "When you're ready to remember."
That stopped her cold. "Remember"?
But he said nothing more. Just turned back to the fire, as if she wasn't there.
Vivian stood frozen, the height of his words pressing into her bones.
When she left the room minutes later, the hall outside felt colder. Emptier.
And high above in the rafters, something moved. Not a bird. Not a shadow. Something older. Watching her.
waiting.