“I don’t care what you are, as long as you can do what I need,” she said. “This mission doesn’t tolerate ego, emotion, or mistakes.”
Cassian chuckled. “You just described House Drakar.”
That landed harder than he expected. Her jaw twitched. Her goldfire eyes dimmed, just for a heartbeat. “We leave at dawn. You’ll meet the rest of the team before we depart for the Skyforged Ruins.”
Cassian nodded once. “Fine. But I pick my own weapons. I don’t care what House-approved trash you’ve got stocked.”
She stepped forward, closing the distance. Just inches now. He could feel her heat—controlled, dangerous, just like the woman herself.
“Don’t confuse your leash for freedom,” she said, voice low. “You may not bow to Drakar, but on this mission, you followmyorders. Or I burn you down before the Hollow gets the chance.”
Cassian leaned in, voice a rasp. “Careful. Threats from pretty mouths can turn into promises.”
Seraphine blinked—and for just a second, something flickered in her eyes.
Interest? No. No, don’t be stupid.
This woman wouldn’t be caught dead craving someone like him.
She stepped back first. “You’ll sleep in the east wing tonight. Guard rotation will be given to you shortly. Try not to start any fires. Yet.”
Cassian watched her walk toward the desk. She moved like she carried the weight of dynasties. Like she’d never been allowed to falter.
Something inside him—long buried, long snarling—stirred.
Pity? No.
Respect? Maybe.
Damn.
She didn’t turn again. Just said over her shoulder, “You’ll do, Veyne. Try not to get yourself killed.”
Cassian smiled, just a little.
“No promises, Princess.” Then I left.
FIVE
SERAPHINE
The door to the war room shut behind him with a final, echoing thud.
Seraphine didn’t move for a long moment. She stood at blackstone table, one gloved hand braced against its molten-veined surface, staring not at the maps scattered across it but at the flames dancing in the nearby sconces.
They flickered just a little too wildly.
Calm down,she told herself. But her pulse hadn’t quite listened.
Cassian Veyne.
Storm-blooded, sharp-tongued, unclaimed bastard of fire and rebellion. He walked into her domain like it didn’t matter who her father was. Like the thrones carved into stone and bones and centuries of power didn’t mean a damn thing to him.
She’d expected to hate him for it.
Instead…
Seraphine scowled and shoved off the table, crossing the chamber in swift, measured steps. Her armor clinked faintly as she walked, the whitefire seams dimming now that her body wasn’t keyed up with tension. She tugged her gloves off onefinger at a time, tossed them onto the workbench beside her travel gear.
