Seraphine stared at her, long and hard. “Good,” she said at last. “I’d like to see him try.”
Vaela’s smile vanished. “Don’t die out there,” she said, heading for the door. “You’re too useful to waste.”
She was gone, trailing silk and tension behind her like smoke.
Alone again, Seraphine finished packing.
But sleep wouldn’t come.
She stood at the window, watching the volcanic rivers snake through the mountain valleys. The night was still, save for the occasional wingbeat of a sentry dragon overhead.
Below, in the east wing, was the rogue fire she’d brought into her war.
She didn’t trust him. Not even close. But some part of her—the part she kept buried, deep under duty and discipline—believed that if anyone could burn through the lies choking their world, it’d be someone who’d never sworn to protect it.
She didn’t want to need him.
But maybe she already did.
SIX
CASSIAN
Morning in Drakar territory didn’t so much dawn aserupt.
Molten light seeped through the ash-dark sky, staining the obsidian halls of the Citadel in red and gold. Steam hissed from the cracks in the stone like the mountain itself was breathing. Cassian moved through it all like a shadow in leathers—silent, watchful, sharp-edged.
He hated mornings.
Too quiet, open, and full of the kind of calm that meant something was waiting to punch you in the damn gut.
He hadn’t slept. Didn’t usually, but last night had been worse than usual. Not because of the guards stationed outside his door, or the faint buzz of Drakar wards humming like a headache in his skull.
It washer.
Seraphine.
The way she looked at him like she was trying to read every scar he didn’t talk about. The way she moved—controlled, dangerous, like someone who’d learned how to survive in a palace of knives.
Worse—the way she didn’t look afraid of him.
Cassian pulled his coat tighter as he turned a corner leading toward the war wing. The team was supposed to be assembled by the time he got there.
“Team.”That word was a stretch. He hadn’t worked with anyone he didn’t trust to stab first and explain later in a long damn time. Trusting some fancy heir’s handpicked soldiers didn’t sit right with him. Too tight. Too clean.
He rounded another corner and nearly walked into a wall of muscle and old rage.
The man didn’t wear armor so much as become it. Dragonbone plating spiked along one shoulder, battle-scarred skin dark with ritual ink beneath a sleeveless vest. His eyes were pale gray, but they didn’t look cold.
They lookedtired.
“Took you long enough,” The man rumbled.
Cassian didn’t step back. “Didn’t realize we had a lunch date.”
He didn’t smile. “We don’t. Just thought I’d meet the halfblood the Court can’t shut up about before you got someone killed.”
Cassian tilted his head. “Fair warning. I don’t play well with men who think they piss lava.”
