It was raw, a sound scraped from the depths of a soul that didn’t know how to break. His back arched. His body convulsed. And then he collapsed.
Unconscious. Breathing. And alive.
They made camp an hour later in a hollowed clearing, the forest still twitching with residual magic. Lira took first watch. Alek disappeared to set traps. Brann curled into a ball with shaking hands and a new respect for breathing.
Seraphine sat beside Cassian’s unconscious form, now wrapped in a cloak and propped near the fire.
His breathing was steady. Shallow, but steady.
She stared into the flames.
It had been years since she’d used Whitefire for healing. It wasn’t built for mending. It burned through lies, through fate, through everything. But something in her hadrefusedto let him die.
You’re too useful to waste,she told herself. Just like Vaela had said to her.
It was a lie.
He groaned.
She turned quickly as his eyes blinked open—storm-dark and glassy.
She helped him sit up, bracing him with one hand. His body was heavy with shock, but heat still radiated faintly off him like dying lightning.
“You healed me.”
“Try not to sound so surprised.”
“Thought Drakar heirs weren’t in the charity business.”
She smirked faintly. “We’re not. But you looked too stupid to die. Although I did hire you tohelpwith the hollowborn, not die by them.”
He snorted, winced, then gritted his teeth. “Feels like someone shoved a firecracker in my ribs.”
“That’s because I did.”
A pause before he says softly, “Thanks.”
Seraphine looked at him.
He was raw under the sarcasm. Scarred in ways that didn’t show on skin. His strength wasn’t just muscle and flame. It was forged in survival, stubbornness, grit. And he didn’t hide the pain. Not like the royals did.
“You’re not what I expected,” she admitted.
He chuckled dryly. “You keep saying that. What, you expected worse?”
“No,” she said, softer now. “I expected... less.”
Cassian turned his head, met her eyes. And for once, neither of them had something clever to say.
The fire crackled between them. Somewhere deep in the forest, something howled. But in that circle of heat and blood and burnt edges, Seraphine Drakar saw not a weapon—not an asset.
She saw a man.
EIGHT
CASSIAN
The next day, he was well enough for them to continue, but things still didn’t feel right. Not with Cassian necessarily… the forest. The trees had gone silent again. Cassian didn’t like that.
