Finnian gently broke away, fusing his forehead to Cassian’s. “There is nothing to fear. Ruelle could strip away all that I have, but I would never leave you behind to her destruction,” he whispered.
The vow branded deeply within Cassian. An assurance he never knew he craved.
“Whenshe comes for us,” Finnian continued, “we will handle it. Until then, savor the moment. You are here, with me, in my home, and there is nothing that threatens us. We have time to figure it out.”
He rested his head down on the pillow. “Now, tell me stories—how you became a deity, your journey in the Land. Tell me of all your past lovers. I long to know everything about your life, Cassius.”
Cassian lifted his hand once more and grazed the back of his fingers down the side of Finnian’s neck, reveling in the frisson that rippled across the skin in his wake, mentally reciting what Finnian had said to him back in Augustus.
Be in the moment.No matter how much his mind leapt into the future, eager to plot out and prepare all the ways Ruelle could come between them.
He desired to keep this peace, to focus on Finnian’s presence at his side, regardless of what their future held.
“Whatever you wish.”
21
I AM YOURS TO RAVAGE
Frothy pintsof beer floated across the tavern, a roadway of glasses traveling in the air to their designated tables. Chatter of voices and high-pitched laughter filled the room.
“I don’t mean to pry, Everett,” Eleanor, the mage with ginger locks, said from across the table, “but you’ve been hanging around a lot these days.”
Her appearance had evolved from the look of a young adult to a woman. Her round features had thinned, and the loose skin of her freckled arms had toned.
Cassian sat his pint down and licked his lips. “What can I say? Hollow City has grown on me.”
Isla, sitting beside him, looked over. She was a mess of untamable curls and vivid-brown eyes. “And I suppose that includes our city’s founder as well?”
Her coy smile and raised eyebrows warmed Cassian’s cheeks.
He averted his gaze down to the ale dripping down the sides of his stein.
It had been a year in the Mortal Land since Cassian started making regular appearances as Everett in Hollow City. He’d gotten to know Finnian’s apprentices well, the layout of the city, the residents, and their businesses.
Eleanor was the more extroverted one, often speaking what was on her mind, regardless if it was an appropriate time to or not. In the last year, she’d developed a city council made up of humans and mages, and she took the liberty of supplying a staff to help with mayoral duties.
Isla was more introverted, and her down-to-earth demeanor did well to hide her fierce nature. She ran the organizations loyal to Finnian with assertiveness. As his name and title continued to spread, mages from all over flocked to Hollow City and devoted themselves to him.
“I suppose we have you to thank,” Eleanor said, propping her elbows up on the table. “Before you came along, we couldn’t convince Finny to wear the attire fitting for a city founder. Those horrid linen shirts with half of his chest exposed.” She rolled her eyes. “He presented himself as an angsty adolescent that had just rolled out of bed.”
Isla chuckled lightly, twirling her finger in one of her long curls. “He appears more official—andintimidating. The members of the organizations are terrified every time he pops in for a visit.”
“The waistcoat is a sophisticated look. If only he’d wear a tailcoat as well,” Cassian mumbled.
Eleanor barked out a laugh, smacking her hand down on the table in unison. “I think I would die of shock if that were ever to happen. Isla tried to buy him a pair of regal top-boots once, but he refused to part with the old ones he had.”
“He’s a creature of habit. And values comfort above all else,” Isla said before taking a sip of her brown, malty beer.
Cassian had grown accustomed to his days in Hollow City. Disguised as Everett, he’d often roam the streets and explore the businesses—the pastry shop that served delightful lavender tea, banks, printing presses, and grocers. His favorite, though, was a tailor shop where he purchased a fitting pair of trousers, a whitemuslin shirt, and a single-breasted waistcoat in Finnian’s size. Measurements memorized on the tips of his fingers.
The outfit was intended to be worn during official business, and when Finnian had tried it on, he groaned and tugged at the high collar.
“It’s befitting for the founder of the city,” Cassian had told him.
“Not a damn chance,” he’d muttered, face scrunched in discomfort.
Cassian smiled the next morning when Finnian teleported away, wearing the outfit.
