“Then be the soldier who asks anyway.” I grin. “You’ve faced blades and beasts. I’m certain you could survive a kind woman with good posture.”
He gives me a look—half warning, half amused. “You’d send a commander into battle for sport.”
“Not for sport,” I say softly. “Forhope.” I set my glass down and prod his arm. “Be brave, Arther. Life’s too short to stand on the edges and not partake in the few joys we’re given.”
“Short for you, perhaps,” he replies dryly. “I’m more than six hundred years old.”
“Then you’re long overdue,” I shoot back. “Now—march your stubborn self across the floor and ask that beautiful woman to dance.”
Something shifts in him. A softening beneath the armor—unmistakably human. He inclines his head in mock formality.
“Yes, my lady.”
“At ease, soldier,” I whisper.
He smiles—actually smiles—and strides into the dancers, cutting through the light like a blade through silk. Mae looks up as he approaches. Their eyes meet, and for a heartbeat, even the music seems to pause.
He bows, stiff and formal. She hesitates only a moment before placing her hand in his.
When their palms touch, the nearest candles flare—then steady—as if Noctyras itself approves.
Unexpected warmth blooms in my chest.
“Oh, now that was sweet,” a voice purrs at my shoulder. “Shall I start calling you Matchmaker instead of Fire?”
Cassian Vale—gold at his throat, on his wrists, in his eyes. Trouble dressed in sunlight. He smells faintly of citrus and jasmine, laughter clinging to him like perfume.
“I’ll answer to neither,” I say, not bothering to look at him. So much for a mentor. He’s always absent when he might be useful and irritatingly present when he’s not welcome.
He tuts. “A shame. Women usually find my company rather… stimulating.”
“What do you want, Cassian?” I sigh, finally turning to face him. “Because I’m not in the mood for your games tonight.”
“And yet here you are,” he drawls, swirling his wine as if it’s a secret he’s about to spill, “standing at the edge of a party, staring at a dance floor you pretend you don’t wish would whisk you away.”
“Go away, you viper. There will be no whisking from you.”
“Oh, you wound me.” He presses a hand to his chest, eyes wide with mock agony. “Vipers hatch inside their mothers and kill them upon birth.”
“Exactly.”
He grins, utterly unrepentant. “Fair. I did kill our mother, after all. Or so Lyra insists—her being born first and all.”
My chest tightens. “Cassian, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“Oh no, darling.” His tone softens just enough to make it worse. “It’s quite alright. I didn’t do it on purpose.” His gaze drifts, distant and sharp. “That’s why Father hated me.” A pause. “Before I killed him, that is.”
My lips part. “Cassian—”
“Don’t look so shocked.” He smiles, all teeth. “The bastard deserved it. I found him in bed with my fiancé after he burned an entire village for unpaid taxes.” He plucks another glass from the table and offers it with a flourish. The wine glows ruby-dark. “Drink. It loosens the tongue. Or the heart. I forget which.”
I hesitate. The mirrors multiply the pause, dozens of Selenes caught mid-thought.
“Relax,” he says smoothly. “Poison isn’t my style. And poisoning the king’s favorite would be… unwise.”
“I’m not his favorite,” I say, the denial bitter.
“Darling.” His smile turns knowing. “Do yourself a kindness and stop denying it.”
