Ariadne was waiting.
She stood near the hearth, clad in a gown of violet and black that clung like shadows to her form. Her gloved hand traced the marble mantle idly, every movement calculated elegance.
When she turned to face him, her lips curved in a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"My dear Cassian," she purred, dipping into a shallow, mocking curtsy. "How good it is to see you... so alive."
Cassian inclined his head with careful grace.
"And you, Your Grace."
She watched him with the sharp attention of a cat studying a mouse.
"Come, sit," she said, motioning languidly to the chaise across from her. "We have much to discuss."
Cassian crossed the room, each step steady.
He would not allow her to see weakness.
Not again.
He sat, spine straight, hands loose in his lap.
Ariadne's smile deepened, the air between them tightening invisibly.
"Such a fragile thing, time," she mused aloud, turning a pendant between her fingers. "One moment a House flourishes... the next, it crumbles."
She lifted her gaze to him, voice soft and deadly.
"It must be... challenging, for one of your kind," she said delicately, "to bear the future of Caerwyn on such slender shoulders."
Cassian felt the blow underneath the velvet phrasing.
Omega.
Burden.
Liability.
He smiled thinly.
"Strangely, Your Grace," he said, voice a blade sheathed in silk, "I find it no more challenging than bearing a conversation with you."
A flicker crossed Ariadne's face—surprise, then amusement.
"Oh, Cassian," she breathed, rising in a whirl of silk and soft laughter. "I look forward to seeing how long that sharp tongue of yours survives."
Without waiting for dismissal, she swept from the room, leaving the faint scent of lilac and smoke in her wake.
Cassian sat alone in the silence of the room that followed , staring into the dying flames of the hearth.
The first move had been played.
The game was on.