Castiel
The council chamber smelled of ink and ash. Scrolls lay unrolled across the table, their wax seals broken, their words heavy with requests for coin, for blood, for retribution. The Crimson Court always hungered, and it was my task to feed it enough to keep it quiet without allowing it to grow fat.
Varus stood at my right hand, his face carved from patience. To my left, two of the elder lords murmured over boundaries disputed along the northern river. Their words droned, sharp-edged but predictable. I should have been listening.
Instead, I felt her.
The bond stirred, unbidden. A sharp pulse, quick and irregular, like fear tightening its grip around a throat. My palm pressed against the carved arm of the chair, and I felt the echo of her heartbeat beneath my skin.
She was not in her chambers.
The council's words faded to background noise. Varus glanced at me once, then wisely turned back to the map, continuing his measured debate. I closed my eyes briefly. The bond was clearer tonight, sharper—as though some veil had thinned. And through it, I heard her. Not words at first. Breaths. The brush of her pulse. Then, faint as a whisper carried through corridors, the murmur of others.
Nobles. Scheming. My jaw tightened.
I could have risen. Could have crossed the palace in less than a breath, shadows curling at my heels. Could have ended the whispers before they even reached her ears. But I did not. I wanted to hear what she would do.
So I leaned back in the council chair, expression unreadable, and listened through her.
Temperance
The library's whispers followed me into the corridor, words curling like smoke in my mind.
I had meant to return to my chamber, to lock the door and bury the parchment deep enough that its words could not echo anymore. But something in me refused. The bond thrummed louder tonight, sharp and hot beneath my skin, daring me.
So I stopped walking. I closed my eyes. And I reached.
Not far, just enough. Just a breath. The way one might lean against a door and hear the conversation beyond.
At first, nothing. Then, voices.
"…she unsettles him…"
"…a mortal flame cannot last…"
"…better she falter than force our hand…"
Selvara. Veynar. The same voices I had overheard before, now clearer, their words dripping like poison into the air.
I held my breath, straining to hear more.
"She thinks his silence is mercy," Selvara whispered. "She does not see it is judgment."
Veynar's laugh was low. "And when she fails, we will be there to watch her fall."
My pulse hammered. I pressed harder against the bond, desperate, reckless. And something shifted.
Not their voices this time, another's. A steady presence, dark and patient, listening beside me though unseen.
Castiel.
The realisation jolted through me like fire. He could hear what I heard. He was listening with me. I whispered into the silence, lips barely moving.
"If you're there… do something."
The bond pulsed. Once. Firm. But no shadows came. No door opened. No king appeared. He was listening. Only listening.
And waiting.
Castiel
Her voice brushed against me through the bond, soft as breath. Do something. The command pulled sharp against my chest. I almost rose. Almost let the council dissolve into chaos as I swept through the halls, blades of shadow at my side.
But I stayed. She did not know it yet, but this was her trial. Not one I had set—not exactly. But one I would not interrupt.
Let her fire choose whether to burn or to fade. I folded my hands atop the scrolls. The council prattled on, their disputes meaningless. My attention was elsewhere.
Through her, I listened. Through her, I waited.
Temperance
Their voices faded, leaving only silence heavy in the hall. I opened my eyes, heart still racing. My hands trembled at my sides, but I forced them still. He wasn't coming. The bond thrummed steady and strong, proof enough he was there, proof enough he had heard. But he had chosen silence.
So I straightened my spine, lifted my chin, and whispered into the empty corridor, "Then I'll stand without you."
The bond pulsed again—sharper this time, like approval cloaked in restraint.
I turned from the echo of their whispers and walked toward my chamber, each step steadier than the last. If he would not fight for me, then I would have to learn to fight for myself.