Elowen's Pov
The chamber was already prepared.
I knew it the moment the doors closed behind us, the sound thick and final, as though the room itself had been waiting. Candlelight softened the stone walls, casting a low amber glow that turned shadows into deliberate shapes. Heavy drapes covered the windows, shutting out the night and whatever mercy distance might have offered. The air smelled faintly of smoke and something sweeter beneath it, oil or incense, chosen carefully for an evening meant to unfold a certain way.
The bed dominated everything.
It was wide, meticulously arranged, dark linens smoothed to perfection, pillows embroidered with symbols I did not recognize but somehow understood. Nothing here was accidental. Nothing here suggested uncertainty.
"This was always meant to happen," I thought.
I remained near the door, my hands clasped so tightly together my fingers ached. Cassian moved deeper into the room without hesitation, shrugging off his cloak and setting it aside as if this were any other night, any other chamber. He turned toward me, his mouth parting slightly.
He was about to speak.
A knock cut through the air.
Sharp. Certain. As though whoever stood on the other side knew they would be answered.
Cassian stiffened. Before I could even gather myself, the door opened, and a young handmaid slipped inside.
She kept her eyes lowered, her posture respectful, but her purpose was unmistakable.
"My prince," she said quickly. "Lady Sylvia asks for you."
The name struck me before I could stop it.
Sylvia.
I did not know who she was. I did not need to. The knowledge arrived quietly, settling in my chest with unwelcome clarity. I saw the woman in red. The confident smile. The way Cassian's expression had softened, just enough.
"So that is her," I thought. "Of course it is."
The handmaid lingered, waiting.
Cassian exhaled slowly, irritation flickering across his face. He did not look at me.
"Tell her," he said, his voice flat, distant, stripped of anything that might resemble feeling, "that I will come to her concerning any matters that require my attention."
The phrasing was precise. As though people were obligations to be addressed and dismissed in turn.
The handmaid bowed and withdrew, closing the door behind her.
Silence rushed back in.
Cassian turned then.
His gaze found me and did not soften. It traveled over me slowly, deliberately, from my face to my shoulders, down the line of my gown, lingering long enough that I felt exposed in a way no crowd had managed to make me feel. My breath grew shallow.
"Undress," he said.
The word landed like a command issued to something that did not matter.
My throat tightened. "I… I…" The sound barely escaped me. I tried again, forcing my voice to obey me. "I am tired from the journey. You said so yourself. And my flower is bleeding. I do not think it would be wise...."
The lie tasted bitter. I hated how quickly it came to me. How easily fear sharpened my tongue.
Cassian did not react at once.
"I am not known to say things twice," he replied, his tone even, almost bored.
My pulse pounded. The room felt smaller, the candlelight suddenly oppressive.
He studied me again, more closely this time, as though weighing something. His jaw tightened, muscle flexing beneath the skin. When he spoke again, his voice was low and controlled.
"If you are going to lie," he said, "learn to do it properly."
The words struck hard, but he did not stop there.
"Your hands are steady," he continued. "Your breath is not short enough. You chose a story you thought would sound convincing, not one that reflects your body."
He took a step closer, not touching me, but near enough that I could feel the heat of him, could sense the authority that seemed to radiate from his presence.
"And you looked at the door when you spoke," he added quietly. "People lie toward escape."
My face burned. I could not bring myself to look away.
"I do not punish honesty," he said after a moment. "But I despise incompetence."
The word settled heavy between us.
He straightened, the space between us widening again, and whatever tension had sharpened the air seemed to pull back into him, contained and cold.
He crossed the chamber and reached the door. His hand paused on the handle for a fraction of a second, just long enough for me to wonder if he might look back.
He did not.
The door opened and closed behind him, the sound quiet but absolute.
I remained where I was, my legs weak, my thoughts racing.
Only when the silence pressed too tightly against me did I release the breath I had been holding.
I was alone.
For now