An hour later, Vera was standing in the Throne Room.
She was wearing a high-collared black dress that covered her mark, her hair pulled back in a severe bun. She looked every bit the invisible servant. But her hands were trembling.
The Throne Room was massive, filled with golden pillars and red banners. And in the center, sitting on the Iron Throne, was Kassian.
He sat with a lazy arrogance, one leg crossed over the other, looking bored. But Vera could feel the heat radiating from him, even from three steps away. The stress of the upcoming meeting was triggering the curse.
The heavy doors groaned open.
"Grand Duke Lysander!" the herald announced.
A man walked in. He was older, with silver-streaked hair and a face that looked kind—until you saw his eyes. They were the eyes of a shark. He was followed by a retinue of armored knights.
Lysander stopped at the foot of the throne. He bowed, but it was shallow. Disrespectful.
"Your Majesty," Lysander said, his voice smooth as oil. "I was surprised to hear you were receiving guests. The rumors said you were... indisposed. Again."
He smiled, waiting for Kassian to lash out. Waiting for the madness.
Kassian didn't move. He didn't speak. He just stared.
The silence stretched. It became uncomfortable. Then, it became suffocating.
Vera watched Lysander's smile falter. The Duke shifted his weight.
"Is... something wrong, Your Majesty?" Lysander asked, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice.
Kassian finally moved. He lifted a hand, signaling to Vera.
"Wine," he said. One word. Calm. Cold.
Vera stepped forward. She picked up the silver pitcher. Her heart was in her throat. She approached the throne, feeling the eyes of the entire court on her back.
As she poured the wine into Kassian's goblet, she felt the heat coming off him in waves. He was burning up.
Do it, his eyes seemed to scream at her, though his face remained impassive.
Vera took a breath. She finished pouring. And then, as she straightened up, she let her hand "accidentally" brush against Kassian's bare wrist resting on the armrest.
Skin on skin.
The reaction was instant.
The invisible heatwave snapped. Kassian inhaled sharply, the tension leaving his body. The cold from Vera's touch rushed through him, grounding him, sharpening his mind.
Kassian stood up.
He didn't stumble. He didn't scream. He descended the steps of the throne with the grace of a panther, stopping right in front of the Grand Duke.
Lysander took a step back, fear flashing in his eyes. He had expected a broken man. He was facing a predator at the peak of his power.
"The rumors are boring, Lysander," Kassian said softly, his voice echoing in the silent hall. "As you can see, I am quite well. But I hear you have been having trouble with your accounts. Something about missing tax gold?"
Lysander paled. "Your Majesty, I..."
"We will discuss it," Kassian interrupted, placing a heavy hand on the Duke's shoulder. "In private."
He turned, walking back to the throne, his cape swirling behind him. He sat down and took a sip of the wine Vera had poured.
Over the rim of the goblet, his blue eyes met Vera's green ones.
He winked.
Vera let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She had survived the first round. But looking at the murderous glare Lysander shot at the throne before bowing, she knew Damon was right.
The game had just begun. And she was standing right in the middle of the board.
*
The heavy oak doors of the Throne Room slammed shut, sealing away the murmurs of the court. The performance was over.
Kassian slumped back against the Iron Throne. The mask of the imperious, untouchable Emperor cracked, revealing a flash of exhaustion. He brought a hand to his temple, rubbing the skin as if trying to soothe a headache.
Vera stood frozen by his side, the silver pitcher still clutched in her hands. Her heart was beating a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She had just touched the Emperor in front of the most dangerous man in the kingdom.
"You are shaking," Kassian observed without opening his eyes.
"I'm terrified," Vera corrected, setting the pitcher down on a side table with a clatter. "Did you see Lysander's face? He looked like he wanted to peel my skin off and wear it as a coat."
Kassian opened his eyes. The blue irises were clear, the red haze of the curse completely gone. He looked at her with a terrifying intensity.
"Let him look," Kassian said softly. "He is a shark circling a boat. He suspects something changed, but he doesn't know what. Confusion makes men like him make mistakes."
He stood up, descending from the dais. As he passed Vera, he didn't stop. He hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his side.
"Come," he commanded. "I have a headache. And you are the only cure."
Vera tried to stiffen, to pull away, but his grip was iron. "The meeting is over. The sun is still up. Surely you don't need to sleep now?"
"I don't need sleep," Kassian murmured, guiding her toward the private exit behind the throne. "I just need the cold."
They stepped into the dimly lit corridor behind the Throne Room. It was a narrow, stone passageway used only by the royal family, hidden from the prying eyes of the court.
As soon as the heavy tapestry fell back into place, cutting them off from the world, Kassian crumbled.
He didn't fall, but he slammed his hand against the stone wall to steady himself. A low, ragged groan tore from his throat. The "calm" he had maintained in front of the Duke shattered like glass.
"Kassian?" Vera whispered, her instincts screaming at her to run, but her feet rooted to the spot.
He turned to her. The blue in his eyes was churning, darkening as the curse fought to reclaim control after the adrenaline of the confrontation.
"The mask..." Kassian gasped, his voice tight with pain. "It costs energy to hold the mask. To pretend I am not burning alive."
He took a step toward her. He didn't look like an Emperor now. He looked like a starving man looking at a feast.
"Give it to me," he demanded, his voice dropping to a rough whisper.
Before Vera could ask what, he closed the distance. He didn't drag her; he backed her up until her spine hit the cold stone wall of the corridor. He placed his hands on the wall on either side of her head, caging her in.
The heat radiating from him was intense, almost suffocating in the narrow space. It smelled of hot metal and his own expensive sandalwood soap.
"Touch me," Kassian ordered. He sounded desperate. "Anywhere. Just... cool it down."
Vera's breath hitched. She raised her hands, hesitating for a second before placing her palms flat against his chest, right over the black fabric of his tunic.
It wasn't enough.
Kassian hissed in frustration. "Skin, Vera. I need skin."
He grabbed her wrists and guided her hands up, sliding them under the collar of his heavy ceremonial jacket, pressing her freezing palms directly against the scorching skin of his neck and shoulders.
The sound was audible this time—steam rising from where her ice-cold fingers met his fever-hot flesh.
Kassian threw his head back, his eyes rolling shut. His heavy body sagged forward, resting his forehead against hers. He shuddered, a violent tremor that ran through his entire frame as the relief washed over him.
"Gods..." he breathed, the word vibrating against Vera's skin. "Better than wine. Better than opium."
Vera stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She should push him away. She should knee him in the groin and run. But the sensation... it was overwhelming.
Kassian didn't pull away. Instead, he moved closer. His large hands slid down the wall and gripped her waist, pulling her hips flush against his. The movement was possessive, blurring the line between medical necessity and something far more dangerous.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling sharply. His nose brushed against the sensitive skin below her ear, sending a jolt of electricity down Vera's spine.
"You are freezing," Kassian murmured into her skin, his lips grazing her pulse point. "You are a blizzard wrapped in silk."
"And you are heavy," Vera managed to whisper, though her voice lacked its usual bite. "If anyone walks in..."
"Let them walk in," Kassian growled, his grip on her waist tightening. He lifted his head, his ice-blue eyes locking onto hers. The madness was gone, replaced by a dark, lucid hunger. "Let them see that the Red Tyrant has found his remedy."
He leaned in, his face inches from hers. His gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes.
"Do you know what Lysander fears most, little thief?"
Vera shook her head, unable to speak.
"He fears a stable Emperor," Kassian whispered. He raised one hand, tracing the line of her jaw with a thumb that was still hot, but no longer burning. "And as long as I have you... I am the most stable man in the world."
He pushed off the wall, finally giving her space to breathe, though the loss of his heat left Vera instantly cold and shivering.
Kassian straightened his jacket, the mask of the Emperor sliding back into place. But the look he gave her was raw, stripping her bare.
"Tonight," he said, his voice regaining its command. "You sleep on the left side. I prefer the right."
He turned and walked down the corridor, his cape swirling behind him.
Vera slumped against the wall, her legs trembling. She looked at her hands—the hands that had just tamed a monster.
"I'm not a remedy," she whispered to the empty hallway, touching the spot on her neck where his breath still lingered. "I'm a drug. And he's going to overdose."