The walk back to the Royal Suite was a blur of stone corridors and velvet carpets, a dizzying transition from the raw, primal intimacy of the hidden passage back to the sterile luxury of the palace.
Kassian didn't touch her again. He walked three paces ahead, his stride long and purposeful, the heavy black cape billowing behind him like the wings of a predatory bird. He was no longer the desperate man begging for a touch against a cold stone wall. He was the Emperor once more, aloof, untouchable, and radiating a terrifying command.
But Vera knew better.
She walked behind him, her legs feeling like jelly, her skin still tingling where his fever-hot hands had gripped her waist. She rubbed the spot on her neck where his nose had brushed her pulse point. It felt branded.
I'm a drug, she thought, the realization settling in her stomach like a stone. And he is a functioning addict.
When the guards threw open the double doors to the Royal Suite, the scene that awaited them was almost insultingly peaceful. A fire crackled in the hearth, ironic, considering the man who lived here. A table had been set near the balcony, laden with silver platters under domed covers. The room smelled of roasted meats, rosemary, and the omnipresent scent of expensive wax candles.
Kassian strode into the room and immediately began unbuttoning his ceremonial jacket.
"Out," he commanded, not even looking at the four maids who were fluffing the pillows on the gigantic bed.
The maids froze, curtsied deeply, and vanished into the shadows of the hallway faster than smoke. The heavy doors clicked shut, and the lock engaged with a final, echoing thud.
Vera stood by the door, hugging her arms around herself. The suite was massive, a cathedral of gold and silk, but with the door locked, it felt smaller than a prison cell.
Kassian tossed his heavy jacket onto a chair. Underneath, he wore a fine white shirt that was already sticking to his back with sweat. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the thick, corded muscles of his forearms and the faint, white scars of old burns.
He walked to the table, lifted a silver pitcher, and poured a goblet of wine. He drained it in one long swallow, then poured another.
Only then did he turn to look at her.
"Stop hovering by the door," he said, his voice rough with exhaustion. "You look like a stray cat deciding whether to scratch or run. Come. Eat."
Vera didn't move. "I'm not hungry."
"Liar," Kassian said flatly. "I can hear your stomach growling from here. And you are too thin. If you are going to be my... support... You need strength. I have no use for a fainting damsel."
He pulled out a heavy oak chair and pointed at it. It wasn't an invitation; it was a decree.
Vera gritted her teeth. She marched across the room, her silk dress rustling like a whisper against the marble floor, and sat down.
"I want to see Milo," she said, before he could speak.
Kassian sat opposite her. He lifted a silver cover, revealing a perfectly roasted duck glazed with honey and spices. The smell was intoxicating, making Vera's mouth water despite her anger.
"Damon has already reported," Kassian said, carving a slice of meat with surgical precision. "The boy is asleep. He ate a stew with beef and carrots, had a bath, and is currently sleeping in a bed with a feather mattress. He is safer there than he ever was with you in the slums."
Vera bristled. "I kept him alive for ten years."
"You kept him surviving," Kassian corrected, sliding a plate of food toward her. "I am keeping him living. There is a difference."
He picked up his own fork, but he didn't eat. He just watched her. His ice-blue eyes were heavy-lidded, dark circles bruising the pale skin beneath them. The confrontation with Lysander, the masking of his pain, the adrenaline, it had all taken a toll. He looked like a man running on fumes.
Vera looked at the food. Then she looked at the man.
"Why don't you eat?" she asked.
"Food tastes like ash when your mouth is burning," Kassian muttered, taking another sip of wine. "The heat... it dulls the senses. Taste, smell, touch... everything is distorted by the fire. Except for the cold."
Kassian stared at his wine goblet, swirling the red liquid as if searching for an answer in its depths. Then, his gaze shifted.
He looked at Vera.
Not at her hands this time. Not at the mark on her collarbone.
He looked directly at her mouth.
His eyes, unnaturally blue and heavy with exhaustion, traced the shape of her lips with a clinical, terrifying precision. He looked like a scientist inspecting a specimen, or a starving man realizing the bread was just out of reach.
"The cold..." Kassian murmured, his voice dropping an octave. A strange, calculating light sparked in his eyes.
He set the goblet down. Hard.
"Come here," he commanded.
Vera blinked, her fork freezing halfway to her mouth. "What?"
"I said, come here," Kassian repeated. He didn't wait. He didn't ask. He simply reached across the small distance between their chairs, his hand shooting out with the speed of a striking cobra.
He grabbed her wrist. His grip was scorching hot, searing against her cool skin.
"Wait—" Vera started, but he yanked her forward.
With a strength that defied logic, he pulled her out of her chair. Vera stumbled, the silk of her dress rustling violently as she was dragged toward him. She gasped, trying to dig her heels into the carpet, but she was weightless against his power.
He spun his own chair around and pulled her directly into the space between his spread legs.
"Open your mouth," Kassian ordered. His face was inches from hers, the heat radiating from him hitting her like a physical blow.
Vera's eyes went wide. "Excuse me? I am not going to—"
"I need to eat," he growled, his patience snapping. "And I cannot taste a damn thing while my tongue feels like it's resting on a bed of coals. Now open."
Before Vera could scream, protest, or reach for a knife, Kassian moved.
He didn't lean in gently. He surged forward and captured her lips with his own.
It wasn't a kiss. It was an invasion.
His mouth crushed against hers, demanding and hungry. Vera let out a muffled sound of shock, her hands flying up to push against his chest. She slammed her palms against his hard muscles, shoving with all her strength.
Get off! Get off!
It was like trying to push back a landslide. Kassian was immovable. His arm wound around her waist, locking her body against his, trapping her arms between them. His other hand tangled in the hair at the base of her neck, tilting her head back to deepen the angle, forcing her lips to part.
And then, his tongue swept into her mouth.
Vera stiffened, preparing to bite him.
But the moment their tongues touched, the world tilted on its axis.