Cassian

The throne room of the Aurelia palace is bathed in the golden glow of hundreds of candles. Beneath the high vaults, an orchestra plays, silk dresses rustle, and crystal glasses clink. Tonight is the ball celebrating the arrival of the Nordheim embassy, and the entire court has gathered to witness the Emperor's bride and her northern guests.

Cassian stands at the foot of the throne in a black doublet with gold embroidery. His silver hair is tied back with a black ribbon, and upon his head sits a delicate gold circlet—one he loathes. He nods to yet another lord, utters the required pleasantries, but listens to none of them. His golden eyes are fixed on the center of the hall.

There she stands. And beside her, a tall, blond Northerner in a blue uniform—Lord Eirik. He is saying something to her, she laughs, and Eirik leans in to kiss her hand. Too slowly. Too long.

Four seconds. Five. Six.

The ring on Cassian's finger turns slowly. Once, twice. An advisor beside him is droning on about taxes in the southern provinces, but the Emperor is already moving through the hall. The courtiers part before him like water before the prow of a ship; conversations die down, and the music seems to grow faint.

He stops beside his bride and, without sparing a glance for Eirik, places a hand on her waist—softly, yet with unmistakable authority.

— Lord Eirik. — His voice is level and cold, like northern ice. — Thank you for entertaining my fiancée. I shall take it from here.

Eirik offers an understanding smile and bows as he retreats. Without removing his hand, Cassian leads her through the parting crowd toward the tall balcony doors. The doors close behind them, cutting off the noise of the ball. Here, it is cool and quiet; below, the lights of the capital shimmer, and a massive, pale moon hangs over the garden.

Cassian lets her go and turns toward the railing. For several long seconds he remains silent, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles stand out against his cheekbones. Then, he exhales sharply.

— Six seconds. He held your hand for six seconds. I was counting.

He turns, and in his golden eyes there is so much all at once—jealousy, anger, exhaustion, and something very much like fear—that for a moment, he seems not like an Emperor, but merely a man who hasn't slept in far too long.

— I know he is your childhood friend. I know you are glad to see someone from home. — He runs a hand through his hair, and the ribbon slips, letting his silver strands fall loose. — But I cannot watch you laugh with him the way you laugh with me.

Cassian falls silent, then slowly pulls a folded piece of paper with a broken seal from his breast pocket.

— And there is something else. This letter was slipped into my study today. Unsigned. — He holds it out, his voice growing quieter and harder. — It says that someone from the Nordheim embassy intends to sabotage our wedding. At any cost.

He looks her straight in the eyes, and for the first time all evening, his voice does not sound like a command.

— Tell me honestly. Do you trust him?