The ballroom hadn't been used in years. Dust clung to the chandeliers like forgotten memories. But tonight, it bloomed with music, low laughter, and sharp scents of aged wine and tension.
Cassian stood still at the edge, breath held.
He saw him—Valen.
His brother stood near the staircase, cloaked in ink-black velvet, dark curls loose, a silver chain glinting against bare skin. His smile was pure sin—one that used to coax Cassian into reckless mischief, and now twisted with secrets and threats.
"Cassian," Valen purred, lifting a glass as if to toast. "Still chasing shadows, I see."
Before Cassian could respond, a warm, dangerous presence wrapped around him from behind.
Riven.
He didn't speak. He simply slid a possessive hand around Cassian's waist, fingers spreading low, dangerously close to scandal.
"Your brother," Riven said low against his ear, "stares like he's undressing you."
"He always did," Cassian whispered. "It's how we survived."
That made Riven's grip tighten.
Later—alone—Riven slammed Cassian against the stone corridor wall. His mouth found Cassian's with a fury that shook them both. Tongues clashed, breaths stolen, lips bitten.
"You still love him?" Riven growled.
"I never said I did," Cassian hissed, breathless.
"But you never said you didn't."
Riven's hands were already beneath his robe, fingers fierce as they yanked the fabric down. His mouth moved to Cassian's throat, then lower—nipping his chest, sucking until red marks bloomed.
"You're mine tonight," Riven rasped. "Say it."
Cassian grabbed Riven's belt, undoing it in one practiced movement. "I'm yours."
Riven spun him toward the wall, pulled his hips back—and thrust in.
Cassian cried out, half pain, half ecstasy, fingers clawing the cold stone as Riven moved behind him with primal hunger. Their bodies crashed together again and again, slick sounds echoing down the hall.
"You think of him?" Riven snarled.
Cassian moaned, "I only feel you—"
Riven grunted, pounding harder, hand sliding up to wrap around Cassian's throat. "Louder."
Cassian cried out again, back arching as he came—hot, raw, undone. Riven followed with a groan that cracked into a growl, spilling into him with punishing need.
They stood there panting, sweating, ruined.
And then—a slow clap.
They turned.
Valen.
Leaning in the shadows, arms crossed, watching.
"Well," Valen said, voice silk and knives, "if I'd known you liked an audience, I wouldn't have waited."
Riven stepped forward, but Cassian grabbed his wrist.
"Don't," Cassian said softly. "That's what he wants."
Valen's eyes gleamed. "You think this is a game?"
Cassian looked at his brother. "No. I think you're trying to steal what I finally chose for myself."
Valen's smile faded. "Then we'll see if your love survives war."