The throne room was no longer a sanctuary—it was a battlefield in velvet and shadow.
Cassian stood before the obsidian throne, his black suit stained at the cuffs, half-unbuttoned, tension wound so tightly in his jaw it looked carved from marble. Outside the citadel, smoke curled into the crimson sky. Rebellion had reached the gates.
Riven entered through the northern wing, his cloak trailing behind him like scorched silk. Blood—not his—painted the edge of his jaw. He tossed a sealed envelope onto the marble floor between them.
"Valen has made his move."
Cassian didn't bend to pick it up. He watched Riven instead—watched the way his chest rose with uneven breaths, the way defiance shone through the mask of cold professionalism. "And you let him?"
"I stalled him long enough to get that into your hands. You're welcome."
Silence swelled between them. Not emptiness—but the kind of silence that brims with unspoken need, betrayal, and heat.
Cassian crossed the distance in four long steps. "You lied to me."
Riven's voice was low, dangerous. "I did what I had to."
Cassian's hand went to his throat, fingers curling possessively around the nape. "You belonged to me."
"Still do," Riven growled. "But you started this war. I just learned how to survive in it."
Cassian shoved him against the cold pillar behind. It wasn't just dominance. It was desperation.
Their mouths collided.
The kiss wasn't gentle—it was savage, all heat and accusation.
The ballroom was a wildfire of whispers and veiled threats, the air thick with tension and the scent of burning ambition. Cassian's empire teetered on the edge of collapse, yet no one dared show weakness. Eyes flicked toward the shadows, searching for the next strike, the next betrayal.
Riven stood apart, his gaze fixed on Cassian across the room. The man looked untouchable, regal even in the face of ruin. But the cracks were there—hidden beneath the steel mask of control. And Riven knew those cracks all too well.
Their eyes locked, a silent storm brewing between them. The world around them faded, leaving only the heat that pulsed through their veins. It was more than desire now—an inferno fueled by fear, anger, and desperate hope.
Without a word, Cassian crossed the room, his presence overwhelming as he pulled Riven into a secluded alcove behind heavy velvet drapes. The noise of the party dimmed to a distant roar, swallowed by the searing intensity between them.
Cassian's hands were urgent, rough against Riven's skin, tearing at silk and leather like a man trying to reclaim something slipping through his fingers. Riven gasped, arching into the touch, his own hands tracing the sharp lines of Cassian's jaw, memorizing every scar, every whispered promise of pain and pleasure.
"You're mine," Cassian growled, voice thick with need and command. "No matter what burns around us."
Riven shivered, the words igniting a wildfire inside him. "Then burn with me."
Their lips met in a savage kiss, tongues clashing, teeth grazing, a battle as fierce as any war waged outside these walls. Clothes fell away, forgotten weapons cast aside as skin met skin in desperate hunger.
Cassian's hands mapped every curve, every trembling response, worshiping and claiming in equal measure. Riven surrendered, melting into the heat, his body arching, eyes fluttering closed as pleasure and pain danced on the edge of oblivion.
But beneath the ecstasy, a cold whisper echoed—a warning that the fire they stoked could consume them both, or burn everything they fought to protect.
As they collapsed against one another, gasping and slick with sweat, Cassian's fingers brushed against a hidden blade tucked beneath Riven's belt—a reminder that in this game of crowns and ashes, trust was a fragile, fleeting flame.
The night was far from over.