The halls of black marble echoed with the sound of footsteps—slow, deliberate, and laced with barely-contained fury. Cassian's cloak billowed behind him like a living shadow, its crimson lining catching in the torchlight. The air in the capital was thick with the taste of soot and ruin. Fires had broken out in the lower districts—sabotage, Valen's hand, no doubt—and the city reeled from chaos.
But none of that chaos compared to the inferno raging behind Cassian's eyes.
He had seen Riven return broken and silent. He had seen the marks.
And now he was going to find out who had dared touch what belonged to him.
---
Riven stood alone in the war room, one hand braced on the edge of the obsidian table. His skin, pale and sweat-slick, shimmered under the light. The bite of his leather harness against a bruise just under his ribs made him flinch, but he didn't shift away. He needed the pain. Needed the reminder that he had made a choice. Or maybe no choice at all.
Nyra's cruel words still rang in his head. Valen's offer had been simple—betray Cassian, or Cassian dies. Either way, Riven's soul would be forfeit.
He'd told himself he wouldn't give in. But he'd also kissed Valen with blood on his lips.
The door slammed open.
Riven straightened too late.
Cassian crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed Riven by the throat, and slammed him back against the table.
"Tell me."
His voice was a growl, low and lethal.
Riven didn't fight. Didn't speak.
Cassian's hand tightened, his other dragging the front of Riven's shirt open, revealing purple-red bruises that traced across his chest and stomach like a painting of war.
"Who?" Cassian demanded, voice fraying. "Was it him?"
Riven's lips parted. A single word might have broken them both.
Instead, he whispered, "Does it matter? You already know."
Cassian's grip faltered. The silence between them pulsed. Then, with a low curse, Cassian dragged Riven into a brutal kiss, one filled with teeth and fury. Riven gasped as he was lifted bodily onto the table, legs forced open by Cassian's hips. The cold stone kissed his spine as Cassian's hands slid lower, possessive, punishing.
"You think you can bleed and lie to me?" Cassian growled into his mouth.
Riven arched beneath him. "I didn't lie."
Cassian's hand slid between them, ripping the last layer of fabric away. The sound of tearing leather echoed.
And then nothing else existed.
Fingers dug into flesh. Lips dragged across fevered skin. Riven moaned—helpless and hot—when Cassian took him in one deep, punishing thrust. The table groaned. Riven's back arched as Cassian fucked him like vengeance itself, driving every syllable of betrayal from their bodies with every motion.
Riven's legs wrapped around Cassian's waist, locking them together.
"Say you're mine," Cassian hissed.
Riven's voice broke. "I'm yours. I was always yours."
Cassian leaned in, mouth by his ear, voice raw.
"Then prove it."
The flames of the palace had finally died, but the heat remained—a suffocating presence that clung to Riven's skin like the memory of Cassian's last words. A promise, broken. A vow, scorched to ash.
Rain had started to fall, hissing against the smoldering wreckage. Riven stood at the balcony's edge, his knuckles white as he gripped the railing. Below, the remains of the southern wing smoldered in the distance, a hollow testament to betrayal. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, but it wasn't from the cold. He wasn't sure what part of him still burned—rage, or regret.
Cassian was somewhere beneath the city, coordinating the next strike. But he hadn't looked back when he left. Not after what he'd seen. Not after what Nyra had revealed.
"You let her touch you," Cassian had said, his voice void of heat, too calm to be safe. "You accepted her power."
"I did it to protect you," Riven had answered—but even then, he hadn't believed the words. Not fully.
A soft rustle behind him snapped him from thought.
Cassian.
Riven turned, slowly, and there he was—his armor half-buckled, his tunic open at the throat, hair damp from the storm, yet eyes burning like the infernos they'd both survived. The tension was instant, palpable.
"You shouldn't be here," Riven said, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him.
Cassian said nothing. Just walked toward him, slow, deliberate, the way he always did when he was trying not to break apart.
"Say it," Riven whispered. "Say you don't trust me. That you regret—"
Cassian didn't let him finish.
He closed the space between them in a heartbeat, gripping the back of Riven's neck and pulling him into a kiss so desperate, so raw, that it left them both gasping. Teeth clashed. Hands fumbled. There was no grace, only need.
Riven groaned as Cassian slammed him back against the stone pillar, fingers tearing at soaked layers of clothing. Every kiss tasted like punishment. Every touch was edged in fury and love and the ache of betrayal.
Cassian's voice broke against his throat. "You're mine. Even if it kills us both."
Riven's laugh was breathless, pained. "Then end me. Right here. If that's what you want."
Cassian's answer was a bite at his collarbone, a hand yanking open the last barrier between them.
They crashed to the floor of the war room—maps scattered beneath them, a throne of chaos and fury. Riven gasped as Cassian took him in his mouth, slow and brutal, like he was reclaiming territory. Riven arched, fingers tangled in obsidian hair, moaning brokenly as heat pooled and burst inside him.
Cassian didn't stop. His hands pinned Riven's hips, held him down as he claimed every inch, left bruises and bites like signatures on skin. When he finally took him fully—deep, hard, with a growl that vibrated through them both—it wasn't forgiveness.
It was surrender.
Their bodies moved with a rhythm that was both war and worship. Riven wrapped his legs around Cassian's waist, dragging him deeper, needing more.
"Hate me," Riven whispered. "If that's what keeps you close."
Cassian's eyes met his, searing. "Never. Never hate. Just this—this ruin we made."
They broke together—crashing into that edge with curses and cries, their breath fogging the cold stone air. When they finally collapsed, tangled and slick with sweat and stormlight, neither spoke.
There were no words for the fire they'd survived.
Only ashes.
Only each other.