The throne room was burning.
Not with fire, not yet—but with silence. The kind that came after a scream, after a choice had been made, and the world began to break around it.
Cassian stood at the center, his crown gone. Not stolen—discarded. The glint of it lay somewhere in the shadows, half-buried beneath the crushed velvet of his old cloak. What use was a crown when kingdoms had turned to ash in his hands?
Riven stood at the edge of the dais, blood at the corner of his mouth, his shirt torn, his boots heavy with dust and the scent of betrayal. His eyes didn't waver from Cassian's. Not anymore.
"So that's it," Riven said, voice hoarse, tight. "You chose them. You chose this."
Cassian didn't answer. Words would only splinter more.
Riven descended the steps toward him slowly, boots echoing on the marble as the torches flickered, their flames starved by the tension that filled the room like smoke. Each step carried the weight of everything they'd lost.
And everything they hadn't yet dared to take.
Cassian didn't move until Riven stood chest to chest with him, breath shaking, fists clenched. When he did, it wasn't to defend or to command.
It was to kiss him.
Violent, broken, desperate—the collision of their mouths was a war all its own. Cassian's fingers tangled in Riven's hair, pulling him closer, deeper, as if he could drink the pain out of him. Riven groaned against him, the sound a raw plea, his hands tearing at the buckles of Cassian's armor, ripping leather and chain, needing skin, needing him.
Their mouths never parted. Not when Cassian lifted him onto the table once used for war maps. Not when Riven tore his shirt open with trembling fingers. Not when the first moan echoed off the stone walls like a challenge.
Cassian's mouth trailed down his throat, biting, worshiping, bruising him with teeth and tongue. Riven gasped, back arching beneath his touch, nails raking down his spine. Every movement was a punishment and a promise, every thrust a cry that said, we still exist.
The table creaked beneath them. Candles snuffed out. Moonlight spilled through the shattered stained glass and painted them in crimson and silver.
And still, it wasn't enough.
Riven gripped Cassian's face, forced his eyes up. "Say it," he rasped. "Say you didn't mean to break us."
Cassian breathed him in. "I never meant to survive without you."
Their bodies met again like flame and oil, burning down the last walls between them.
And the world outside burned with them.
The rain had not stopped.
It streaked against the tower windows like the sky itself was weeping over the ashes of what once was. Riven stood barefoot by the broken stained glass, arms wrapped around himself. He was stripped not just of armor or dignity, but of certainty.
Behind him, the echo of bootsteps was unmistakable.
Cassian didn't knock. He never did—not with Riven. The door creaked open, but Riven didn't turn. He could feel Cassian's presence like a storm surge behind him, pulsing heat, fury, ache.
"You came," Riven said softly.
Cassian shut the door with a quiet finality. "I always do."
Silence stretched like a blade between them, thin and sharp.
Then—
"You betrayed me," Cassian said, voice low, but laced with barely-contained fire.
"And you made me your prisoner long before this war," Riven turned, eyes gleaming not with defiance, but grief. "You think I wanted any of this?"
Cassian's jaw clenched. He crossed the room in three strides, grabbing Riven's wrist. The contact was electric. "What I think," he growled, yanking Riven close until their chests collided, "is that I can't fucking breathe without you. And that terrifies me."
Riven's breath hitched.
"You want me to apologize for surviving?" Riven whispered. "For not dying in that pit? For using what I had to get back to you?"
"You kissed Valen," Cassian spat, and there it was—the wound. Not power. Not the empire. That kiss.
"I kissed a ghost," Riven said. "Trying to find the one who didn't come for me."
Cassian flinched. Then—without warning—he crushed Riven against him. The kiss wasn't gentle. It was brutal, devouring, full of shattered nights and firelit regrets. Riven moaned into it, body arching as Cassian pushed him back, pressing him against the cold wall.
Clothes were torn, not removed.
Buttons popped.
Fingers trembled.
"I hate you," Cassian breathed, dragging his mouth down Riven's neck, biting hard. "I hate how much I love you."
Riven's legs wrapped around his waist, mouth searching for answers in the storm of touch. "Then love me like it's the last night."
Cassian did.
He lifted Riven effortlessly, pinning him, grinding against him with desperate, aching need. There was no preparation, only raw friction, breathless hunger, the cry of skin meeting skin. Riven's head fell back with a gasp, eyes wide, lips parted. Cassian watched every flicker of emotion—pain, ecstasy, surrender.
It was savage.
Sacred.
Cassian thrust into him, slow and deliberate at first, then faster, deeper, as Riven clung to him like he was the only tether in a collapsing world.
Their bodies moved like war and worship.
Breathless curses.
Sweat.
Tears neither admitted to.
Cassian kissed Riven again, slower now, as if memorizing the taste of the one person who could destroy him. And was already doing so.
When release came, it tore through both of them like lightning.
Riven's cry echoed against stone; Cassian groaned into his neck, holding him as if letting go would kill them both.
Moments passed.
Or hours.
Cassian finally spoke, voice raw.
"If you ever kiss him again..."
"I won't," Riven whispered. "It'll always be you. Even when I hate you. Especially then."
Cassian pressed their foreheads together.
"Then we rebuild. From ash."
The fire in the hearth had long since died, but their bodies still radiated heat—bare skin tangled in the silken sheets of a war room turned confession box.
Cassian lay on his side, fingers tracing invisible lines across Riven's spine. Each scar. Every healed lash. Every place where betrayal had once touched.
"I can't believe you're here," he whispered, his voice strangely small. "That you came back."
"I didn't," Riven murmured, facing the ceiling. "I was dragged back by fate. You… were just the only thing left I couldn't walk away from."
Cassian's hand stilled.
"Do you love me?" he asked, voice steady—too steady.
Riven didn't answer.
The silence was worse than knives. Worse than fire.
Cassian rolled onto his back. "You can't even say it."
"You want me to say I love you," Riven said, finally turning his head, "but will that undo the war? Will it change the fact that I bled for a kingdom that threw me into a pit?"
"No," Cassian said flatly. "But it'll remind me why I didn't let them kill me when I lost you."
Riven sat up, the sheet slipping from his waist. The moonlight painted silver across his shoulders. "This—what we just did—it wasn't a confession. It was a reckoning."
"Maybe," Cassian said, rising slowly to his knees behind him, pressing a kiss to Riven's spine. "But it was real."
Riven closed his eyes. "You think if you hold me hard enough, I'll stop breaking?"
"No," Cassian whispered. "But I'll bleed with you."
They made love again—not rushed, not violent this time. It was quieter, but no less intense. Their bodies moved slowly, lips meeting in languid strokes, fingers tangling, breaths syncing in soft moans and aching gasps. Cassian worshipped every scar he had once ignored. Riven opened, slowly, fully, until their connection wasn't just physical—it was a surrender.
And when they lay still, spent, hearts thudding in the same rhythm, Cassian said, "I've seen kingdoms fall. Gods die. But nothing terrified me more than seeing you kneel before Valen."
Riven's voice trembled. "I knelt to survive."
"Would you kneel now," Cassian murmured, brushing fingers through Riven's hair, "for me?"
Riven turned to face him.
Then, without a word, he shifted up, swung one leg over Cassian's waist, straddled him—and slowly, deliberately, knelt. Naked. Exposed. Defiant in his vulnerability.
"I kneel now," he said, "for no crown, no banner. Only you."
Cassian's throat worked. His hands found Riven's hips, grounding him.
"No lies?" he asked.
"No lies," Riven replied, leaning down. "Only this."
Their kiss was slow. Long. Not rushed like before. Not drenched in fury. It was raw. Honest.
Then—
A knock.
Sharp.
Urgent.
Cassian froze. Riven swore under his breath and rolled off him, grabbing the edge of the sheet. "Of course."
Cassian pulled on his trousers and strode to the door, hair a mess, chest still heaving. He cracked it open.
One of his generals stood there, eyes wide.
"It's Valen," she said, breathless. "He's moved. He's coming straight for the capital. With dragons."
Cassian's jaw tightened.
Riven stood, now fully awake. "Then we don't have time to be lovers. We need to be killers again."
Cassian looked back at him. "Can you be both?"
Riven smirked. "I already am."