The wind howled over the cliffs of Eira's Watch, carrying with it the scent of steel, storm, and memory. Below, the army stretched like a serpent coiled beneath gray clouds, thousands awaiting the signal to rise. But above, in the abandoned royal wing, two souls faced something far more terrifying than war.
Cassian stood by the fire, his armor stripped away, his tunic unfastened at the collar. His gaze flicked toward the door as Riven entered, silent, storm-eyed, and bare of any mask he once wore.
Riven's voice was low. "I thought I'd lost you back at the eastern wall."
Cassian didn't look up. "You nearly did."
The silence between them pulsed with everything they hadn't said, every wound dressed in silence, every desire buried in ash.
Riven crossed the room in two steps, his hands reaching, then halting. "You're hurt."
Cassian turned then, eyes sharp. "Not as much as I was when you left."
That hit like a blade to the ribs. Riven's fingers curled at his sides. "I came back."
"You always do. But the question is—for how long?"
For a moment, the only sound was the pop of the fire and the rise of breath between them. And then Cassian stepped forward, grabbing the front of Riven's coat and pulling him close. Their mouths crashed together like a spark to oil—ferocious, desperate, tasting of blame and longing.
Riven responded in kind, backing Cassian into the wall, hands sliding over his waist, gripping hard, grounding him. The kiss broke only for air—then for Riven's mouth to trail across Cassian's jaw, throat, down to the exposed hollow at his collarbone.
"Say it," Riven breathed. "Say you still want me."
Cassian's head dropped back. "I want to hate you."
"You don't."
"I should."
"You don't."
Cassian growled low, fingers threading into Riven's dark hair as he kissed him again—deeper, raw, with a heat that made war feel like a distant drumbeat. Riven's coat fell to the floor. Cassian's tunic was torn open with the same urgency. Their bodies collided like warring nations with no interest in peace—only the clash and surrender of desire.
Hands roamed. Teeth grazed. Every scar mapped and memorized anew.
But amid the fire and friction, Cassian's voice cracked. "If we die tomorrow—"
"We won't."
"If we do. I want it to be like this. With you. No lies. No masks. Just... us."
Riven met his gaze, something like fear and devotion warring in his eyes. "Then take me. Now. As I am."
Cassian did.
They moved like flame and shadow, nothing held back. It wasn't just lust—it was history, vengeance, forgiveness, and love, all tangled in the sheets and silence. Their moans echoed off the stone walls, private confessions in the tongue of skin and breath. Neither yielded. Neither surrendered. But when it was over, they were wrapped together, breathless, still trembling.
Cassian traced a scar on Riven's chest—the one he hadn't seen before. "This wasn't from the war."
"No." Riven's voice was quiet. "It was from the day I left you."
Cassian's breath caught. "You did this?"
Riven nodded. "To remember what I gave up."
The silence that followed was unbearable. So Cassian broke it.
"I can't lose you again."
"Then don't."
Thunder rolled in the distance. The storm was coming. But for now, they had this—skin against skin, heart to heart, and a moment stolen before the world tore them apart again.