Cassian leaned back, every detail of the woman before him etched sharp in his memory since the moment at the Water Park.

  “You are far too beautiful to be a face in the crowd,” he began, voice low and certain, “but it isn’t just that. It’s the way you carry yourself — not like a lady trained in courtly graces, but like someone who has lived it. Authority doesn’t cling to you because it was taught. It belongs to you because you were born with it.” His green eyes glimmered with wry admiration. “I would know.”

  He tilted his head, smile flickering. “Everyone there saw you. Everyone watched you. And yet, none dared approach. None… save myself. And that vampire — he must be the owner of this establishment.”

  Cassian’s gaze lingered on the sharp line of her ears, not quite human, not quite fully elven. “There’s only one bloodline I’ve heard of that could carry itself with such weight, and only two known members of that line exist. And you don't look like an old woman to men.”

  He extended his hand with a courtly flourish, a gentleman’s greeting with just enough arrogance to make it his own. She met it without hesitation. His lips brushed the back of her hand, lingering just enough to be deliberate.

  "Cassian Zeymar Valenfor. Heir to the Ashen Throne. But for you, Princess… just Cass.”

  He didn’t release her hand immediately, letting the weight of his words hang between them. His smile was charming, but his eyes were sharp — searching, testing, daring her to flinch.

  Selene let him linger longer than she should have. Arrogance was in the bow of his shoulders, but not the hollow kind. He wore it like armor, like someone who had learned early that charm was a blade sharper than steel. For an instant, she wondered which version was true — the prince or the rogue — and decided he was both.

  “Selene LeFaye,” she said evenly, her voice smooth as velvet. “A pleasure, I’m sure. Your Highness will do just fine for a scoundrel like yourself.”

  Cassian gave a mock wince, pressing his free hand to his chest.

  “Scoundrel? You make it sound like an insult.” His tone was light, playful, though his eyes still studied her every flicker of expression.

  Selene finally drew her hand back, dismissing him with an airy wave as if brushing aside an insect.

  “Play the gentleman if you like. It amuses me. But I imagine you didn’t come all this way to trade pretty words. What are your questions?”

  Cassian leaned forward then, his voice dipping lower.

  “Only one to begin with.” His smile softened, but his eyes grew keen.

  “How long have you known?”

  Selene giggled, covering her lips with delicate fingers as though amused at a child’s trick.

  “You’re trying to trap me into answering more than one question, aren’t you?” Her golden eyes gleamed. “I appreciate the effort, so I’ll indulge you.”

  Cassian grinned shamelessly at her teasing.

  “We’ve known you were here since the moment you crossed the threshold,” she continued smoothly. “We’ve been watching you. As for me? I knew you were the Prince the instant I met you at the Park.”

  Cassian blinked, caught off guard.

  “How? …Shit.” The curse slipped out before he could stop himself. His pride smarted — he had believed his disguises flawless. That slip cost him another question.

  Selene tilted her head, savoring his frustration.

  “I’ll use your own words,” she said lightly. “It’s the way you carry yourself. Vampires walk with less grace. Orcs stride these streets with less confidence. And there is only one man outside this city who could weave glamours so flawlessly.”

  Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know about the disguise?” This was the question that he truly wanted to ask. No one had ever pierced his glamours like that. Not the Inquisitors who hounded him on campaigns, not the cloistered Saints whose entire lives were wrapped in Vaylora, not even the old magisters who taught him control.

  Only one woman had ever done it — his mother, with a smile that saw through every boyish lie he spun. To have this stranger, this LeFaye, do the same with a single glance scraped his pride raw. He hated the sting of it, and yet, some hidden part of him thrilled at being seen so clearly.

  Selene's hand lifted, fondling the aquamarine crystal at her neck. The gem shimmered faintly in the low light.

  Cassian exhaled sharply, lips twisting into a half-smile.

  “I thought so.”

  This time, it was Selene’s turn to look startled — he had recognized the pendant. She hid it quickly, but he caught the flicker of surprise. His smile widened. Finally, he had the upper hand.

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  “It seems,” he said slowly, “that you have questions, Your Highness.” He leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting. “So, how about another game? Question for a question. But you can only ask if you’re willing to give an answer.”

  Selene chuckled, clearly entertained. “Very well. I’ll begin.” Her voice softened, teasing again. “How do you avoid your glamour being dispelled by the city’s barrier?”

  “I don’t,” Cassian replied simply.

  He offered nothing more. His plan was obvious — drag the game out with evasive half-answers, control the pace, and frustrate her into showing her hand.

  But Selene only smiled knowingly.

  “I see. You’re reapplying the glamour constantly,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “Seamlessly, effortlessly. Extraordinary. Even I couldn’t manage such precision.”

  Cassian’s eyes widened. She had cut through his trick in a single stroke. He sighed, rubbing at his temple.

  “Fine then,” he said at last. His tone lost none of its charm, but the weight of the question hung heavy.

  “I’ve heard you’ve been causing a ruckus in my Empire… why?”

  “I’d hardly call it a ruckus.” Selene smiled.

  Cassian chuckled. “Distance doesn’t dull the Empire’s ears. Word of Garran Veyle’s death and his Inquisitors reached me quickly enough.”

  Selene giggled, the sound soft but cutting. “That’s not a ruckus for the Empire. It’s a ruckus for the Church.” Her golden eyes glittered. “Are they the same?”

  Cassian’s smile thinned into a squint. “Careful, your Highness. Is that your question?”

  Selene raised her hands in mock defeat. “Very well. An answer first.” She leaned back against the railing, her tone playful but evasive. “I was looking for something.” She gave no more.

  “And now my question,” she continued, tapping the crystal resting between the curves of her chest. “This necklace—you know it. How?”

  Cassian’s gaze lingered on it. The modest thing, hanging from her less-than-modest form, stirred memories sharp as glass.

  “My mother,” he said quietly. “She had a similar necklace. I keep it locked away in my quarters as a keepsake. The color of the crystal is different, but the design is the same.”

  Selene tilted her head, piecing the rest together. She pictured a mischievous boy, weaving pranks through palace halls, caught every time because his mother wore a stone that glowed warm in his presence. The image softened her. For the first time, she gave him a gentle, genuine smile.

  Cassian caught it and leaned forward, his voice lower. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Yes,” Selene answered simply.

  He exhaled, relief plain on his face. “Good. I was worried it might have been looking for a Demon Heart, not a Dragon’s. That would have made this encounter… less pleasant.”

  Her lips curved. He was sharper than she’d anticipated—quick to pick up on subtleties most would miss. Far more enjoyable company than she had expected.

  Selene sighed, flicking her fingers. “Enough of the games. Sit. Have a conversation with me.”

  The balcony doors opened. Vampires glided in like shadows, Cassian’s guards caught between them.

  “You look like you’ve been having fun,” Cassian said dryly. Kayen glowered, Maelis clenched her jaw.

  The air cooled instantly. Their presence dragged silence in with it. Their eyes gleamed like wet amber in the dark, and when they moved, it was noiseless — no footfall, no rustle of cloth. Kayen’s hand went to his hilt. One vampire paused to look at him, lips curving to reveal a hint of fang, and Kayen stilled. Maelis’ jaw clenched, but she kept her silence, though every muscle in her arm was coiled tight.

  The vampires brought a small table and two high-backed chairs, placing them at the balcony’s center. A bottle of wine and two crystal glasses followed. Selene swirled her glass lazily. While Cassian raised his with the reverence of a man accustomed to court rituals.

  Two of the pale figures lingered at the door as silent sentinels while Cassian’s knights took their places behind him, hands on hilts.

  Cassian raised his glass after the pour, swirling the liquid. He inhaled, then sipped. His brows rose. “This is the best wine I’ve ever had.”

  The vampire servant gave a thin smile. “I would hope so. That vintage is older than your father. We have been crafting wine long before humans learned to appreciate the art.”

  He set the bottle down and withdrew.

  Selene raised her own glass, golden eyes glinting at Cassian over the rim. He returned the look, lips quirking.

  For a time, they spoke lightly. About the city, the music, the strange beauty of Alleve’s Hallow. Selene spoke with a pride that curled at the edge of mockery.

  She described the Clock Hand Tower, its crystal face gleaming so high above the city it could catch the dawn before the sun had risen. She spoke of the districts, each one ruled by a different people — the werewolves with their butcheries and pelts, the orcs with their colosseum where blood spilled for honor.

  “Monsters,” she said, “or so your Church would name them. Yet here they live, they build, they trade. Perhaps that is the greater heresy — not their existence, but their peace.” Cassian listened, half-amused, half-curious, imagining the empire’s priests spitting blood at the very thought.

  The conversation wandered from sharp wit to softer laughter, the weight of crowns and blood momentarily set aside.

  At last, Cassian sighed, setting his glass down. “I could talk to you for hours,” he said honestly. “But tell me—what is it you really want to discuss?”

  Selene leaned forward, her playfulness gone. Her voice cut with sudden precision.

  “Your mother. Are you aware… that she was a descendant of the First Coven?”

  Cassian’s smile faltered. His eyes narrowed, all charm falling away like a mask he’d grown tired of wearing. Kayen shifted with a growl low in his throat, Maelis’ hand already on her blade. For a moment, it seemed the balcony itself might ignite with steel and blood.

  The wine turned sour on his tongue. Every sound sharpened — the scrape of chair legs, the faint clink of Maelis’ armor, the slow drip of candle wax. Cassian’s pulse hammered in his ears. Her words had struck deeper than he let show; they cracked something old and buried, a memory of his mother whispering lullabies she claimed were older than the empire itself. He forced his hand to remain steady on the cup, though his knuckles blanched. To deny her outright would be weakness. To admit would be folly. He held the silence, caught between blade and truth.

  But Selene only lifted her glass, unbothered, her smile as soft as moonlight.

  “Shall I take you to meet my grandmother, Your Highness?”

  The Prince’s knuckles whitened against his cup. He didn’t answer—not yet. But he didn’t say no.