Chapter 15 #2
Kieran takes me to one of the cafés near the foot of the mountain. Funny enough, its name is Cassiopeia—not far from mine. The staff here greet him with easy smiles, no trace of fear in their eyes, and no flicker of curiosity about who I am.
“This looks lovely.” I hum, reading the menu. Suddenly, it feels like I’m on holiday—tucked away in a tiny café at the base of a mountain on a crisp autumn morning.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m still asleep in my own bed back home, and this is just another wild dream I’ll wake from.
And I’m trying very hard not to think about everyone I left behind.
Noah, my parents, Susan …
Every time my mind drifts there—to the deepest, darkest thoughts—I shove them all back into a locked room inside my head.
I won’t survive this if I let myself think about them.
This time, I reach for Kieran’s hand and squeeze it.
He squeezes back.
“What’s wrong?” he whispers, tilting his head.
“Nothing,” I lie, biting down the pain and forcing smile. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
Kieran stares at me for one second too long—almost as if he can tell I’m lying—then the corner of his mouth curves into a grin.
“You can thank me later,” he says, voice laced with mischief.
“You said I only want to sleep with you if you tell me about the trials … and then you go and do all this just to get something in return, too?”
Kieran throws his head back, laughing. “People would say we were made for each other.”
Yes, we would make one hell of a couple—dark, twisted, toxic, and stupidly in love.
The kind of couple that breaks up five times and still finds their way back to each other, over and over again.
But beneath all the chaos, I know that he cares.
I wasn’t sure if he did a few days ago, but something changed last night.
Somehow, it’s different.
Still, who knows if we’ll have changed our minds again in three days.
Let’s enjoy it while it lasts.
I order a huge cup of coffee, and pancakes with strawberries, cream and caramel. Meanwhile, Kieran opts for a glass of orange juice and a full breakfast. The food arrives barely ten minutes later. I let out a quiet purr of pure bliss at the first bite.
Gods, everything tastes amazing in this Court, but this place is truly something else.
“This is bad.” I point at the food. “If I want to enjoy this on my day off, how am I meant to walk here from the Court?”
It must take at least a few hours, if not longer.
Kieran rests his chin on his palm, blinking at me with those long lashes and magnificent eyes that show nothing but fake innocence. “Guess you’ll just have to stay over at my place.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
But before I can deliver a comeback, his gaze shifts past my shoulder.
“I sense we’re about to cancel the house tour.” Kieran exhales—just as Gideon stops at our table.
Oh.
I settle down my knife and fork.
“Sorry to interrupt, but you know I wouldn’t come here if it wasn’t important.” The High Commander’s voice is sharp, serious. His eyes land on me, narrowing at the sight of my pointed ears. He blinks and hesitates. “Cassandra?”
I offer an awkward smile, guilty as sin. “Good morning, Gideon.”
He gives me a polite nod, then throws a look at his friend, who doesn’t flinch. Gideon clears his throat. “Virgil’s spies captured a few members of the faction group this morning. One of them serves in our Court.”
A faction group? I thought they lived in paradise up here …
What could they possibly rebel for?
Kieran’s jaw tenses. “You’re saying we have a rat?”
“Either that, or a whole damn nest.”
I swallow hard and take a slow sip of coffee.
So much for a peaceful morning.
“Give us ten minutes,” is all Kieran says. Gideon nods, then offers me a brief smile and simply walks away without another word.
Kieran exhales, low and tense, then quietly picks up his cutlery again.
I hesitate, unsure if I should ask.
Any Court business they discuss is safe behind my sealed lips and the oath we made, but I don’t want to pry, if Kieran doesn’t want to talk.
“Remember when I told you no one objects to me in this Court?” Kieran says at last. For the first time, he sounds exhausted. I nod. “Well, no one does, but they form rebellions instead.”
Shit.
“I built the whole damn Court. Made my vision and purposes clear. Put rules in place. Sit through these headaches of meetings, since they want me to be the ruler so bad,” he mutters, frustration gleaming in his eyes.
“And now they disagree with how I lead. I’ve got the angry newcomers to my right, the rebels on my left.
Some of them have probably even joined forces, and all I wanted was a quiet breakfast.”
Gods.
What do I even say to that?
I don’t know what this whole thing means to us humans, or to the Fae, but the thought of someone hurting Kieran twists something sharp in my chest, something I didn’t even know was there.
My stomach clenches with both guilt and worry.
Guilt for Declan—and immense worry for Kieran.
He seems so invincible to most people, so powerful and untouchable.
They don’t see what I see—the King of the Fallen, imprisoned by this family in the very Court he built to save others—only to be punished by the ones he tried to save.
I glance at the mountain in front of us—gorgeous and towering, dusted with snow. All the café chairs are neatly positioned towards the view, designed so guests can eat while soaking it in.
I move mine closer to Kieran’s.
Then I reach up, bringing his face closer to mine, and press my lips on his—slow, gentle.
There’s a flicker of surprise—just for a heartbeat, before his lips move against mine—and that’s all it takes for these warm embers around us to ignite into blazing flames.
Kieran slides a hand on the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, as he gently pulls me closer into a kiss so intense I can barely breathe.
But fuck breathing.
A soft moan slips from me as his tongue brushes mine, tasting the lingering sweetness of caramel on the tip of my tongue.
I know there’s no going back, not after this, but I kiss him back with the same intensity.
Guilt be damned.
Maybe this is my punishment—maybe the Gods sent me this dangerous, addictive male to play with my heart, only to make me forget him later when the trials end.
When we finally pull apart, I lick my lips, tasting the ghost of him still clinging there. My breath comes shallow.
Kieran’s eyes drop to my mouth, hungry and feral. They are so raw, expressive, basically whispering into my ear what else he’s planning to do to me with those lips. Kieran’s practically undressing me with his storm-lit eyes, and honestly, all I can think about is how close his house—his bedroom—is.
One flick of those fingers, and we could be tangled up in that bed.
“Didn’t know talk of the rebellion would turn you on.” He hums, thumb brushing my bottom lip. “What was that for?”
Because I couldn’t stand seeing you like that.
Because I didn’t know how else to comfort you.
Because I’m falling for you and I hate it, but also want to drown in your eyes.
But I say, “In case they manage to kill you before I got to do that.”
“In that case, we should probably do more,” Kieran says, grinning, eyes flashing as he leans closer again. “The rebellion can wait another ten minutes.”
I want to ask, What about our breakfast?
But his lips find mine again, and all the words fall away like autumn leaves in the wind.