Chapter 17
CASSIA
Cassia moved through the dining hall with a dish towel over her shoulder, a pot of beef bone broth levitating beside her, held steady with the occasional flick of her fingers.
The afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows, illuminating the wooden table ladened with food.
She was busy counting heads, making sure the bread reached the younger children before the older ones finished their first helping.
The kids were loud in that particular way only comfort allowed—laughter and clinking spoons as they passed shared platters around the table. She set a fresh basket of rolls in the centre, only to have two small hands immediately snatch one each.
“No taking two until everyone’s had one,” she warned lightly as a boy tried sneaking an extra roll. “And no spells at the table, Theo. I saw that napkin trying to feed itself.”
An enchanted ladle floated up behind her, diligently filling bowls as she moved down the line. Somewhere across the room, someone began humming off-key, and another child joined in with a spoon tapped rhythmically against their cup. It was chaos—but it was good chaos. Familiar. Bright.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed this after the auction. After him.
Her smile faltered, just slightly.
Ark’s last message still lingered in her thoughts, tucked somewhere behind her ribs like a note folded into a tiny square. She had read it twice.
No, thrice.
Alright, maybe . . . ten times, if anyone was counting—not that they should. But she hadn’t written back. She didn’t know how, what words would be sufficient, when his letter had made her insides ache and glow all at once.
She was still debating whether she should reply when someone banged on the front door—sharp and urgent, nothing like the usual knocks of delivery boys or curious visitors. Her head snapped up. Across the dining room, Matilde paused, glancing at her with a pitcher of warm apple cider in hand.
Cassia gave her a nod. The girl slipped toward the door as the children’s chatter dimmed, muffled by the sudden tension in the room. The front door creaked open, revealing a slice of cold air, and a familiar voice.
“Apologies for the intrusion. May I speak with Miss Aura Cassia? It’s rather urgent.”
Her breath caught, she moved toward the door.
There, standing at the threshold, was Meridan Caius.
He looked . . . like himself, but not quite.
Tension pulled his usual elegance taut and frayed.
His golden hair was braided with a pale-blue ribbon, but the braid had come loose in places, and a fine layer of dust clung to his shoulders.
The line of his coat was no longer immaculate.
And on the white lawn of his shirt: a smear of blood.
Only when his eyes found hers did the strain ease.
“Miss Aura,” he exhaled. “Please. Come with me.”
She opened her mouth, a hundred questions on her tongue, but Caius didn’t give her the chance.
“It’s Ark,” he said gently. “He’s been injured.”
The words struck clean through.
“How badly?” she asked, already reaching for her coat by the wall.
“Bad enough,” Caius said carefully, eyes tracking her every movement. “You are a Kitchen Witch with healing skills. Can you help?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Matilde,” she called over her shoulder. “You’re in charge until I return. Keep the children inside.”
The woman looked up. “But—what about the children’s skating trip this evening?”
Cassia glanced at the clock. One PM. The bus would pick them up at five.
“I’ll be back before then,” she said, rushing back to the kitchen to pour some bone broth into an insulated jar and tucked it into her bag.
She didn’t even button her coat before she was out the door. The chill bit at her skin, but she didn’t care. Caius fell into step beside her as they crossed the street and entered Eldryn Gardens. She matched his brisk pace, her heart thudding louder than her boots against the pavement.
“What happened?” she asked.
“There was . . . an accident,” Caius said, gaze fixed ahead. “During a job.”
She frowned. “What kind of job?”
He glanced at her. “He never told you?”
“No. He’s good at deflecting.”
Caius offered a flicker of a smile. “That he is.”
The path narrowed, and just beyond, the spires of the Elf District rose in pale stone and stained glass, catching the afternoon light.
“Is he badly hurt?” she asked.
“He’s stable. But what he’d come up against . . . it wasn’t gentle.”
Caius veered off the main path, guiding her toward a quiet street that edged the Elf District.
Cassia glanced around. Despite the proximity to central Angelene, the street was quiet.
Caius stopped in front of a derelict building on a small plot of land between two rows of townhouses.
It looked long abandoned—its stone facade streaked with browning ivy, the shutters askew.
The windows were cloudy with dust, panes smudged as though the building had been forgotten for decades.
Cassia stared, brows knitting. “This is it?”
He offered a faint, sheepish smile. “I do apologize about the entrance. Pardon me.” He reached for her elbow, firm enough only to guide. She resisted, feet rooted to the pavement, gaze flicking to his hand and back to his face.
She was achingly aware she was about to intrude upon Arkenoth’s private life, the part he had hidden away from prying eyes. Whatever lay beyond the door, it wasn’t meant for her.
“Should I even be here,” she whispered, “when our engagement isn’t real?”
He looked at her for a moment. Then, quietly: “Just before he fainted, the only name he uttered was yours.”
Cassia went still. The words sank, and she was aware of their significance: in that brief moment while darkness dragged him under, he’d called out to her.
She gave a firm nod. Caius opened the door and pulled her inside.
The moment she stepped through the door, the world shifted.
A rush of vertigo washed over her—magic rippling like a velvet curtain pulled back.
In the blink of an eye, she went from cracked flagstone and dust to warmth and stillness.
The space inside was breathtaking: all dark wood and green velvet, with a soft ambient glow from sconces shaped like gilded wings.
She breathed in cedar and ink and old parchment.
Masculine, comforting, and unmistakably . . . him.
She didn’t have time to ask anything, couldn’t even take it all in, because her eyes caught something on the floor near the entryway.
Blood—just a few drops, dark and beginning to dry.
Her stomach churned.
She didn’t wait. Her boots struck the wood floor as she followed the trail, heartbeat thundering in her throat.
Caius followed. They passed a long worktable, passed a side alcove that looked like a library.
Passed a vase of flowers that looked oddly familiar—pale petals behind a shimmer of a spell, still faintly smelling of cinnamon. Her Flora Notes.
He kept them?
The trail of blood led her down a dim hallway. A door stood slightly ajar, a sliver of cool, silver-blue light flickering through the gap.
Behind the door, on the bed, lay Ark.
A shuddering breath rushed out of her. She crossed the threshold before she’d even realized she moved.
The room was dark. Heavy blackout drapes shut out every crack of daylight. A deliberate fortress against the sun, designed for a Nocturne to heal. Only a single conjured light burned in the corner for the dimmest of illumination.
Even so, Ark was losing the battle. The bedsheets were rumpled, pushed back from where he’d collapsed.
His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.
Sweat slicked his brow. His coat had been peeled away and heaped upon a nearby chair, his black shirt sticking to his torso, the bandage around his hand now a layer of blackened gauze.
And his glamour had slipped. The illusion of the ‘Idle Prince’ peeled back to reveal the truth beneath.
Markings stirred across his collarbone—scrolls and spirals curling and uncurling like shifting smoke, pulsing black against his skin.
She’d seen tattoos before. These weren’t tattoos.
They moved. They breathed. His nails had lengthened to fine, sharp points, flesh colour darkening into black at the tips.
Then, she saw them: horns. Not just one set, but two.
They rose from above his hairline, the larger set sweeping back in an elegant arc, dark as polished obsidian, ridged with natural whorls like the grain of ancient wood.
Beside them, smaller horns jutted out, rising alongside the larger pair like a second crown.
So this was what he hid. This was what he thought the world couldn’t handle.
She should’ve been afraid. A Nocturne Echelon stripped of his glamour . . . Every story she’d ever heard told her to step back.
Instead, she stepped closer.
“Help me sit him up,” she said. Caius and Rhodes turned to her. “We need to lower the fever and treat that hand before the corruption spreads.”
Rhodes moved without argument, lifting Ark’s shoulders effortlessly. Caius left and returned with a basin of water and some clean linens.
Cassia knelt beside the bed, shedding her coat and rolling up her shirtsleeves.
She dipped a cloth into the basin, the cool water sluicing through her fingers, and wrung it out.
Gently, she pressed the rag to Ark’s fevered brow, sweeping along his temple, her fingers brushing against skin burning hot.
She hissed through her teeth when she saw his right hand. Yesterday’s bandage had burned through. Angry red welts branched up his wrist like cracked glass, the infection veined with a faint, eerie shimmer—residual magic still pulsing under the skin.
Rhodes leaned against the window, arms crossed tightly. “Corrupted magic latched on to his power. He tried to suppress it, but it fused for a moment.”