Chapter 19 #2
A smile tugged at her lips. It was strange, seeing him like this. Not the man standing inside a vault of sealed horrors. Not the calculating strategist with a glamour to keep the world at bay. Simply a man being pulled into a child’s orbit, allowing himself to be needed.
And more than that—meeting that need without protest.
She couldn’t explain why it made her chest tighten the way it did. Maybe because it had been so long since she’d seen someone like Ark—powerful, untouchable—stoop to meet the children without arrogance. Without spectacle.
Just presence.
And wasn’t that what children needed most? Not heroes, but simply someone who would show up, see them, and not turn away.
Opalina sidled up beside her, checking mittens. Lilibeth handed out snack bags from a wicker basket, but her gaze kept sliding toward Cassia.
“So,” Lilibeth said casually, “how was the event last night?”
Cassia glanced up. “Dinner was lovely, actually. The food was beautiful.”
Opalina hummed. “And afterward?”
Cassia secured a hat on a child’s head, then exhaled. “It was an auction of rare magical artifacts. Interesting to watch, but the social scene was . . .” She didn’t finish.
“That bad?” Lilibeth asked gently.
Cassia didn’t look up as she answered, “The stares didn’t bother me at first. But later . . . I don’t know. They got under my skin, like I’d wandered someplace I didn’t belong.”
Opalina’s hands stilled. “I hate that they made you feel that way.”
“I’d thought I’d handle it better, but . . .” She shrugged and pushed the memory away.
Lilibeth leaned in slightly. “Ark didn’t let them get away with it, did he?”
Warmth returned, curving her lips. “No. He shut it down, thoroughly. I don’t think he even raised his voice.”
“And he stayed after?” Opalina pressed.
“He came back to my house. We talked. For a while.”
Lilibeth looked around to make sure they were now alone before arching a brow. “Just talked?”
Cassia shot her a look. “Yes.”
“Mm-hmm,” Lilibeth said, not at all convinced. “So, not a terrible way to spend the anniversary of your father’s death, then?”
“No,” she admitted, surprising even herself. “It was . . . better than what I’d planned. Maybe even what I needed.”
Opalina’s smile was gentle. “That’s something, then.”
Lilibeth’s tail nudged her elbow. “Are we still sure this is just a fake engagement?”
Cassia didn’t dignify that with an answer. She just lifted her brow and gave her a look—the one she’d already perfected over numerous teasings about this ‘fake engagement.’
Lilibeth, predictably, wasn’t deterred. “I’m only saying, if the gossips are already circling and you’re standing next to him in public like that, wouldn’t it be safer to lean into the illusion?”
“We are leaning in.”
“To a point,” Lilibeth countered, her tail flicking agitatedly behind her. “But people like Agmon Alderrath or the Daemaris won’t believe in half-measures. If they start paying attention, you’ll want something more convincing.” She lowered her voice. “Ask him to give you a bond mark.”
Cassia turned, mouth opening—then paused. Across the courtyard, Ark was crouching beside one of the smaller children, tying her bootlaces. He tilted his head, listening to the babble of a five-year-old like it meant something to him.
Lilibeth followed her gaze. “I don’t think he’d mind, you know. You wearing his mark.”
Cassia sighed. “That’s not a small decision, Lili.”
“It wouldn’t have to be permanent,” Opalina pointed out, her tone more careful now. “Just enough to reinforce the illusion.”
“A demon’s mark isn’t just a symbol,” Lilibeth explained.
“It’s a psychic signature, a warning woven into your very aura.
Any demon who senses it would know you are under the direct protection of a powerful house.
They’d have to challenge him directly to get to you, and no one wants a formal duel with a Nocturne Demon of Echelon rank. ”
Cassia stared down at her gloves. “You’re both assuming I’d be comfortable with that level of . . . proximity.”
She didn’t say the rest. No one had ever offered her something like that before.
The thought of wearing his mark—of carrying something of him with her, visible to anyone who looked—made her chest ache.
It wasn’t fear. It was how much she already wanted it, and how little she trusted herself to know the difference between the illusion and the truth.
“You let him into your home,” Opalina reminded gently.
Cassia didn’t answer. Across the yard, one of the children took Ark’s hand and pulled him toward the street where a small red bus had just pulled up.
“He’s not like that other guy,” Lilibeth said. “And if he ever did become a threat, I’ll kill him myself.”
Opalina snorted softly. “We’ll both do it.”
Cassia sighed. “I will think about it.”
“No pressure,” Lilibeth said, already stepping toward the gate to corral the children. “But if he offers, maybe don’t say no right away.”
Opalina patted her arm. “And if he doesn’t . . . maybe you should.”
“I think I should save him now before the children start to climb up his arm,” Cassia muttered.
She went to him just as the bus door opened.
He watched her approach, a tiny smile on his lips.
She wondered—if she let herself wear his mark, even just for a little while, what would that feel like?
A constant hum at the edge of her awareness, a thread tethering her to him even when they were apart.
But she’d learned the hard way that threads could be cut. And when this arrangement ended—and it would end—she’d be left with nothing but the ghost of a connection she’d never truly owned. She’d have to unlearn the shape of him.
That was the part that scared her most. The un-marking.
“I was worried the children would kidnap you,” she said, smiling up at him.
His mouth twitched. “I’d be lying if I said they didn’t try. But I have excellent evasion skills.”
They stood off to the side, watching the children pile into the bus. She was about to say something else—another jab, maybe a thank you, and quickly send him on his way—when his posture shifted. His head angled, attention drawn elsewhere.
Cassia followed his line of sight, her smile faltering.
A single bird—a magpie—perched on the wrought iron railing across the street.
At a glance, it might have passed for ordinary.
But it was too still, too focused. Its feathers didn’t quite catch the light the way they should—they glinted with a metallic sharpness that no living bird possessed.
Ark turned back, leaning in slightly, voice low. “Don’t stare.”
“What is that?” she asked, forcing her gaze back to him, her heart drumming a frantic rhythm.
“A Construct. It bears a striking resemblance to the one on Agmon’s family crest.”
The air left her lungs. Alderrath. Here. Watching Starlight. The children’s laughter suddenly felt fragile, the world around them thin and dangerous.
Options ran through her mind. Should she cancel the trip?
The children would be so disappointed. They’d been looking forward to this event for weeks!
She slipped her hand into her pocket and fingered the now-familiar drawstring of the little green bag she kept there.
The memory of tucking a lock of near-black hair into the bag drifted into her mind, and she glanced up at the demon it belonged to.
The words hovered at the tip of her tongue.
She’d been terrified moments ago—of the hole he’d leave behind when this was all over.
And now, here she was, about to ask him to stay.
His charm, damn it. She was a woman who could hold a grudge through winter and bake her feelings into bread, and still, one look from him and all her carefully laid boundaries turned to dust.
“Will you come with us?” she asked.
His gaze widened.
“If you’re feeling up to it,” she added quickly, her eyes flicking to his bandaged hand. “If he’s watching, let him see you there. Let him see Starlight is under your protection.” A pause. Her cheeks were warm, but she held his gaze. “And . . . I’d feel safer with you there.”
He held her gaze for a long moment.
“Call it fresh air,” he agreed.