Chapter 23 #2
Cassia had laid out a breakfast that could’ve graced the finest restaurant in Angelene—baked eggs nestled in flaky pastry, their centres still soft and bright orange, studded with chunks of sausage and a scattering of herbs.
Crisp sage leaves curled at the edges, dark and fragrant.
A small bowl of fresh greens—peppery leaves and crisp ribbons of fennel, scattered with segments of blood orange, all tossed in a light, sharp dressing—sat alongside a pot of apple compote, the fruit soft and flecked with cinnamon.
Ark had been surprised at first to learn the bakery had no employees.
Now, he understood. Cassia was a force of nature.
He watched her—the briskness of her movements a familiar comfort.
Her strong fingers kneaded bread dough, pressing and folding with a rhythm that spoke of years of repetition.
Then she drizzled oil, rubbing it into a rolling pin until the wood gleamed.
The simple, domestic act hooked itself in his chest and held, stirring something far from tranquil.
Gods, she was undoing him with nothing more than dough and oil and a rolling pin.
A finger tapped his chin—firm, unhurried. Caius’s voice was dry. “Close your mouth, darling. There’s a lady present.”
Ark blinked, startled, and brushed his knuckle across his lips as if to clear away evidence of his thoughts. “I beg your pardon.”
Across the table, Rhodes was watching him with far too much amusement for someone who still had apple compote at the corners of his lips.
“Ah,” he said, grinning, “he’s gone. Besotted. Caius, we’re losing him.”
Caius made a show of folding his napkin, hiding a smile. “Tragic, really. He had so much potential.”
Ark sighed and reached for his cup, trying not to glance back at the kitchen.
He failed.
Rhodes snorted. “I take that back. We have lost him.”
Ark couldn’t help but chuckle, the warmth of the moment settling into his chest. His gaze swept the bakery—this place Cassia, and her mother before her, had loved.
Anuck had saved it in time, but the memory of last night’s incident lingered.
It was a reminder of how low Alderrath was willing to go—and that wasn’t something Ark could let go.
He set his cup down with a quiet clink.
“So,” Caius said, his lips thinning, “what’s the plan for today?”
Ark met his gaze. “It’s time to see Alderrath at his office.”
The table went still. Rhodes’s grin vanished. Caius’s hands stopped moving.
“You’re going to start a war in his building?” Rhodes asked.
“I’m going to deliver a message.” Ark’s voice was flat. “He sent a Construct here last night—a destructive glyph. It could have levelled the building.”
It could have reached her.
Caius leaned in. “Ark, that’s not a message. That’s a declaration. Walking in there alone—”
“He needs to be reminded,” Ark cut in, “that feeling unsafe in one’s own home is a courtesy I can easily return. He needs to be reminded that threatening Cassia has consequences he hasn’t calculated.”
Breakfast ended. Plans were made. Caius and Rhodes offered to go with him, but this was something he needed to see through alone. They said goodbye to Cassia and filed out, the bakery door chiming behind them. Ark stopped at the counter. Cassia stood there, her gaze fixed on him.
“I overheard you,” she said, her voice low. “You’re confronting Alderrath. Is that wise?”
Ark said nothing.
She searched his face, and he saw the fear there—not for herself, but for him. Then she exhaled, her shoulders easing, her body allowing itself to believe in his capability, if not his safety.
“Just . . . be careful,” she said.
The words grounded him. He stepped toward the counter, his hand going to his coat pocket. “You’ve held up your side of the bargain. Let me start working on mine. How much do I owe you for breakfast?”
Her brows drew together. “I’m not charging you.”
“Why not? We ate a lot of food.”
“You and your friends installed protection at my house and my business.”
He placed a bill on the counter. “You needed protection because of me. Alderrath wouldn’t have threatened you if I hadn’t provoked him.”
“Still no.” She pushed the bill back. “A friend can buy another friend breakfast, can’t she?”
Friend.
He’d used the word himself, and now he hated it.
The word was a gulf, kindly meant but vast. Polite and utterly inadequate for the raw, protective urge she ignited in him.
Two weeks ago, he hadn’t known her name.
Now he stood in her bakery, wanting to be .
. . what? He didn’t know, but he knew with a sudden, hollow certainty he wanted to be more than the word she’d just used.
He slid the bill back into his coat. “In that case, thank you. For breakfast.”
Her lips curved. “Anytime.”
Even before he left, he knew he’d remember this moment—the sound of her voice, the quiet way she’d called him ‘friend.’ Part of him wondered if it would be enough—if it would ever be enough.
But first, he had a demon to visit. And a message to deliver.
The lift doors hissed open, revealing the white marble gleam of Agmon Group’s top floor. The Sanguine receptionist—a young male with the pale, polished look of carved alabaster—jumped to his feet. A flicker of fear crossed his features and he opened his mouth. Ark passed without acknowledgement.
Alderrath’s office door was already ajar. Of course. The spider waited in the centre of its web.
He stepped inside without knocking.
The room was flooded with morning light—a deliberate show of power, no doubt.
Alderrath stood silhouetted against the panoramic window, the sun haloing his silver hair to almost white.
He turned, and the light seemed to cling to him, amplifying his presence.
He looked like a classical statue brought to life—flawless, strong, and cold.
He had the tell-tale aura of a Sanguine Demon in its prime, metabolizing sunlight. Ark understood their kind all too well. Solar-powered, they drew their strength from the light, the catalyst allowing them to process marrow into their own refined power.
“Arkenoth,” he drawled. He gestured to the light-drenched room. “I trust you appreciate the view. So few of your kind dare to visit during the day.”
“I’m not here for the scenery.” Inside, his Nocturne essence stirred, the pressure in his skull increasing.
He could tell immediately that the office’s floor-to-ceiling windows were magically enchanted to intensify the light.
Sometimes, on a hot summer day, light would cause him mild irritation. But this throbbing ache was unnatural.
Alderrath’s smile was a thing of perfect condescension. “A shame. The light reveals so much.”
Ark didn’t move from the threshold of shadow he occupied. “You sent a Construct to Cassia’s bakery.”
A flicker in Alderrath’s eyes—the deep, translucent crimson of aged wine. Then, cool denial. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Don’t insult us both. It had your family’s sigil burned into its core.”
Alderrath leaned against his desk of imported bloodwood and shrugged. “And?”
“It wasn’t just a random building you targeted. That bakery is the legacy of a woman who fought for every crumb she ever had. It holds Cassia’s mother’s magic, and you sought to reduce it to dust. To erase her mother’s life’s work just to score a point against me.”
Alderrath leaned across the desk, voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “You’re the one who decided to involve Miss Aura in our politics. If she gets hurt, whose fault will it be? Mine, for pressing where it hurts? Or yours, for throwing her in front of the knife?”
Ark held his ground. “What is it about Starlight Orphanage you want so much?”