Chapter 25
CASSIA
The snow had stopped. The streets of Little Mineola were hushed beneath the indigo sky. White flakes clung to the rooftop corners and the wrought iron railings, glittering faintly in the light of the streetlamps. They walked together, her hand tucked beneath his arm.
“I wanted to invite you to the fitting,” she said. “But after this morning, I knew today would be a busy day for you.” She glanced at him. “How did you find out?”
“Opalina sent a message and asked if I wanted to come.”
She nodded. If he was here now, then he must have gone to see Alderrath during the day. Nocturnes and Sanguines weren’t known for fisticuffs or rough brawls, but she found herself searching his profile anyway—his jaw, his knuckles—looking for bruises, for any sign something had gone wrong.
“And your meeting with Alderrath?” she finally asked, her voice dropping. “How did it go?”
He stopped and turned to her, his expression shifting into something gravely serious. The softness they’d shared moments ago vanished.
“Alderrath is having the new Certificate of Ownership spell-inked,” he said.
The words landed like a bag of stones. The deed was being sealed. Once it was done, it would be nearly impossible to undo. Everything she’d fought for—the children’s home, her mother’s legacy—was about to become Alderrath’s property.
The panic rose, sharp and fast, pressing against her ribs. Her hands found the front of his coat before she knew she’d moved, gripping the wool. “No—he can’t! We’re not ready, we—”
Ark grasped her shoulders. “Look at me.” His voice was low, absolute. “I swear to you, I will use every resource, every ounce of influence I have. I will make him regret ever thinking he could take what’s yours.”
The certainty in his eyes cut through her terror.
She stared at him, breath catching, hands fisting his coat like he was the only solid thing left.
The panic quieted. A shaky calm took its place.
She was about to retrieve her hand when he pressed it against his chest. His heart thudded beneath her palm—firm, steady.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
Cassia froze. She thought of the night they met, how she’d only known his name from gossip papers, but not who he really was.
She’d been desperate, reckless, willing to take a gamble on a stranger.
But now she knew him, had held his trust in the palms of her hands when he showed her the shape of his true self.
She knew he had stood in front of her when his own world turned on her.
And right now, with his heart beating beneath her palm, he was asking for her trust.
“Yes,” she said. “I trust you.”
Ark squeezed her hand, and a bone-deep knowledge settled in her chest: no matter what happened, she was not alone in this fight.
They walked on, and he didn’t release her hand.
After a few silent steps, as if he wanted to steer their conversation to lighter topics, Ark said, “You really didn’t like the dress?”
The question was so unexpected, so deliberately ordinary. She glanced over. “Opalina’s work is always gorgeous. When did I say I didn’t like it?”
“Earlier, you said, ‘it’ll have to do.’”
Cassia gave a small smile. “I suppose I meant I’ll have to do.”
She felt his gaze on her, even as her eyes stayed forward.
“Cassia, what does that mean?”
She sighed. “It’s an old habit, I suppose, downplaying things before someone else can.”
Ark was quiet for a step. “You don’t have to do that with me.”
She looked ahead again, her boots crunching faintly on salted cobblestones.
“I suppose I’ve had a lot of practice,” she said lightly, “with someone who made a habit of naming my flaws before I could. I’ve learned that pointing them out myself softens the sting of embarrassment. Makes it less painful.”
Ark didn’t speak right away. He was watching her, waiting.
Finally, he stopped. “Who was it?”
She stopped beside him, and tried to laugh it off. “It’s a rather boring tale I’m sure you wouldn’t want to hear.”
“If I didn’t want to hear it, I wouldn’t have asked.” His voice had dropped in pitch. Low. Dangerous, even. “Tell me.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. The words were right there, but they felt heavy on her tongue. Her romantic history was not a tale of triumph. No one other than Opalina and Lilibeth knew. She wasn’t even sure she knew how to say it aloud.
But Ark was still waiting. Patient. Unmoving.
She let out a breath. “I was . . . in a relationship with a witch named Idifeus Zakey. We were together for three years, and it ended last year. I thought—” She paused. “I thought we were building something permanent. I thought we wanted the same things.”
She gave a breathy laugh, cheeks hot. “He came from a good witch family—impressive lineage. But he never once introduced me to anyone.”
When Ark kept quiet, she continued, the memory sharpening her voice.
“For his father’s fiftieth birthday, his family planned a party.
He was so excited—he talked about the party for weeks.
I was so sure it was to be my official introduction.
Opalina and I worked for a month on a beautiful gown.
When I showed him, proud and hopeful, he just looked at me with this faint, pitying smile and said, ‘Why would you go to all that trouble? The event is only for family.’” She glanced up at Ark, the old wound laid bare.
“That was the moment I understood. He’d already decided I never had a chance.
What he said next just put a fine point on it. ”
A pause. Then Ark’s voice, low and measured: “What did he say?”
“He said, ‘There’s only one thing an Untethered witch is good for—and it’s not anything lasting.’”
Ark made a rough sound. “He was a fool.” His voice was low and absolute. “In case no one’s told you that clearly enough.”
Something inside her unclenched. She exhaled—the breath shuddering on its way out. She’d always known Zakey was wrong. Hearing Ark say it only cemented the truth even more. She let the words fall away, as empty as they’d always been.
They continued walking. She nudged his arm with her elbow, surprised by how easy the teasing felt. “And you? Any grand heartbreaks of your own?”
He smiled and shrugged. “I’ve never had one.”
She shot him a narrow look. He chuckled, but his eyes drifted away.
“I just handed you the most embarrassing chapter of my life,” she said. “You’re not getting away this time.” She nudged him again. “Tell me your most profound heartbreak. And it doesn’t have to be romantic either.”
He hesitated. Then: “Not quite a heartbreak. More like a long, dull ache.”
She turned to look at him properly. That wasn’t the kind of answer one could shrug off.
“Tell me,” she said softly.
His jaw tightened. “You already know the half of it.”
“Then give me the other half.”
“My father,” he said. The word landed with a wince on his lips, the pained expression on his face ricocheting through her chest. They stopped. He looked away, as though he couldn’t bear to be seen.
“He’s been absent for so long, I started to think it was my fault—that if I’d just done more, or been more, he’d have seen me. Not as his heir. Not as his replacement. Just as his son.”
Her chest ached—not just for him, but for the girl she used to be. The one who had stood beside a hospital bed, holding hope like a fragile thing, watching it slip through her fingers. She knew that kind of waiting. That kind of wishing.
“Ark,” she whispered. “Your father is alive, isn’t he?”
He didn’t answer, but his silence was enough.
“There’s still time for you two to change this. If my own father was still alive, I’d—”
But the rest wouldn’t come. Her voice snagged on the sharp edge of something she didn’t let herself feel too often. That hollow, pulsing grief. That fury at the world for being unfair. The ache of all the things she hadn’t gotten to say.
She looked away, blinking fast. She’d spent years patching those emotions into something manageable. But tonight, beside him—walls down, heart bare—they threatened to break through.
Then he was there.
His hand came up, cupping her cheek—warm, steady, sure. She inhaled sharply, her gaze snapping back to him just as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.
His mouth moved with a quiet, devastating intensity that bypassed thought entirely.
Hers answered like it had been waiting for this—no, needing this—and in that moment, she understood how starved she’d been for a touch that didn’t demand, only offered.
As if he were saying: ‘Let me hold this for you. Just for a moment. Let me be the place where it doesn’t hurt. ’
A sound caught in her throat. Her fingers curled into his coat, pulling him closer.
The kiss deepened—lush, breathless—and she leaned into him, into the warmth and weight of his body, the steadiness of his hands: one still on her cheek, the other at the small of her back, anchoring her like she might break apart.
And maybe she would. If he let go.
It had started to rain sometime in the last few minutes, but she didn’t care. His lips, his body against her kept her warm, secure. The world had gone quiet around them—only the faint hiss of raindrops against stone and the unsteady sound of their breathing.
When they parted, she didn’t move away. Neither did he.
“We started with a simple alliance, didn’t we?” she finally said. There was no point pretending anymore. “How did it become . . . all of this?”
Ark was silent for a moment, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. “It didn’t ‘become’ anything. It was always here, waiting for us to stop pretending it wasn’t.”
A sharp ache swelled in her chest. She reached for him again. He met her halfway. Their foreheads brushed first, as if something inside them needed that one last pause before surrendering.
“Come home with me?” she asked.
The gold in his eyes ignited. His answer was a single, certain word.
“Yes.”