Chapter 27 #2
This wasn’t the woman who hid rejection letters in her apron pocket and smiled through the sting. This was someone she hadn’t dared to imagine in a long time.
Lilibeth appeared behind her in the mirror, hands settling gently on Cassia’s shoulders.
“Chin up, my love,” she said, and kissed Cassia’s cheek, careful to not ruin the makeup. “It’s finally your time to shine.”
Cassia’s throat tightened. She thought of her mother, who had never owned a dress like this.
Who had poured her life into flour and magic and other people’s children, and never once asked for anything beautiful just for herself.
She wished, with a fierceness that burned her eyes, that her mother could’ve seen her now.
She gave a silent nod.
Opalina’s voice drifted from the next room. “Arkenoth said the carriage will be here in twenty minutes. Put your heels on so I can check the hem again.”
Cassia did as she was told, and for the first time since they struck the bargain, her excitement eclipsed her dread.
The minutes ticked by in a blur of final adjustments and nervous laughter. Ten minutes before Ark was meant to arrive, the snow began to fall. It came soft and steady, dusting the rooftops and cobbled streets of Little Mineola. The world looked softened, suspended in a hush of white and silver.
A soft knock came at the door.
Lilibeth peeked through the curtain and let out a low whistle. “Your demon’s arrived. And may the Four Ancestors help us, he looks ready to ruin someone’s evening.”
Cassia’s stomach flipped. She rose slowly, smoothing her hands over the front of her gown. “Do I look—”
“Stunning,” Lilibeth said. “You look stunning.”
“Worthy of any ballroom,” Opalina added, fluffing out her skirt one last time.
Cassia crossed to the door and opened it.
There stood Ark, dressed in formal attire that made his eyes look even more golden.
No official Daemaric colour for him, of course—his coat was midnight blue lined with silver thread, the collar embroidered in filigree that shimmered faintly when he moved.
He looked commanding, immaculate, as if he belonged to another world entirely.
And yet—it was the expression on his face that nearly undid her.
He didn’t speak right away. His eyes swept over her slowly, reverently—from the delicate shimmer of her sleeves, to the soft folds of her skirt, to the thousands of tiny beads Opalina had sewn into the waistline and bodice and hem.
He drew in a breath, low and quiet. “You’re radiant.”
The word landed like a hand pressed to her chest. Just a few nights ago, those hands had been on her skin. That mouth had traced the line of her throat in the dark. The memory hit her like a wave of heat, and shortened her breath.
“You clean up well yourself,” she managed. The words felt absurd—thin and flippant against the enormity of what she actually wanted to say, which was something closer to ‘I missed you so much it frightened me.’
His lips quirked at that. “I considered arriving early, but Opalina warned me I’d be denied entry if I interrupted any stage of the dressing.”
“That’s right,” Opalina said from inside, leaning into the doorway with an arched brow. “Good evening, Arkenoth. Please bring her back in one piece. Or don’t come back at all.”
Lilibeth peeked over Opalina’s shoulder. “And if you break her heart, we’ll know.”
“I have no intention of doing so,” Ark said. Then, quieter, to both of them: “Thank you. For everything.”
Opalina’s expression softened. Lilibeth’s tail gave a single, approving flick.
Cassia reached for her coat, but Ark was already there.
He lifted the soft wool from the hook and stepped close, draping it gently over her shoulders.
His fingers brushed her collarbone as he settled it into place.
His claws, retracted to dull points, grazed the hollow of her throat where the bond mark pulsed faintly beneath her skin.
That small touch. That care. It sent something fluttering down to the deepest part of her chest.
Outside, the carriage waited—the same one from the auction night, though everything between them felt different now. Cassia turned to her friends before she left. They waved. Both proud, both protective.
Ark offered his arm.
When she placed her hand over his, she felt not just the strength, but the steadiness of him. The silent promise that whatever the night brought, he’d be there.
Beside her.
The carriage began gliding through the snow. They sat on the padded bench, close but not touching. His hand had found hers as soon as the door closed, his fingers lacing through her own. A warm, sure squeeze, as if telling her that whatever she’d felt during their time apart, he’d felt it too.
“It’s been a while,” she said softly.
Ark looked over. “Too long.”
Then, very gently, he leaned forward. His lips grazed hers with a restraint that made her heart ache, as if he were afraid that if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. When he drew back, his breath was slower, but hers quickened.
“That’s very restrained of you,” she murmured, fingers finding his lapel, tracing the silver embroidery there. She couldn’t resist adding, “Considering what you’re like when no one’s watching.”
His mouth curved, but his voice dipped. “If I start, Cassia, I won’t be responsible for the state of this dress when we arrive.”
That turned the air to fire. He cupped her jaw and kissed her again—still gentle, but with lips parted, and she opened beneath his coaxing.
It was a kiss that remembered everything: the urgency of their first night, the ache of the days apart, the promise of something neither had named yet but both were guarding.
When they parted, he stayed close, their foreheads nearly touching. But then he pulled back, and his jaw tightened.
“I’ve been working on the Starlight situation,” he finally said. “Rhodes and Caius have been checking with their contacts. Our lawyer Briony submitted a challenge. There’s a chance—”
“Ark.” She said his name gently, her hand on his arm. “Not tonight.”
He paused, studying her. She read his tension, the way his mind was already back in the Registry offices. Her chest was full of the same anxiety, but tonight was half the reason they’d started this whole arrangement: his mother’s ball. They’d been working toward this night for two weeks.
She wasn’t about to let anyone steal it too.
“I just want tonight to be ours,” she said, softer. “Not Alderrath’s. Not the Registry’s.” A pause. “Not even Starlight’s. Ours.”
The tension in his shoulders eased.
“You’re right,” he said, settling back. “Let us enjoy tonight, then.”
Cassia watched the snow drift past the window. The warmth of his hand around hers drew her gaze to their entwined fingers. The enormity of the moment ballooned in her chest.
“Are you nervous?” she asked, and realized she wasn’t sure if she was asking him or herself.
He looked at her. “More awed than nervous,” he said, without a trace of humour. “And not of the ball.”