Chapter 28 #2
Cassia blinked. Was she still lying? But no matter what, her arrangement with Ark had begun as a deception, and the Daemaris might not accept anything less than full honesty.
“I don’t lie well,” she admitted.
“Then don’t.” Lucindra turned to the mirror, smoothing an invisible line from her gown.
“The Daemaris doesn’t suffer performance.
She’s seen it all. Meredith’s elite like to pretend she’s merely the Daemar’s mate, but she’s been quietly ruling alongside him for decades.
When the Daemar retreats, she speaks. When the council splits, she steers. ”
Cassia absorbed the words slowly. “She rules beside the Daemar?”
“He’s often detained. Whenever he’s unable to attend, she sits in his stead. If you try to impress her, she’ll smell the effort and grow bored. But if you stand your ground, she might just look twice.”
Cassia’s fingers curled around her silk skirt, the crystals abrasive against her palms. She had faced city officials, pompous donors, families who wanted nothing to do with her children—and she had smiled through it all. What was one more powerful demon?
“I’ll keep that in mind. Any last advice?”
Lucindra met her eyes in the mirror. “Don’t lower your gaze. That’s how she knows who’s prey.”
Cassia’s throat tightened. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure what to expect tonight. But you’ve made it a little easier.”
Lucindra smiled and squeezed her hand lightly. “You’ll do just fine, Cassia. And for what it’s worth—I don’t think Arkenoth is the type to bring just anyone home.”
She winked and left.
When Cassia emerged from the powder room, Ark was waiting where he said he would, leaning against the polished banister.
His eyes found hers immediately, his face breaking into a slow, devastating smile.
As she moved to join him, he pushed off the railing, closing the distance between them.
He didn’t touch her, but his presence was a solid wall at her side. He opened his mouth to speak—
And the room went silent.
The music died mid-note. The tapestry of conversation was cut. Every head turned as one, pulled by an invisible wire toward the top of the sweeping marble stairs.
Cassia followed their gazes. A woman stood there—one who could be none other than the Daemaris.
She didn’t descend immediately. She allowed the silence to stretch, allowed every guest to comprehend her presence fully.
Then, she began her descent, each step a study in complete control, her gown whispering against each marble tread like a fall of ghostly snow.
Ark gently pulled her hand and tucked her against his side. Cassia straightened her spine. Lifted her chin.
You’ve faced worse. You’ve faced worse.
Varil Delphyne came to a halt one step above the bottom landing, her approach unhurried but absolute—as though time itself had bent to allow her entrance.
No wonder: she was regal like how mountains were regal—immovable, ancient, and beautiful in a way that left one shivering.
Her white gown was not the warm ivory of celebration, but a searing, spectral shade, bleached snow edged in silver.
Her skin and hair were nearly the same hue.
Opalescent, untouched by time. Silver horns curved elegantly from her temples, coiled like metal drawn from the bone, their bases wrapped in jewel-encrusted gold bands.
And her eyes—
Golden, bright and burning.
Like Ark’s, but older. Sharper.
But it was the mating mark that commanded awe.
A living tapestry of black script, it began as a dense knot below her right ear and cascaded in an unbroken river of elegant swirls down her neck, over her bare shoulder, and along the entire length of her arm to her wrist. As Cassia watched, the patterns shifted—slowly, subtly, like smoke curling in still air.
The one-shouldered gown seemed designed solely to showcase it: a magnificent, intimidating testament to a bond so profound it had claimed her very form and was still, after all these years, alive.
Cassia had never seen a creature so beautiful.
Or so terrifying.
The Daemaris didn’t offer a smile. She didn’t extend a hand. Instead, she let her gaze rake across her son first—measuring, parsing, perhaps even calculating. Then slowly—so slowly—those eyes turned to Cassia.
The gaze slid across Cassia’s face, her attire, and her skin prickled where it passed, as if being appraised by something ancient that found most things wanting.
Then those golden eyes stopped, fixating on the right side of her neck.
On the tiny black swirl of the bond mark Ark had made just days ago.
Cassia’s hand twitched with the urge to cover it.
She didn’t.
The mark was small now, barely the size of a coin. But she knew, with a certainty that settled hot in her chest, that it would grow. Every time Ark nourished it, it would spread, tracing its way across her skin like a vine claiming a trellis.
The thought arrived uninvited and hit her like a fist. Would hers look like his mother’s one day?
She blinked, stunned by her own mind. When had she started thinking in decades?
Cassia dipped into a practiced curtsy, neither too low nor too shallow—just enough to show deference without cowering. When she rose, Ark placed a hand at the small of her back.
“Mother. May I present Aura Cassia, Kitchen Witch and proprietor of The Witching Flour, Steward of Starlight Orphanage, and”—his gaze flicked to her, softened—“my Chosen.”
Cassia watched Delphyne’s eyes and caught a flicker—there and gone—before the mask slid back into place.
It wasn’t an outrage or even cold dismissal, and perhaps that was a good thing.
Even if Delphyne had been caught off guard, Cassia knew: she would never show it in public. That would be a sign of weakness.
Ark seemed unconcerned. To her, he said, “Cassia. This is my mother, Varil Delphyne.”
Cassia offered a small, steady smile. “Daemaris. What a beautiful ball. Thank you for having me.”
The demon’s gaze swept over her—slow, deliberate, taking in every detail. “I saw you dance earlier,” she said, her voice cool and clear. “You do it well. That is not always a given, with witches.”
“Thank you. Though I’m sure any grace seen tonight was due to your son’s guidance.”
“A generous compliment,” the Daemaris said flatly. Her eyes narrowed, just slightly, as she looked at Ark. Something that looked almost like fondness passed through her face, then vanished. “Arkenoth. You come to see your mother only once a year, yet . . . no kiss?”
Ark inclined his head with practiced elegance, but Cassia felt the hesitation behind it—the slight delay that revealed more than he intended. He stepped forward and brushed a kiss to his mother’s cheek.
“Forgive me. I didn’t wish to interrupt your study of my partner.”
The Daemaris didn’t smile, but corners of her lips twitched. “You’ve grown clever. Or perhaps you’ve simply grown.”
“I try.” Ark glanced toward the far end of the ballroom. “Where is Father? Away again? I’d hoped he might grace your most important evening.”
She waved the question away, the gesture bored. “He wanted to attend. But the Daemar’s seat demands much from him.”
Ark inclined his head. “Of course. He is, after all, a creature of duty first and foremost.”
A flicker of stillness passed between them. The Daemaris tilted her head, her eyes gliding back to Cassia. “How serendipitous that you find a Chosen so close to Yulefrost. Your timing is nothing less than impeccable.”
“You know me, Mother. When I see something worth keeping, I don’t wait for spring.”
“I would have expected my son to choose a partner with a longer pedigree. But perhaps I underestimate his flair for dramatics.”
Cassia felt Ark’s tension ripple beside her. She spoke before he could—before she could think better of it. “I don’t have a pedigree, Daemaris. I have a bakery, an orphanage, and a stubborn streak that’s kept both running longer than anyone expected.”
Delphyne arched one flaxen brow. “Hm. A Kitchen Witch with backbone.”
Her gaze sharpened, and Cassia felt the pressure of it—the instinct to lower her eyes, to duck her head.
But she remembered Lucindra’s advice: Don’t lower your gaze.
So she didn’t. She met Delphyne’s stare head-on and held it.
She felt the weight of years in that one stare—the generations of authority, the practiced scrutiny—but she didn’t waver.
She’d faced eviction notices, empty ledgers, and the cold dismissal of people who’d decided she wasn’t worth their time. She could hold a stare.