Chapter 26 The Hall of Mirrors #2
“I’ll answer to neither,” I say, not bothering to look at him. So much for a mentor. He’s always absent when he might be useful and irritatingly present when he’s not welcome.
He tuts. “A shame. Women usually find my company rather… stimulating.”
“What do you want, Cassian?” I sigh, finally turning to face him. “Because I’m not in the mood for your games tonight.”
“And yet here you are,” he drawls, swirling his wine as if it’s a secret he’s about to spill, “standing at the edge of a party, staring at a dance floor you pretend you don’t wish would whisk you away.”
“Go away, you viper. There will be no whisking from you.”
“Oh, you wound me.” He presses a hand to his chest, eyes wide with mock agony. “Vipers hatch inside their mothers and kill them upon birth.”
“Exactly.”
He grins, utterly unrepentant. “Fair. I did kill our mother, after all. Or so Lyra insists—her being born first and all.”
My chest tightens. “Cassian, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“Oh no, darling.” His tone softens just enough to make it worse. “It’s quite alright. I didn’t do it on purpose.” His gaze drifts, distant and sharp. “That’s why Father hated me.” A pause. “Before I killed him, that is.”
My lips part. “Cassian—”
“Don’t look so shocked.” He smiles, all teeth.
“The bastard deserved it. I found him in bed with my fiancé after he burned an entire village for unpaid taxes.” He plucks another glass from the table and offers it with a flourish.
The wine glows ruby-dark. “Drink. It loosens the tongue. Or the heart. I forget which.”
I hesitate. The mirrors multiply the pause, dozens of Selenes caught mid-thought.
“Relax,” he says smoothly. “Poison isn’t my style. And poisoning the king’s favorite would be… unwise.”
“I’m not his favorite,” I say, the denial bitter.
“Darling.” His smile turns knowing. “Do yourself a kindness and stop denying it.”
He clinks his glass against mine before I can refuse. The sound hums through my skull like a struck bell.
I take a sip. Sweet. Warming. The edges of the room soften.
Across the floor, Keiren turns Seraphina again—precise and controlled. It shouldn’t look like tenderness, but somehow, it does. Fire prickles beneath my skin.
“You want him to see you,” Cassian murmurs, stepping closer. “So let him.”
“Your concern is touching.”
“My concern,” he replies, “is ending this tedious little spiral.”
I snort. “Why not set your sights on the witches of the north?” I gesture toward Elena and Seraphina. “They seem eager.”
He laughs, delighted. “Tempting.” Then his grin sharpens. “Come. Dance with me.”
I blink. “What?”
“For pride. Or spite. I’ll accept either.” He extends his hand, gold rings catching the light.
“Does it matter which?”
“Only to him.” He tips his chin toward the dragon mask across the hall. “And isn’t that delicious?”
The wine hums deeper in my veins. The hall brightens, softens, like candlelight through fog. My pulse answers before my mind does.
I place my fingers in his.
Cassian’s hand settles at the small of my back—guiding, practiced. Polite enough to pass. Possessive enough to notice. The mirrors spin with us, fracturing the moment into a hundred versions of almost.
“Relax,” he murmurs near my ear. “You’re thinking too much.”
His fingers tilt my chin, lifting my gaze. His eyes are gold—too bright, too warm. I lean despite myself, the room floating, flushed and unsteady.
Then his hand drifts lower.
I falter. “I didn’t give you permission to—”
But the words unravel as his fingertips trace my collarbone, slow and deliberate, before skimming the edge of my mask. The touch burns—not skin-deep, but memory-deep.
My body betrays me. A breath escapes—half defiance, half surrender.
“Better,” he whispers. “You’re doing wonderfully, Fire.”
I should pull away. I should remember myself.
Instead, for one reckless heartbeat, I imagine he is Keiren.
The scent shifts—woodsmoke, storms. The warmth sharpens into something dangerous. My body knows the rhythm, the gravity. Cassian’s mouth is at my ear, but it’s Keiren’s voice I hear when he murmurs, “Fire.”
The mirrors lean closer, hungry.
“Just for a moment,” Cassian murmurs. “Pretend.”
His lips brush my neck. Laughter bubbles up—light, unsteady, not quite mine. I catch it, startled.
Cassian smiles like a man who’s already won.
“See?” he murmurs. “You do know how to have fun.”
“Fun isn’t the word,” I whisper.
“Oh?” His thumb tilts my chin, breath skimming my mouth. “What would you call it?”
“Regret.”
His laugh is low and rich.
“Vale.” A low growl cuts through the music. Cassian stills. The smile drains from his mouth as he drops his hands.
“Your Highness,” he says nervously, bowing low before his king.
“The lady and I—”
“Save it.” Keiren’s voice is iron wrapped in smoke. “Your sister is asking for you.”
Cassian steps back with a smile, offering an overly elaborate bow, verging on mockery. “I’ll take my leave, then, Your Highness.”
Keiren doesn’t spare him a glance. His gaze is fixed entirely on me.
I look up into eyes, no longer sapphire but threaded faintly with gold beneath the light.
“May I have this dance?” His voice is deep. Predatory.
I nod, clenching my core, struggling to keep myself vertical as the room tilts just enough to notice.
“Your Majesty,” I murmur, attempting a curtsey.
My balance tips, from wine—and nerves. I nearly fall, but he’s already moving, drawing me into the rhythm of the next song so smoothly that it looks intentional. His palm settles at my spine, firm and warm through the silk, anchoring me before anyone can see the misstep.
The room hushes. Even the musicians seem to play more softly for him.
He leads us into a slow turn, unhurried, attentive. Not testing—just present. I miss the step by half a count. He compensates instantly, shifting his grip, turning the mistake into something graceful.
“You look lovely tonight,” he murmurs.
“Just tonight?” I quip, though my laugh comes out thin. The mirrors blur at the edges, candlelight smearing into streaks of gold.
He spins me, controlled and precise, then draws me back until my spine rests against his chest.
“Are you baiting me for compliments, Fire?” he asks quietly.
“Of course not, Your Majesty,” I reply, breath catching as his lips graze the shell of my ear.
“Because if you are,” he continues, hands sliding from my waist to guide my arms upward, slow and reverent, “I’m happy to oblige.”
He lifts my hands above my head, fingers warm and deliberate, the movement coaxing a shiver I can’t stop. The music swells. His touch lingers just long enough to feel intentional, then he turns me again, guiding me back to face him.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he says softly. “Tonight or any night.”
My pulse stutters. Damn this man and his dangerous way with words.
He keeps hold of my hands as he spins me once more, then releases them so my arms settle naturally over his shoulders, loosely locked behind his neck.
“Keiren…” I whisper.
“Yes, my Fire?”
The word my coils low in my stomach. Because I am his—and he is mine.
Warm hands close over mine again, grounding me as the world tilts.
“Why’s the room spinning?” I mutter. “And why’s it so damn hot in here?”
I feel him still—not in panic, but in attention.
“Are you drunk?” he asks softly, meant only for me.
“No,” I say too fast, swaying despite myself. His grip tightens just enough to steady me. “Well. Maybe just a little… fluffy.”
Something like a smile ghosts the corner of his mouth.
“Fluffy,” he repeats, teasing—but his eyes search mine, sharp with concern. “Fire—”
“I’m fine,” I insist, but the words blur as my vision spirals.
He leans closer, gold flaring in his eyes like struck metal. “Did Cassian give you something?”
“What does it matter?” I snap, bitterness leaking through the haze.
“Please,” he murmurs. “Focus. Did he?”
“A drink. A dance.” I lift my chin. “He can do what he pleases. And so can I.”
His jaw tightens. “That bastard.”
“No,” I laugh weakly. “You’re the bastard.”
His fingers tense at my spine.
“Come with me.”
He doesn’t wait for my assent, just takes my hand and leads me through the throng of dancers. The crowd parts without question. Every reflection turns to watch as the king and his chosen slip from the Hall of Mirrors and onto the balcony.
Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see a tall, blond, golden-eyed man grinning as if this was the plan all along.
The night hits me like cold water. Finally, air rushes into my lungs, sharp and alive.
I stumble to the edge of the balcony, bracing my palms against the stone railing.
Below, the sea claws at the cliffs, each wave a heartbeat too loud.
My chest trembles. My lungs refuse to expand, and for one fractured instant, I think maybe this is how it ends—silenced by my own heart.
He raises his hand to cradle my face, and I lean into his touch.
His thumb brushes my temple. Heat flares through my skull, and the fuzz tears away as if burned—gone so fast that my breath catches.
The memories of the hall snap into ruthless clarity: candles, mirrors, Cassian’s smirk, Lyra’s head tilted as if listening to a voice I can’t hear.
“What happened?” I whisper.
He draws me closer than propriety allows, shielding me from a danger only he can name. “Cassian gave you fairy wine, then danced with you. That wine makes you compliant or volatile, depending on who stands before you. He was trying to make me jealous.”
“Is that what it did?”
“Yes. Never trust Cassian. And never let him touch you like that.”
I frown. “I wasn’t talking about the wine. Were you jealous?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, but the truth is written all over his face.
“Of course I was,” and it’s taking everything in me not to march back in there and strangle Cassian.”
“Cassian collects secrets and bargains,” Keiren murmurs, “not hearts.”
“Then what do you collect, Your Majesty?”
“Regrets.” His gaze lifts to mine. “But I refuse to let you be one of them.” He closes the distance between us, cupping my face in his rough hands before placing a reverent kiss on my forehead.
A sharp, involuntary breath escapes me, and my palms tighten on the stone.
I hate that my pulse answers him. I hate that everything in me wants to soften when his voice roughens with promise.
I hate that when we move, our bodies find the same rhythm without even trying, as if the music itself was written for this impossible pairing.
“Then why did you choose Seraphina? Why go through all the trouble to make my dress match you only to humiliate me? Why act like you care?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t spend every waking moment thinking about you?”
Anger sparks, cutting through the ache. I twist, meaning to shove him away, but the movement only brings me closer. My mask grazes his. His scent holds a heat that sinks deep.
“Where have you been?” The words lash out, harsher than I mean them.
“A week of silence, and now this?” I gesture wildly toward the hall, toward the mirrors that pulse like they might swallow us whole.
“What is this ball, Keiren? Why does it feel like the walls are about to crack open and devour us?”
For a heartbeat, I think he’ll refuse me—that he’ll stay hidden behind his mask and his silence. But his jaw tightens, his breath heavy against my cheek.
“Is that why you sent the flowers?” I ask.
He nods. “The curse that binds me demands my absence before this Trial,” he admits.
“I could not come to you, though I wanted to.” His thumb grazes my jaw, a touch light as breath.
“It is also why I made this dress but did not dance with you first.” His eyes soften with something like sorrow.
“This ball isn’t revelry. It’s survival.
The mirrors… Nothing here is what it seems.”
My pulse skitters, frantic and unsteady. “Survive?” I echo, my voice catching. “You’re talking like you’ve already chosen which of us won’t.”
“There’s something you must know before midnight—”
“Then tell me! No more riddles. Or flower messages I need to decode.”
His fingers tighten around mine on the railing. “Listen carefully, love. Just as before, I can only give you a riddle as your clue: Old as time and just as true—only in facing the truth will you find your way through. Ghost in the glass, crystallized by time—get out before the sun doth shine.”
The poem’s cryptic warning sears through me.
“Fire…” His voice drops to a caress that prickles across my skin.
The distance between us narrows to a breath, a heartbeat, a single thought. My lips part, those traitors. His mask shadows half his face, but I can feel the craving coiling within him—he means to strike, to take what he has denied himself all week.
Desire surges, swift and merciless. My pulse hammers in my throat—
The bells begin to toll, drowning out everything else.
The sound reverberates mercilessly through the keep. Candles bow, guttering toward the glass as if pulled by the tide. A shiver passes through the mirrors behind us—the barest ripple—and every hair along my arms rises.
Keiren goes still. He takes my hand.
“Come,” he says, suddenly distant, and leads me back inside.
Across the hall, Mae’s hands flare with light.
Sigils shimmer at her wrists, then vanish, as if the keep itself has swallowed them.
Arther’s head snaps toward the doors, his hand already on steel.
Cassian lifts his goblet and watches, golden eyes alight, as if a story he’s read a hundred times has finally reached his favorite page.
Lyra smiles faintly, and in the mirror at her back, I see her face more clearly than I should.
Her lips shape words I cannot hear: So, it begins again.
The air tightens, and the crowd thins—no, dissolves. Silk turns to smoke. Laughter drops into silence. It all happens with the slow, inevitable grace of an hourglass emptying.
And then only we remain.
The brides.
The court.
The king.
His fingers slip from mine at last. For a moment, he only looks at me—in a way no one ever has. Then he steps back, vanishing into the darkened archway as if he were never there at all.
I’m left gripping the railing, breath uneven, heart clawing at my ribs. The moonlight catches my mask, silver and cold.
And in the distance, the faint echo of music swells again, promising nothing but imminent danger.