Seraphina's POV
The feast finally ended after what felt like a lifetime of torture.
Nobles toasted our happy union with mocking smiles. The Emperor gave speech after speech about love and duty, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. I sat beside Cassian at the high table, neither of us eating, neither of us speaking.
But I was painfully aware of him.
Every shift of his body. Every breath. The way his hand tightened around his wine glass whenever someone made a particularly vicious comment about me. The muscle ticking in his jaw when a drunk lord suggested he tame his wild bride.
I told myself I was studying my enemy. Learning his tells. That's why I noticed how broad his shoulders were beneath that military uniform. Why I caught myself watching his hands—scarred, calloused, surprisingly elegant for a killer's hands.
It meant nothing.
Finally, mercifully, the Emperor declared the feast over. Time for the newlyweds to retire! he announced, and the crowd erupted in lewd laughter and suggestions.
My stomach turned to ice.
Cassian stood, offering his hand. I stared at it for three heartbeats before placing mine in his. His palm was warm. Rough. His fingers closed gently around mine, and electricity shot up my arm.
I yanked my hand back the second I was standing.
His expression didn't change, but something flickered in those storm-gray eyes. Hurt? Impossible.
We walked through endless corridors, servants trailing behind with our belongings. My heart pounded harder with each step. This was it. The wedding night. I'd heard enough whispered conversations between prisoners to know what happened next.
Would he force me? Would the man who apologized and refused to kiss me at the altar turn into the monster I needed him to be?
My hands shook. I clenched them into fists.
We reached a massive oak door. Cassian opened it, gesturing for me to enter first.
I stepped inside, and my breath caught.
The chamber was enormous. A huge bed dominated one wall, covered in deep red silk. Candles flickered everywhere, casting dancing shadows. A fire roared in the hearth. Someone had filled vases with white roses—the traditional wedding night flower.
It looked like a scene from a romance tale.
It felt like a trap.
The servants bustled in, placing trunks and bags, lighting more candles. I stood frozen in the center of the room, arms wrapped around myself.
That will be all, Cassian said quietly to the servants. We're not to be disturbed.
They filed out, giggling and whispering. The door closed with a final click.
We were alone.
Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I couldn't look at him. Couldn't breathe properly. My back was to the door, stupid, leaving him between me and escape—but I couldn't move.
Seraphina.
His voice made me jump. I spun around, and he was closer than I'd thought. Close enough that I could see flecks of silver in his gray eyes. Close enough to smell leather and steel and something warmer, almost like cedar.
Close enough to be dangerous.
Don't, I said, hating how my voice shook. Don't come any closer.
He stopped immediately, hands raised slightly. I'm not going to hurt you.
You've already hurt me! The words exploded out. You destroyed my entire life. What more could you possibly do?
Something raw crossed his face. I know. And I— He stopped, jaw clenching. The room is yours.
I blinked. What?
This chamber. It's yours. I'll sleep in my study. He gestured to a door I hadn't noticed. That connects to my private rooms. I won't enter without permission.
My mind reeled. This is a trick.
No trick.
You expect me to believe the great general doesn't want to claim his prize? That you won't— I couldn't finish the sentence.
Force you? His voice turned harsh. No. Never that. You've suffered enough.
Why? The question burst out before I could stop it. Why spare me at Ashmont Keep? Why marry me if you're just going to lock yourself away? What game are you playing?
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he moved—not toward me but toward a small table where someone had left a decanter of wine. He poured two glasses with steady hands.
I'm not playing anything, he said finally, offering me a glass.
I didn't take it.
He set it on the table beside me and retreated, putting distance between us. The Emperor ordered your family's execution. Complete annihilation—no survivors. Those were my orders.
And you followed them. Bitterness dripped from every word.
Yes. He drank deeply from his wine. I've been a soldier since I was fourteen. I learned to follow orders without question. It's how you survive in the Imperial Army. How you protect the people you love. His expression darkened. My sister Lyanna. I joined to save her from poverty. Rose through ranks by being the perfect weapon.
How noble, I said coldly. Murder for family. That makes it so much better.
It doesn't. He met my eyes directly. Nothing makes it better. I'm not asking for forgiveness or understanding. I just want you to know why I spared you.
Despite myself, I was curious. Why?
Because I found you with your brother. His voice roughened. Twelve years old, dying. And you were covered in his blood, holding him, and I saw— He stopped, swallowing hard. I saw my sister. I thought about what I'd feel if someone killed Lyanna. And I couldn't. One more innocent life, one more child's blood on my hands, and I knew I'd have nothing human left inside me.
The words hit like physical blows. I wanted to stay angry, to hold onto my rage like armor. But something in his voice—the raw honesty, the self-hatred—made it harder.
So you kept me alive out of guilt, I said.
Yes. No hesitation. No excuses. And selfishness. Because maybe if I saved one person, I could still look at myself in a mirror.
Can you? I challenged. Look at yourself?
No. Simple. Devastating. I see them every time I close my eyes. Your father. Your mother. The boy. Everyone who died because I followed orders like a good soldier.
Silence fell again. But different this time. Charged with something I didn't want to name.
I picked up the wine glass, needing something to do with my shaking hands. The wine was good—rich and smooth. Probably expensive. Everything in this fortress was expensive.
Bought with blood money.
I won't touch you, Cassian said quietly. Not unless you want it. This marriage is political. I won't make it anything worse.
Unless I want it? I laughed bitterly. I'll never want you. You're the man who killed my family.
I know. He set down his glass. Which is why I'm giving you this.
He crossed to the bed and pulled something from beneath one of the pillows. Metal gleamed in the candlelight.
A dagger.
He held it out, handle first. Keep it under your pillow. Or wherever makes you feel safest.
I stared at the weapon, mind reeling. You're giving me a knife?
You're trapped in a fortress full of enemies. Court politics are deadly. Someone already tried to poison you at that tea last week—yes, I know about that. Marcus reports everything to me. His expression was unreadable. I can't undo what I've done. But I can try to keep you alive now.
Why would you care if I die?
Because you're my wife. He said it simply, like it explained everything. That means something to me, even if it means nothing to you.
I took the dagger slowly. It was well-balanced, sharp, beautiful. The kind of weapon that could kill quickly and quietly.
If you're giving me this, I said carefully, you realize I'll try to use it on you.
Yes. No fear in his voice. If you succeed, I won't even blame you. I probably deserve it.
He turned toward his study door, then paused. The lock is on your side. Use it if you want. No one will disturb you—I've given orders. He glanced back one last time. Goodnight, Seraphina. I'm... I'm sorry. For everything.
Then he walked through the door and closed it softly behind him.
I stood frozen, dagger in hand, staring at where he'd been.
What kind of man gives his enemy a weapon? What kind of monster apologizes and means it?
I moved to the door he'd gone through, pressing my ear against it. Footsteps. A chair scraping. Then silence.
He was really just... leaving me alone.
I tested the handle. Locked from his side, just as he'd said.
My hands were shaking worse now. I didn't understand. Any of this. The general who'd haunted my nightmares for six months wasn't matching the man who'd just walked away.
I looked down at the dagger in my hands. Beautiful and deadly.
He'd given me the means to kill him.
Why?
I moved to the bed slowly, pulling back the silk covers. The mattress was soft beyond belief after six months on stone. I should feel relief. Safety. Instead, I felt confused and angry and something else I refused to name.
I placed the dagger under my pillow, within easy reach.
Then I lay down fully clothed, staring at the ceiling.
Through the wall, I heard movement from Cassian's study. Pacing. A heavy sigh. The sound of liquid pouring—more wine, probably.
He was alone too. On his wedding night. By choice.
I closed my eyes, but sleep wouldn't come.
All I could see was the look on his face when he'd said I see them every time I close my eyes. The raw guilt. The self-hatred that mirrored my own.
No. I couldn't think like that. Couldn't sympathize. He was my enemy. My family's killer.
But my traitorous mind kept replaying his words: You're my wife. That means something to me.
And the way he'd looked at me during the ceremony. Not with triumph or possession. With regret. Sadness. Like marrying me was his punishment, not his prize.
I rolled onto my side, pulling the covers tight.
From the next room came another sound. Softer. Almost like—
No. I wouldn't listen. Wouldn't care.
But I pressed my hand against the wall anyway, feeling the solid wood between us.
On the other side, the Butcher of Rothaven sat alone in his study.
And I lay alone in a bed meant for two.
Both of us prisoners in different ways.
Both of us haunted by the same ghosts.
I didn't sleep that night.
Neither did he.
And when morning came, everything would become infinitely more complicated.
Because the greatest danger wasn't that I'd kill him.
It was that I'd start to understand him.
And understanding your enemy is the first step toward something far more terrifying.
Something I couldn't afford.
Something that felt dangerously like forgiveness.