The grand hall of the Madurai stronghold roared with life.
Massive bonfires burned brightly in stone pits along the perimeter, casting long, dancing shadows against the high rugged stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of roasted stag, strong spiced ale, and crushed mountain herbs. Drums pounded in a heavy, rhythmic heartbeat as tribal warriors, war-captains, and elders drank boisterously alongside the uniformed Imperial envoys.
At the head table, Chieftain Tamil Madurai sat at the center, flanked by his sons, his prospective brides, and the Imperial Princes.
As the main course was served, servants carried out a heavy wooden platter bearing the *Khar'tak*—the steaming, spit-roasted heart of a giant steppe stag, dripping with rich blood-gravy. It was the highest honor of the Madurai, traditionally reserved for testing the steel and honor of foreign leaders.
Chieftain Tamil slammed his iron horn onto the table, his booming voice cutting through the hall's din.
"A toast to our honored guest! The Crown Prince of Edrath, Cassian Valemont!"
The hall quieted down slightly, eyes shifting toward the head table.
Thoris smirked, leaning forward over the table and carving a thick, raw piece of the heart with his personal hunting dagger. He placed it directly onto Cassian's silver plate with a heavy thud, his golden eyes gleefully fixed on the prince.
"In the Steppes, Crown Prince," Thoris said, his voice carrying clearly across the surrounding elders, "—a true leader eats the first cut of the beast raw, without flinching, to prove his belly can handle the wilderness. Unless, of course, imperial stomachs are too delicate for real meat?"
A few tribal elders chuckled softly, waiting to see the pampered silver prince turn pale or reject the barbaric custom.
Adrian's jaw tensed, about to intervene, but Cassian's eyes remained completely calm—as smooth and unreadable as polished glass. He didn't flinch. He didn't hesitate. Having lived through an entire lifetime in Timeline Eleven, he knew the exact rituals of the Madurai better than Thoris himself did.
Without a word.
Cassian picked up his silver knife. With effortless, practiced grace, he carved a clean, precise morsel from the heart. He dipped it into the traditional bowl of crushed salt and mountain juniper sitting near the center board—a crucial step of diplomatic respect that even Thoris had intentionally omitted to trick him. Cassian brought the meat to his lips, chewed calmly, and swallowed without a single change in his cold expression.
He then picked up his silver chalice, lifted it toward Chieftain Tamil, and spoke in perfect, flawless high-Madurai dialect:
"Khar'tak vaal-mōr thēran vāzhga, rāk'taan gōdh-mōr bandhan zhāga."
[*"May the blood of the stag nourish the land, and may the strength of the host bind the alliance."*]
Silence fell over the high table and Chieftain Tamil's eyes widened in absolute shock before his weathered face burst into a roaring, triumphant laugh that echoed through the stone rafters. He slammed his fist onto the table, rattling the plates.
"HA! WELL SPOKEN!" Tamil roared, raising his own horn high.
"He knows our oath and the ancient tongue! He knows the honoring of the stag! A true prince indeed!"
The tribal elders erupted into thunderous cheers, pounding their fists against the wooden tables in approval. Thoris stared at Cassian, his smirk entirely frozen on his face, his jaw slightly slack. He had tried to humiliate the prince, only to watch Cassian turn the trap into a masterclass of regal dominance.
Cassian set his cup down, casting a quiet, unimpressed glance at Thoris. "Was there anything else you wished to test, Prince Thoris?"
Thoris slowly recovered, a dark, utterly fascinated grin spreading across his face.
"No, My Prince... you full of surprises tonight."
As the feast continued, Thoris's intrigue only deepened into outright provocation.
He shifted his broad body closer to Cassian, casually resting his elbow on the back of Cassian's chair. Throughout the night, Thoris made an exaggerated show of pouring Cassian's wine himself, his thick fingers deliberately brushing against Cassian's pale hands as he passed the cup.
"You drink so slowly, Cassian," Thoris murmured, leaning close enough that his breath brushed against the strands of Cassian's hair.
"Here, let me refill it for you."
Standing three paces behind Cassian's chair, Lucien stood in absolute silence, draped in his pristine silver armor.
Outwardly, Lucien looked like the perfect, unyielding guardian. But beneath his cloak, his right hand was gripped so tightly around the hilt of his sword that his leather glove creaked faintly under the pressure. His dark eyes remained fixed on the spot where Thoris's broad shoulder repeatedly bumped against Cassian's.
Across the table, Vikra took a slow, quiet sip of his wine, his sharp eyes darting between Thoris's playful teasing and the subtle, deadly tension radiating off the Silver Knight.
'His patience is wearing thin,' Vikra noted silently, a faint, knowing smirk touching his lips.
Elyria leaned across the table, her cheeks glowing with a faint, healthy pink from a single cup of berry wine which caught Cassian's attention.
"Elyria. You look much healthier here."
"I am," Elyria admitted, offering a soft, genuine smile as she glanced briefly at Thoris, then at Adrian.
"It was terrifying at first... but I am learning not to be afraid anymore."
"We both are," Adrian added, resting his hand lightly over Elyria's on the table. "We are building something real here, Cassian. A place where we aren't constantly waiting for a dagger in the dark."
Cassian looked at his two siblings—once his bitter rivals in the ruthless succession games of Edrath—now sitting hand-in-hand, united, healthy, and genuinely peaceful in a foreign land, contrary to what he expected. And although he was slightly jealous about how free and happy they seemed, be was still genuinely happy for them.
A sudden, sharp pang struck Cassian's chest. Without warning, the roaring noise of the banquet hall faded into a hollow, echoing drone. The sound of the chants suddenly felt suffocatingly familiar. Unbearably familiar.
Cassian's gaze drifted past his siblings, landing on the high wooden beams of the hall's eastern wall. Just looking at the isolated building itself a dark, vivid flash of Timeline Eleven flooded his mind with terrifying clarity. The nights he had spent locked in those very halls, cold, humiliated, listening to the war drums while he bled and almost died from suffering. And now it almost feels like he were about to be dragged there at any moment now.
Suddenly his breath hitched sharply in his throat as his red eyes dilated, his fingers gripped the edge of the wooden table so hard his knuckles turned stark white.
'It's over, it's not happening again.' he told himself frantically, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
'That timeline is dead. You are free now, you can do as you please and you're not married to Thoris, you never will. So relax.'
The phantom weight of his past life pressed down on his chest, making the warm air feel ice-cold and thin.
Cassian abruptly stood up from the head table. And the sudden movement caused a few nearby elders to look up, but Cassian didn't offer an explanation. He placed a hand over his chest, forcing his voice to remain steady.
"Excuse me. The heat of the hall is somewhat overwhelming. I require fresh air."
Without waiting for a response from Chieftain Tamil or his siblings, Cassian turned on his heel and walked swiftly out toward the side doors leading to the grand stone balcony.
Adrian frowned with concern, starting to stand up.
"Cassian—?"
"Let him go," Thoris grunted softly, his golden eyes tracking Cassian's retreating back with a sudden, serious intensity. Thoris set his horn down, the playful smirk completely gone from his face.
"He looked like he just saw a ghost."
Behind the head table, the space where the Silver Knight had been standing was already empty.
Lucien had vanished into the shadows the exact second Cassian turned away.
*****
The cool night air hit Cassian's face like a slap, sharp and biting against his flushed skin. He gripped the cold stone railing of the secluded terrace, leaning his weight forward as he forced slow, deep breaths into his lungs. Below him, the vast grasslands stretched into the dark, swallowed by the shadow of the mountains, while the endless ocean crashed violently against the cliffs below.
His heart still hammered wildly against his ribs. The phantom memories of his past life in the Iron Steppes—the cold chains, the suffocating isolation, the helpless terror of waiting for Thoris to torture him every night just to break him down lingered at the edges of his mind like persistent ghosts.
'I am safe,' Cassian repeated to himself like a mantra, squeezing his eyes shut. 'See, Adrian and Elyria took my place and they are safe, even Thoris had changed this timeline because I rewrote this, so it won't happen again.'
"Your Highness."
The voice was low, steady, and infinitely familiar. Cassian's eyes snapped open. He didn't need to turn around to know Lucien was standing behind him in the shadows of the doorway.
Lucien stepped out onto the moonlit stone terrace, his silver armor catching the pale light of the stars. His footsteps were light, entirely silent against the flags and he stopped three paces away—maintaining the exact, rigid distance of a dutiful bodyguard.
"You left the banquet abruptly," Lucien said, his tone devoid of any obvious emotion, yet his eyes remained intently fixed on the subtle tremble in Cassian's hands. He was indeed worried about him.
"The air inside was warm, but... your face is pale."
Cassian swallowed hard, forcing his posture to straighten as he locked his hands behind his back to hide their shaking. He turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes meeting Lucien's.
"I simply needed a moment away from the noise," Cassian replied, his voice cold, smooth, and controlled—his imperial mask slipping back into place effortlessly.
"You did not need to abandon your post to follow me, Sir Arden."
Lucien's jaw tightened at the formal title. For a long, heavy moment, neither of them spoke. The wind howled softly around the high terrace walls, carrying the distant, muffled sounds of tribal drums from the grand hall inside.
Lucien took a slow step forward, closing the distance between them by a single pace.
"You are lying," Lucien murmured quietly.
Cassian's brow furrowed into a sharp glare.
"Watch your tongue, Knight."
"I have watched you for a while now whilst on your side, My Lord," Lucien countered, his tone dropping into a low, quiet intensity that shattered his usual distant and uncaring facade.
"I know the look in your eyes when you are calculating a political move. And I know the look in your eyes when you feel entirely alone."
He stepped closer again, his gaze dropping to Cassian's pale lips before rising back to meet his eyes.
"Back on the docks... the way the barbarian prince touched you. The way he spoke to you." Lucien's fingers twitched at his side, his voice slightly soft.
"And tonight... you looked as though this place was choking you. Tell me to tear this stronghold down, Cassian, and I will do it without question. But do not stand here and pretend you are fine."
Cassian's breath caught in his throat. The sheer, possessive darkness lurking beneath Lucien's calm exterior—the very thing Thoris had taunted earlier on the docks—was leaking through the cracks of his righteous, caring mask.
"Lucien..." Cassian whispered, his own composure faltering for a second. But it wasn't long until they were both disturbed by the approaching footsteps.
"Am I interrupting something?"
A heavy, booming voice shattered the intimacy of the terrace. Thoris stepped out from the shadows of the archway, a heavy jug of ale held loosely in one hand. He leaned his broad frame against the stone doorframe, a sharp smirk playing on his lips as his golden eyes flicked between Cassian's flushed face and Lucien's tense, rigid back.
"I came out to check on my former bride," Thoris rumbled, taking a slow step onto the terrace, his heavy boots echoing off the stone.
"But it seems the Silver Knight is always one step ahead of me when it comes to hovering around you, Cassian."
Lucien didn't flinch or neither bat an eye. He slowly turned his body, placing himself partially between Thoris and Cassian, his hand resting casually—yet deliberately—over the hilt of his sword.
"The Crown Prince required quiet," Lucien said, his voice dropping into an icy, lethal tone.
"So return to your feast, Prince Thoris."
Thoris laughed, taking a swig straight from his jug before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He took another step closer, his golden eyes narrowing as he locked gaze with the knight.
"Or what?" Thoris asked playfully, his tone dripping with provocation.
"Are you going to draw your steel in my father's house, Holy Knight? Over a man who isn't even yours?"
The air on the terrace turned instantly suffocating, stretched so tight it felt as though a single breath would snap it into violence.
Suddenly, Cassian fainted, his eyes rolling back as his knees buckled.
The unexpected collapse instantly broke the suffocating tension between the two men. And Lucien's knightly instincts kicked in before his mind could even register the shock. Moving like a flash, he caught Cassian's limp body before it hit the cold stone floor, gathering the Crown Prince into his arms. Cassian was hyperventilating, his pale chest heaving erratically as cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
"Cassian!" Lucien gasped, his stoic mask completely shattering. Thoris frowned sharply, stepping forward. Seeing the imperial prince sweating and gasping for air, he immediately barked an order to a nearby servant standing in the hallway. "Hey! Run and fetch the tribal doctor! Bring him to the guest quarters now!"
Without waiting for the barbarian, Lucien lifted Cassian up and hurriedly carried him straight back to his bedchamber.
*****