017 - Cassien

017 - Cassien
A FEW HOURS EARLIER

|||YASMIN|||

My feet moved on their own, carrying me through the strange hallways of the palace toward the General's wing. Each step felt heavier than the last, like invisible chains were dragging behind me. The familiar hurt in my chest had turned into something deeper—an empty feeling that made breathing hard.

I was in pain, both in my body and my heart. I felt broken beyond fixing. I had reached my lowest point and I needed help.

The General's wing was quieter than the rest of the palace. Fewer servants rushed around here, and the ones who did moved with purpose instead of the nervous energy that filled Cassien's area. The stone walls here were older, darker, carrying the weight of many years. Somehow that felt right.
No one had stopped me, almost as though they knew I was coming. 

I stopped outside the heavy wooden doors that I knew led to Zeirik's private rooms. My hand hung in the air, inches from the brass knocker. What was I doing? I barely knew this man beyond his reputation and the few talks we'd had. Yet here I was, about to throw myself on his mercy like some helpless girl from old stories.

But Helga was in the dungeons because of me. Cassien had made it clear he wouldn't grant the divorce easily. And I... I had nowhere else to turn.
I have no more genuine friends in Elysium, no family. Just Helga. 

My knuckles had barely touched the wood when the door opened.

Zeirik stood there, still dressed in his traveling clothes from that morning—dark leather boots, simple brown pants, and a cream-colored shirt that was loose at the neck. His golden hair fell in waves around his shoulders, and those sharp mismatched eyes took in how I looked with a strength that made my skin tingle.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I could feel his gaze taking in every detail—my wrinkled dress, the way my hands shook at my sides, the careful mask I was trying so hard to keep up even as cracks appeared at the edges.

His usual look of mild amusement faded, replaced by something darker. His jaw tightened, and when he spoke, his voice was low and careful.

"Cassien?"

The single word hit me like a punch. My throat closed up, and I felt the dangerous burn of tears behind my eyes. I blinked quickly, pushing them back. I would not cry. Not here, not in front of him, not when I needed to look strong enough to be worth helping.

But I couldn't speak either. So I nodded, a sharp jerk of my head that felt stiff and awkward.

Zeirik stepped back right away, waving me inside. "Come in. It's warmer here."

The simple kindness in his voice almost broke me. I stepped across the doorway into his sitting room, and he closed the door behind me with a soft click that somehow felt like safety.

His rooms were nothing like Cassien's fancy chambers. The furniture was well-made but practical, dark wood that showed its age without shame. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace, casting dancing shadows on walls lined with aged books and maps that have no doubt been there longer than I've been alive. It felt lived-in rather than just for show.

I stood awkwardly in the center of the room, unsure where to put myself or my hands or my eyes. Everything felt too raw, too open.

"Sit, Yasmin," Zeirik said gently, pointing to a chair near the fire. "You look ready to fall down."

I sank into the chair, grateful for something solid beneath me. The warmth from the flames touched my face, and I realized how cold I'd been without noticing it.

Zeirik settled into the chair across from me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He didn't push for details, didn't demand explanations. He simply waited, patient as stone.

"He has Helga," I said finally, my voice coming out rougher than I wanted. "My lady's maid. She's in the dungeons on fake charges of theft." The words tumbled out faster now, like water through a broken dam. "And he's refusing to sign the divorce papers. Says he can change the laws, that I'll stay married to him whether I want to or not."

Zeirik's face grew stormy. His hands, resting on his knees, slowly curled into fists. But his voice stayed calm. "I see."

"I know you don't have much power in the pack," I continued, hating how desperate I sounded. "But I have no one else. My family is in Ysgradil, and even if I could reach them, it would take weeks. Helga doesn't have weeks."

He was quiet for a long moment, studying me with those unique orbs. When he spoke, there was something different in his voice—harder, more dangerous.

"Tell me something, Yasmin." He leaned back in his chair, never breaking eye contact. "When you asked me to marry you—is revenge truly what you want?"

The question caught me off guard. I'd expected him to ask about details, about timing, about what I could offer in return for his help. I hadn't expected him to dig into the darker corners of what I wanted.

Heat crept up my neck. "I—"

"Think carefully," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Marriage isn't a game. Even a marriage for convenience comes with consequences, with expectations. If all you want is escape from my little brother, there are other ways."

I stared at him, my mind spinning. Other ways? What other ways? Run home to Ysgradil with my tail between my legs? Beg Cassien's forgiveness and hope he didn't decide to punish Helga more? Accept whatever scraps of dignity he chose to leave me?

"Yes," I said, and was surprised by the strength in my own voice. "Yes, I want revenge. I want him to know what it feels like to lose something precious and burn with pain. I want—"

My voice cracked on the last word, and suddenly there was wetness on my cheek. When had I started crying?

Zeirik rose from his chair in one smooth motion, crossing the small distance between us. His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, wiping away the tear I hadn't known was falling. His touch was surprisingly gentle for such rough hands, and his scent wrapped around me as a warm hug would. 

It made me feel warm, almost at peace. 

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. The simple contact was more comfort than I'd received in days, and I found myself leaning into it despite every rational thought screaming warnings.

"It won't be easy," he said quietly, his thumb still resting against my skin. "What we're planning—it will require strength you may not know you have. But the first rule you must learn is this; never show your weakness to anyone but me. Do you understand?"