The moon was pale through the obsidian lattice of Cassian's window, casting silver bars across the floor like a prison made of light.
He stood in front of the mirror, shirt discarded, a long gash still raw across his ribs — wrapped hastily by one of the servants, but now stained through.
His breath was shallow.
He'd dismissed the physicians hours ago.
Riven hadn't come.
Not since their argument. Not since that terrible silence.
Cassian closed his eyes and leaned a hand against the marble wall, fingers curling in tight.
The storm had passed, but the pressure in his chest had not. He hated that he still wanted him. Hated that his skin still burned where Riven had held him. That his lips still tasted of wine and war and ruin.
Then—
A knock.
Quiet. Controlled. But familiar.
Cassian turned slowly. "Enter."
The door creaked open—and there he was.
Riven. His face was unreadable, as if everything had been tucked behind that soldier's calm he wore so well. He held a small lacquered box in one hand. A fresh cloth in the other.
"I heard you sent the healers away."
Cassian raised a brow. "Spying on me now?"
Riven shut the door without answering, walked in without permission.
He dropped the box onto the small table, lit the oil lamp with practiced ease, then pulled up a chair beside the Emperor without meeting his eyes.
"I brought salve," he said. "From the barracks stock."
Cassian didn't respond.
Riven didn't wait for him to.
He stepped forward—closer, careful—and undid the bloodied wraps around Cassian's torso. The soaked linen peeled away, sticky with dried blood. Riven didn't flinch, didn't make a sound. He knelt, opened the tin, and dipped his fingers into the cooling balm.
Cassian hissed slightly as the first touch met the wound.
Riven said nothing—but his hands were gentle. Too gentle. Like he was touching something sacred and long-lost.
Cassian looked down at him. "Why are you really here?"
"To tend your wounds," Riven said.
"I told you to leave me be."
"I know."
"And yet…"
"I came anyway."
A pause. Just long enough to hear the crackling silence between their breaths.
"You're shaking," Cassian said quietly.
Riven's hand paused on his ribs.
"I'm not," he lied.
"You always do when you're close to me," Cassian said, not without bitterness.
Riven pressed a cloth to the gash a little too roughly, and Cassian inhaled sharply.
"You think this is easy?" Riven muttered.
Cassian's voice was ice. "I think you enjoy making it hard."
Riven stood suddenly, the tension between them boiling.
Cassian turned sharply, gripping the edge of the table, the candlelight catching the angle of his spine.
"I still feel you," Cassian whispered. "Every time I try to sleep. Every time I bleed."
Riven's voice broke. "Then why push me away?"
"Because I don't know if I'm kissing a lover—" Cassian turned to face him, eyes blazing, "—or a knife."
Riven closed the space between them with a breath.
Then—he whispered it.
"Cassian."
A name.
Softly. Almost reverently.
Cassian froze.
Riven hadn't said his name like that in years. Not during court debates. Not on the battlefield. Not even during their last night tangled in each other.
That voice—his voice—made something inside him crack.
Cassian looked up, lips parting, something wounded in his eyes.
And then Riven kissed him.
Not like before.
Not desperate. Not punishing.
But slowly. Carefully. Like tasting something he never thought he'd be allowed to have again.
Their mouths met—warm, tentative, and shaking. Cassian didn't stop him.
Couldn't.
The kiss deepened, slow and aching. Riven's hands came to Cassian's waist, drawing him close but not forcefully. Their bodies aligned, breath shared, and something fragile passed between them.
A confession without words.
Cassian clutched at the back of Riven's neck, grounding himself in the heat.
It wasn't lust.
Not yet.
It was memory. Hunger buried for too long. Wounds never stitched shut.
Riven broke the kiss, lips brushing against Cassian's as he spoke lowly:
"Say it. Please."
Cassian's fingers gripped tighter. "Say what?"
"My name. The way you used to."
Cassian stared at him—and for a moment, there was vulnerability, raw and trembling, in the Emperor's eyes.
"Riven," he whispered. "Mine."
That single word shattered everything.
Riven pulled him in again.
This time, their mouths crashed together with abandon.
Cassian lifted himself onto the table behind him, legs parting slightly as Riven stepped between them. Hands roaming, mouths bruising. The salve box clattered to the floor, forgotten.
Riven's hands slid beneath Cassian's thighs, lifting him slightly, lips tracing down the line of his neck, then collarbone, then lower still—slow, sinful, worshipping.
Cassian arched back, breath ragged.
And in that moment—
There was no war.
No betrayal.
No crown.
Only a name spoken softly, and a body remembering what it meant to be held without armor.
Cassian's skin burned where Riven touched him.
His lips, swollen from the kiss, parted with each soft gasp as Riven's fingers explored him — not hungrily, but reverently. He traced old scars, kissed fading bruises, and took in every twitch, every hesitation, as if learning Cassian all over again from scratch.
There was no command here.
No titles.
No battle plans.
Only silence, broken by breath and the occasional sharp inhale when Riven found the places Cassian still remembered being kissed... back when things weren't so broken.
Cassian slid his hands into Riven's shirt, pushing the fabric upward, desperate to feel skin — warmth, flesh, heartbeat.
"I missed this," Riven murmured against the hollow of Cassian's throat.
Cassian stilled, vulnerable and caught. "Don't say things you don't mean."
But Riven pulled back just enough to look at him. "I mean every word. I always have."
Cassian's lips trembled — not from fear, but from the unfamiliar weight of sincerity.
Riven kissed his eyelids, the scar at his jawline, the dip of his collarbone.
"I hated you," Cassian whispered, almost choking on it. "Hated you for leaving."
"I hated myself more."
Their foreheads pressed together, sweat blooming between them like a fever neither wanted cured.
Riven's hand brushed down Cassian's chest, fingers stopping just above his navel. He looked up. Waiting. Seeking permission in the eyes of the man who once ruled his heart more than any kingdom ever had.
Cassian nodded.
That was all it took.
Riven dropped to his knees.
Slowly, sinfully, he kissed a path from hip to thigh — not rushing, not claiming, but offering. Worshipping.
Cassian leaned back on the table, his spine arching as his breath caught fire.
Riven took him in his mouth with agonizing care.
Cassian moaned, the sound low and broken.
Fingers tangled in Riven's hair, hips twitching under the weight of too much feeling. Not just the sensation — but the memory. Of what this meant. What this used to mean.
Because Riven never did this for just anyone.
He had never bowed so easily. So willingly.
Not even for Cassian back then.
But now?
Now he gave without demand. Let Cassian fall apart beneath his mouth, tracing circles with his tongue and hums in his throat that made Cassian curse like a sinner in a cathedral.
"Riven—" Cassian gasped, biting down on his own wrist to muffle the cry.
Riven didn't stop. Didn't speed up.
He let Cassian break slowly.
Purposefully.
Until Cassian's thighs trembled, and his body shuddered, and he came with a whisper of Riven's name, barely audible but laced with centuries of craving.
Riven rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes never leaving Cassian's face — flushed, panting, wrecked.
And when Cassian opened his eyes, he reached out, grabbing the lapel of Riven's half-unbuttoned shirt.
"Don't leave me again," he said. No command this time. No royal decree. Just... a plea.
"I won't," Riven whispered. "Not unless you push me out yourself."
Cassian pulled him forward until their chests met. Their lips brushed again — soft, quiet, almost too intimate to be called a kiss.
"I want you here," Cassian murmured. "Not just in my bed. In this room. In this moment."
Riven's fingers curled around his, grounding them both.
"I never left," he said, voice tight. "Not really. I just... didn't know how to come back."
---
They moved to the bed eventually.
But not in a rush.
Riven stripped slowly — not for show, but for honesty. Letting the candlelight trace every flaw he bore, every mark earned from a life spent away from the warmth he once held.
Cassian, still raw, watched him like a starving man.
When Riven climbed in beside him, he didn't take.
He gave.
They lay there first, lips brushing, bodies entangled under thin sheets. Riven's hand on Cassian's face, Cassian's knee sliding between Riven's thighs.
Their hips found a rhythm — not brutal, not desperate — but deep and slow, friction drawing sweat and breath and moans that weren't about pleasure, but need.
"Look at me," Riven said, voice rough.
Cassian did.
Riven moved inside him with a sweetness that felt like it might kill him. Like he was trying to memorize every inch, every sound, every heartbeat — in case this was the last time.
But it wouldn't be.
They both knew that now.
When Cassian came again, he did it with his face buried in Riven's throat, teeth biting down to stop the scream. Riven followed seconds later, hips jerking, a breathless curse spilling from his lips.
They collapsed into each other.
Sticky. Shaking. Silent.
And then — Cassian laughed.
Just once.
Riven pulled back slightly, startled. "What?"
Cassian turned to him, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes still glassy. "You still smell like fucking rain."
Riven chuckled, burying his face in Cassian's neck.
"Then maybe it's time you stopped running from the storm."
Cassian exhaled against his temple. "Maybe it's time you stayed."
Cassian woke to the warmth of breath at the back of his neck.
For a moment, he didn't move — didn't dare. The silence was too fragile, too sacred to disturb. Riven's arm was draped lazily over his waist, fingers curled against his stomach like they'd always belonged there. Not possessively, but protectively. Anchoring.
It had been years since Cassian let himself sleep beside someone.
He didn't realize how much he missed this until he had it again — this stillness. This quiet rhythm of another body breathing in sync with his own. The way Riven's chest rose and fell against his back, the occasional shift of his knee nudging Cassian's thigh, like a reminder: I'm still here.
Cassian turned slowly.
Riven's face was soft in the dawn light, lashes long against his cheeks, a faint mark still lingering on his jaw from where Cassian had clutched him too tightly in the night.
And stars, he looked young like this.
Like the boy who used to sneak into his bed when nightmares chased him from sleep — back when the worst thing they feared was a scolding from a palace tutor.
Cassian brushed a strand of dark hair from Riven's brow.
He didn't wake.
So Cassian just… looked. Memorized. Let himself linger on the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips — the same lips that had ruined him mere hours ago, and years before that.
Cassian swallowed. His body ached, but not in the same way it had when he'd been poisoned. This ache was deeper — muscle memory, emotional exhaustion, and something terrifyingly tender.
He slipped out of bed, trying not to wake Riven.
But of course, he did.
A sleepy murmur: "Leaving already?"
Cassian paused halfway to the basin, bare from the waist down, turning to glance over his shoulder. "Didn't mean to wake you."
"I wasn't asleep. Just… pretending," Riven muttered, voice gravel-thick from sleep. He stretched, sheets sliding low on his hips, exposing taut muscle and mottled bruises along his ribs. "Didn't want to scare it away."
Cassian's brow lifted. "It?"
Riven propped himself up on one elbow, smile slow and crooked. "The moment."
Cassian rolled his eyes and turned back to the basin, splashing water on his face to avoid melting under that gaze.
Behind him, Riven's voice grew more serious.
"Are you alright?"
Cassian stared at his reflection — at the damp curls clinging to his temple, the faint shadows under his eyes, the faint trace of a bite mark near his collarbone.
"I don't know what 'alright' means anymore."
He reached for a towel, but didn't turn.
"You can't just come back and expect things to be... fixed, Riven."
"I don't." The bed creaked. Footsteps followed. "I came back expecting to be hated. I didn't expect you to let me touch you. Let alone... last night."
Cassian's voice tightened. "Don't make it small. Don't reduce it to just sex."
Riven's hands found his hips from behind, firm but not forceful. "I wouldn't dare."
They stood like that for a moment.
Then Cassian turned in his arms, towel forgotten, and pressed his forehead against Riven's bare chest.
"I feel like I'm losing pieces of myself every time I look at you."
"You're not." Riven whispered against his hair. "If anything... maybe you're finally gathering the ones you left with me."
---
Later, dressed but still raw, Cassian and Riven sat on the edge of the low couch facing the windows. Sunlight painted their bodies gold, casting long shadows behind them.
"People will talk," Cassian murmured, nursing tea between both hands.
"They always do."
"You're not court anymore. You're a soldier. A deserter. A threat."
Riven said nothing at first. Just leaned back, his gaze locked on Cassian.
"And you're the High Commander. The Prince's brother. The kingdom's shield." He paused. "So what does that make us now?"
Cassian's grip tightened around the porcelain cup. "That's what terrifies me. I don't know what this is."
Riven set down his own cup and turned, sliding a hand over Cassian's thigh.
"Then let's stop trying to define it," he said softly. "Let it be messy. Let it hurt. Let it breathe."
Cassian looked down at that hand — calloused, steady, familiar.
And nodded.
Just once.
Not as a prince.
Not as a commander.
But as the boy who once whispered Riven's name in the dark, when no one else dared hear.
The knock came like a dagger slicing silk — too sharp, too sudden, too final.
Cassian flinched before he could stop himself. Riven tensed beside him.
Another knock. Firmer this time.
"Your Highness," a voice called from behind the carved mahogany door. "The Council requests your presence. Urgently."
Cassian's throat tightened.
He hadn't even issued a statement yet. No address to the court. No public explanation for his sudden collapse, or Riven's unannounced return to the capital.
But the kingdom always noticed.
There was no hiding the rumors anymore.
He glanced at Riven, who stood slowly, expression unreadable. "You should go."
"And leave you to the wolves?"
Cassian's lips curved bitterly. "I'm used to the bite."
Riven's jaw ticked. "So am I. But I won't let them sink their teeth in you again."
The door opened with a flick of Cassian's wrist, his voice smooth but clipped. "Ten minutes."
The aide bowed quickly and disappeared without a word, the heavy doors closing once more behind him.
Riven stepped closer. "You're shaking."
Cassian looked down. His hands had started trembling somewhere between standing and deciding what mask to wear.
He exhaled, long and slow. "I'll need you visible, but silent."
Riven's brow furrowed. "Cass…"
"They'll look for weakness. If they think you're speaking for me—"
"I'm not."
"But they'll believe it anyway."
A pause.
"Then let them," Riven said. "Let them choke on their own fear."
Cassian turned fully now, eyes gleaming with something like awe and fury all at once.
"You're not the boy I remember."
"No," Riven said. "But you always bring him back."
---
The Royal Courtroom — An Hour Later
The Council chamber was colder than usual — not by temperature, but by intent. Dozens of nobles filled the circular gallery, draped in velvet and resentment.
At the center stood Cassian.
To his right, Riven.
The silence was palpable. Not a whisper. Not even the scrape of a chair.
Then:
"General Riven Veyne," sneered Lord Mareth, ancient and skeletal behind his gold-rimmed lenses. "Deserter. Traitor. Whore."
Cassian didn't flinch — but the sound of Riven's breath sharpening beside him was louder than thunder.
Cassian stepped forward, voice quiet and lethal. "Say that again."
The old man blinked, taken aback.
"I said," Cassian repeated, "say that again. To my face."
"Your Highness—"
Cassian raised a hand. "He was dragged back from the battlefield half-dead, not by command, but by duty. He shielded my body with his own in a war your sons were too cowardly to fight. You will not call him that again."
Mareth's lips thinned, but he didn't argue.
Cassian's voice dropped an octave. "Unless you'd like to be dragged to the outer court and whipped in front of the same soldiers you sent to die for profit."
A gasp rippled through the gallery.
Cassian rarely used the voice of his bloodline. The voice of kings.
But today — today, he bled with it.
Riven said nothing, but the look he gave Cassian... it was blazing. Silken. Breaking.
Lord Fenwick stepped forward next. Younger, sharper. His eyes flicked to Riven like a knife. "So you admit it, then."
Cassian arched a brow. "Admit what?"
"That he's not just here to assist you militarily. That he's… in your bed."
A pause.
Then Cassian gave the smallest of smirks.
"Would you like to know how he tastes?"
Gasps again — scandal dripping like venom through the room.
Riven shifted beside him, teeth barely gritted. "Cass…"
But Cassian didn't stop.
"Would you like to know how he trembles," he continued, pacing, "when I whisper his name into the hollow of his throat? Or how he falls apart under my mouth? Because I will happily describe it all if you continue treating him like filth."
No one breathed.
Not even the guards.
Cassian turned fully, voice quiet again. "He is mine. And he came back when everyone else left."
Fenwick scowled. "You've gone mad."
"No," Cassian said. "I've finally remembered who I am."
He turned to Riven then — and Riven met his gaze like he was watching the man he fell for all those years ago rise from the ashes.
"I choose him," Cassian said.
"And if that makes me unfit to rule... then let the throne burn."
Later That Night — Cassian's Chambers
The chamber was quiet.
Too quiet, after what had erupted in the throne room.
Cassian sat in silence, staring into the darkened hearth. The fire had died. The echoes had not.
The echoes of his own voice, speaking Riven's name with venom and love in the same breath. The stunned faces. The disbelief. The fury. The shame.
And Riven—
Who stood by him even when his heart trembled.
The door creaked behind him.
Boots. Leather. Familiar breath.
Riven didn't speak. He never did when Cassian was like this.
Cassian rose without looking. "They'll try to kill me for that."
"Then let them come," Riven said softly.
Cassian turned — and for a moment, neither of them moved.
The fire in the hearth sparked again, as if stirred by something unseen.
"You stood beside me," Cassian said, voice quiet. "Even after everything I did to you."
"I always do."
Cassian stepped closer. "Why?"
"Because you still say my name like it matters."
Cassian's hand reached for him without thought.
Riven didn't flinch.
He leaned in slowly, deliberately, forehead resting against Cassian's.
Their breath mingled. Warm. Raw. Unhidden.
"I used to dream of this," Riven whispered. "You, in the dark, choosing me."
Cassian's fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer. "I never stopped choosing you."
"You just stopped saying it."
Cassian's eyes shut tight.
"I was afraid," he murmured. "That if I gave you everything, I'd lose everything."
"You already lost me once."
"And I almost let them take you again."
Riven's hands lifted, cradling Cassian's jaw.
Not with lust.
But reverence.
His thumb brushed Cassian's cheek. "Then stop talking."
Cassian opened his eyes. "Make me."
Riven didn't hesitate.
Their mouths crashed in a kiss that wasn't gentle — it was a reclamation. A war cry. A fall and a flight and a sob tucked into skin.
Clothes came undone between frantic fingers and quiet gasps. Tunic. Buckle. Skin.
Cassian's body arched into Riven's like it belonged there.
Because it did.
Because it always had.
Their mouths never left each other. Only broke to breathe, to curse, to moan names not with anger, but ache.
Cassian's breath hitched as Riven kissed his shoulder, his neck, the hollow behind his ear. "You feel like home," he murmured.
Cassian's hands tangled in his hair. "Then stay."
"Always."
They didn't reach the bed.
The floor welcomed them instead — silk rugs and scattered garments beneath sweat-slick skin.
Riven's mouth traced a slow line down Cassian's chest, each kiss a vow unspoken. Cassian gasped, his body lifting in surrender. "Gods, Riven—"
"I want you," Riven whispered, eyes dark. "All of you. Without apology."
Cassian arched beneath him. "Take it. Take me."
Riven did.
They moved together with desperation and hunger, but also gentleness — the kind only pain can teach. Every thrust, every gasp, every cry was layered in memory.
Years of silence undone by flesh.
By forgiveness.
By fire.
And when Cassian came undone, it wasn't with a scream — but a name.
"Riven—"
Soft. Raw. Reverent.
Riven shuddered, his own body trembling with release moments after, collapsing beside him, pulling Cassian into his arms like a shield.
Like a promise.
They lay there, breathless and tangled.
Cassian's face buried in Riven's neck.
"Say it again," Riven whispered.
Cassian kissed the space beneath his jaw.
"Riven."
A name spoken softly.
A name meant only for him.