Rose
The night air outside the council hall was colder than I remembered.
Not the crisp, clean cold that cleared the lungs, but the kind that sank into your bones and made every step feel heavy. Behind us, the great obsidian doors shut with a click that echoed like a funeral bell. The whispers from the chamber still clung to me, crawling after my steps like snakes.
Even outside those walls, their words lived.
Nightmare stands against her.
Adrian is the rightful heir.
Rose Varela is cornered.
She's finished.
I walked forward anyway. Cassian at my side, Mica and Nyla trailing behind, our little procession slicing through the gathered families like a blade. Men shifted out of my path, women averted their eyes, servants bowed their heads. Not out of respect.
no, not anymore. Out of fear. Out of curiosity. Out of that sick fascination people hold when they sense a storm about to break.
The silence between us was deafening. Cassian's jaw was tight, every line of his body rigid and alert, like he was ready to cut down the next man who dared breathe wrong in my direction. Mica carried fire in his eyes, restless, her hand never straying far from the knife strapped to her thigh. Nyla muttered curses under her breath, venom aimed at Adrian, at Shadowhand, at anyone who dared try to strip me of what I had bled for.
And me?
I said nothing.
I walked with my head high, shoulders squared, mask unbroken. But inside…inside my chest was nothing but ashes and glass.
Because I could still see him.
Asher.
Standing behind Adrian. Silent. Unyielding.
Not once had his eyes softened when I searched them. Not once had he looked away, given me even a flicker of the man I thought I knew. The man I had claimed.
The ride back to the villa was drowned in silence. The car thrummed around us, headlights cutting through the black streets of the city, but the four of us said nothing. My hand rested against the window, fingers numb against the glass. Outside, the world moved as though nothing had shifted. Shops closed their shutters. Lanterns burned low on street corners. The city slept, ignorant of the war decided in those gilded halls.
But I was wide awake. Every blink was haunted. Every breath tasted of betrayal.
The villa greeted us like a ghost. The great iron gates creaked open, the courtyard torches flickered weakly, and the house itself rose in sharp lines of stone and shadow. My father's house. The Viper's house. Mine.
For now.
Because if I failed this war, it would be taken from me, swallowed whole by Adrian and the serpents. Just like the hall had been. Just like everything my father had clawed into existence.
The thought sank deep as I stepped inside, boots echoing against marble floors that once shone with pride. The portraits on the wall glared down at me, silent judges painted in oils and shadows. My ancestors. My family. My burden.
Mica was the first to break the silence. She muttered something about checking the perimeter, but her eyes lingered on me before she left, hard with unspoken worry. Nyla excused herself too, claiming she needed to send word to our contacts. She was angry too angry and her absence was a gift.
That left Cassian.
He lingered in the doorway of the study, arms crossed, watching me the way only he could. Not as a soldier. Not as a subordinate. But as someone who had been at my side through every wound, every scar, every lie this world had carved into me.
"You should rest," I said, voice low, brittle.
"I should," he agreed. But he didn't move. He stayed there, leaning against the doorframe, studying me with eyes that saw too much.
Finally, he spoke.
"I know you're hurt about your lover's betrayal, but we have work to do."
The words were a blade, sharp and deliberate.
My head snapped toward him, heat rushing up like fire. "He's not my lover."
Cassian's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. More like a wound. "Rosie, you just staked your claim on him in front of the entire council. You called him yours. You dared Shadowhand to take him from you. So yes… he is your lover. Stop denying your feelings."
My throat tightened. The words I wanted never hear, the denial, the deflection they withered before they reached my tongue. I couldn't give him an answer, because he was right. And he knew it.
Silence stretched between us, heavy and raw. My mask cracked, just enough for him to see the truth I couldn't bury fast enough.
Cassian's voice softened. "Whatever you decide to do with him… I will support you."
My chest ached. I looked away, blinking against the sting in my eyes. Gratitude welled up, tangled and sharp, but I couldn't give it voice. I could only nod.
Cassian pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer. He reached out, his hand brushing my shoulder with a touch that was both steady and fleeting. "I'll give you some space," he said quietly.
And then he was gone, leaving me alone in the quiet, the house groaning with its old bones.
I didn't think. I just moved.
My feet carried me down the hallway, past portraits, past closed doors, until I stopped before one in particular.
The guest room. We had many rooms but this was….
His room.
The moment I opened the door, the air hit me like a fist. His scent lingered here, clinging to the walls, the sheets, the very floorboards. Sharp, clean, threaded with smoke and something darker something that was only Asher.
I stepped inside slowly, as though the room might break beneath me. My hand brushed against the edge of the desk, where a glass still sat from nights before. My eyes caught on the chair where he once draped his jacket. The bed was unmade, sheets creased, still holding the weight of his presence.
I stood there, frozen, and for a heartbeat, I could almost believe he was still here. That if I turned quickly enough, I'd find him leaning in the doorway, blue eyes fixed on me, lips curved into that smirk that was both temptation and torment.
But when I turned, there was only emptiness.
My chest tightened. My hand gripped the bedpost, knuckles white.
Why?
Why had he stood with Adrian? Why had he looked at me with nothing in his eyes when I searched for something anything? Why had the man I had dared to call mine become a stranger in the span of a heartbeat?
I sank onto the edge of the bed, fingers curling into the sheets. His scent rose around me, dizzying, maddening. I remembered his face too vividly the sharp lines, the dangerous beauty. The smirk that unraveled me. The eyes that saw through my masks.
And then… the same eyes as he betrayed me.
Cold. Empty. Unreadable.
A dagger twisted in my chest. I couldn't hate him. That was the worst part. I should have. I should have carved that betrayal into stone and built my rage upon it. But I couldn't. My heart refused to bleed the way my pride demanded.
Because even broken
Even in betrayed
I wanted him.
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. I pressed my palm against the sheets, desperate for something solid, something real. And then, slowly, I lay down. His bed welcomed me with a cruel kind of comfort, wrapping me in everything I should despise but couldn't let go of.
I closed my eyes. His scent filled my lungs. His ghost filled my heart.
Sleep came slowly, dragging me under with memories of blue eyes, sharp smiles, and a betrayal I could not forget.
But even as darkness claimed me, one truth burned louder than the rest
I could not hate him.
And that… was the most dangerous Betrayal of all.