FIRST AND SECOND THREAT
1020 Words
The First Threat — The Note:
Cassius reads it once.
Then again.
The parchment is plain. No seal. No signature.
She will betray you.
A Merrow always does.
The Far North is her prize.
Choose wisely, or bury another brother.
His jaw tightens.
He does not tear it up—not yet. He folds it carefully, deliberately, and places it inside the desk drawer where he keeps things that require thought, not impulse.
For the first time in years, the word betrayal does not sharpen his instincts.
It angers him.
👑The Second Threat — His Father:
The council chamber in the northern keep feels smaller than Cassius remembers.
His father stands at the head of the table, hands braced against the stone, posture rigid. King Blackwell does not turn when he speaks.
“A Merrow?” his father says flatly. “I leave for a single business trip and return to this?”
Cassius does not flinch.
“She is my mate.”
“Their family has accomplished much,” the king continues, controlled but sharp. “I will give them that. But history does not vanish because of good intentions. She is not—”
“—not good?” Cassius cuts in. “You haven’t even met her.”
The king turns then, eyes dark.
“Everyone isn’t Keaton.”
Cassius’s chest tightens.
“Don’t say his name,” the king snaps, slamming his hand against the table. “Don’t make this about him!”
Cassius laughs once—sharp, humorless.
“You made this about him.”
The room stills.
“You made it about him when you pushed me to work three times as hard,” Cassius says, voice trembling despite his effort to control it. “When you made me feel like if anything ever happened again, it would be my fault.”
His hands curl into fists.
“You made it about him when you taught us that because of what happened, we have to be tougher. Harsher. Unyielding.”
His eyes burn.
“And I’m tired of it.”
The king’s expression falters—just barely.
“This won’t protect us,” Cassius continues. “It’s tearing us apart. I want to be a family again. A loving one. Not one that has to choose between happiness and vigilance.”
His voice drops.
“I don’t even recognize myself sometimes. I don’t know how to be normal. We can’t keep living like everything good will be taken from us.”
Silence.
Then, quietly—
“You know why things are like this,” the king says. “But I never meant for it to go this far.”
Cassius exhales, shoulders sagging just slightly.
“We can remember him without ruining what’s left of us.”
The king studies his son for a long moment.
Finally, he nods once.
“Then I will meet her,” he says. “Seren. And her family.”
Cassius swallows.
“That’s all I ask.”
.....
Cassius leaves the council chamber before his father can say anything else.
The halls of the northern keep stretch endlessly, stone and shadow swallowing sound. His footsteps echo too loudly, so he slows, then stops altogether, pressing a hand to the wall.
His eyes burn.
No tears fall—he refuses them—but the sting remains, sharp and humiliating.
They were supposed to be dead or broken.
That was the goal. After Keaton. After the blood and the silence and the years that followed. The killers hadn’t needed to strike again.
They had simply waited.
He exhales slowly through his nose, steadying himself the way he was taught—control first, emotion later.
And then—
Something shifts.
Not a sound. Not a scent.
A pull.
He turns just as she speaks.
“Cassius.”
That’s all.
No questions. No worry sharpened into fear.
Just his name.
She walks toward him without hesitation and wraps her arms around him, pressing her forehead against his chest. Warm. Solid. Real.
Cassius freezes for half a heartbeat—then his arms come up around her on instinct, holding her tightly.
She says nothing.
Neither does he.
They breathe together, her scent grounding him, her presence cutting through the noise in his head like a blade through fog.
She doesn’t demand answers.
She trusts him to speak when he’s ready.
And somehow, that makes it harder to hold everything in.
The Note Returns
It happens two days later.
A security breach.
Minor. Contained. No casualties. No classified damage.
But that doesn’t matter.
“Merrows have always been good with technology.” “They know systems. Hacking. Manipulation.” “Convenient timing, don’t you think?” “The Far North is vulnerable now.”
Cassius listens in silence as the accusations pile up.
Proof clears them within the hour.
Everyone knows it wasn’t Seren.
Everyone knows the Merrow family helped dismantle a rebellion cell barely months ago.
And none of it matters.
Because the story is already being told.
The Blackwell family is growing soft.
They learned nothing from Keaton.
Historic traitors walk freely in the keep.
Cassius feels it then—that familiar tightening in his chest.
The past reaching forward with bloodied hands.
He sees Seren across the room, chin lifted, expression calm but eyes sharp. She does not shrink. Does not flinch.
And that somehow makes it worse.
Because he knows this will not stop.
This isn’t about guilt.
It’s about fear.
And fear always looks for a name to give it.
The Question Hanging in the Air
By nightfall, the whispers have turned into open concern.
By morning, it will be dissent.
And Cassius stands at the center of it, painfully aware of the choice being forced upon him—whether anyone says it aloud or not.
Be the ruthless prince they remember.
Or stand beside the woman who makes him want something more.
The killers may be gone.
But their work is not finished.
And the worst part?
For the first time in his life, Cassius is terrified—not of losing control—
—but of losing her.
- Writer
