Chapter One Part 2
2252 Words
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Cassian didn’t sleep that night either. He lay on the too-big bed and stared at the ceiling until his eyes burned.
Owned. Not by Mirell. By Kael.
The words should’ve felt like chains. Instead they felt like an anchor. And that terrified him more than the contract.
Because anchors only mattered if you were drowning.
........
Cassian's mind went back to a lot of things.
His mother’s funeral. Gray sky. No sun. Alistair stood beside their father, head high, accepting condolences. Cassian stood three steps back. No one spoke to him.
After, in the empty chapel, he’d whispered “Mother?” to the coffin. A servant pulled him away. “Don’t touch it, omega. You’ll stain it.”
He never said her name aloud again.
Alistair got his first sword. Their father watched, proud. Cassian watched from the doorway. When the lesson ended, Alistair tossed him the wooden training sword.
“Here, spare. Try not to cut yourself.”
Cassian caught it. Gripped it with both hands. For ten seconds he imagined swinging it. Not at Alistair. Just… swinging. Existing.
Their father saw. “Put that down. Omegas don’t fight. They’re born to—” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
Cassian put the sword down. It clattered. No one picked it up for him.
Three days ago, there was a council meeting he wasn’t invited to. But he heard Alistair’s voice through the door: “The spare is useless. If I die, let the Empire fall. Better than putting him on the throne.”
Laughter. His father’s silence.
Cassian walked away before the door opened. He’d gotten good at that. Leaving before they could tell him to leave.
---
Now he was in Kael’s estate. With a bed too big and a man who said mine like it was law.
Kael had crouched in front of him. Had said _you break in my arms, not Mirell’s. Had promised to put him back together.
No one had ever offered to put Cassian back together. They’d just let him shatter in corners.
He pressed his face into the pillow. No tears came. He’d used them all up at age seven.
But his chest hurt. Ached. Like something was growing there where nothing had grown before.
Trust me, Kael had said. I will not hurt you if you obey.
Obey! The word made Cassian’s stomach twist. He’d obeyed his whole life. Obeyed by being silent. Obeyed by being invisible. Obeyed by dying slowly where no one could see.
But Kael wanted a different kind of obedience. Active. Present. Look at me. Call me Kael. Let me decide.
That was worse. Because it meant Cassian had to exist first.
At 4am he gave up on sleep and went to the window. The sea was black. The wind screamed.
He whispered to the glass: “Kael.”
Just the name. Testing it. It didn’t cut his tongue this time. It settled. Heavy. Warm. Dangerous.
Footsteps in the hall stopped outside his door.
Cassian held his breath. The footsteps didn’t knock. Didn’t enter. Just paused, like the person on the other side was listening for breathing.
Then they moved on.
Kael. Checking without touching. Without demanding.
Cassian slid down the wall until he sat on the floor. He wrapped his arms around his knees and made himself small. The way he’d learned.
But this time, he wasn’t hiding. He was waiting.
.........
Lady Miren woke him at six. “The General wants you in the library.”
The library was bigger than the throne room. Floor to ceiling books. No dust. Kael was already there, reading a map. He didn’t look up when Cassian entered.
“Close the door,” Kael said.
Cassian closed it. The sound was soft. Final.
Kael set the map down. “How did you sleep?”
Cassian almost lied. Almost said fine. But Kael’s eyes were on him. Steel gray, seeing everything.
“Badly,” Cassian admitted. Voice quiet. Honest. “The bed is too big.”
Kael nodded once. Like that was a real answer. “Tonight you’ll sleep better. Or you won’t sleep at all. Either way, you’ll learn.”
It wasn’t a threat. It was fact. Cassian was starting to understand the difference with Kael.
“Section four of the contract,” Kael continued. “We need to prepare you. Not physically. Mentally. House Mirell’s physician will examine you before the wedding. You need to know how to endure without breaking.”
Cassian’s hands clenched. “How?”
Kael walked around the desk and stopped in front of Cassian. Close, but not touching. “By understanding what you’re giving, and what you’re keeping.”
He reached out. This time he touched. Two fingers under Cassian’s chin, tilting his face up. Not forceful. Just enough that Cassian had to meet his eyes.
“You give them the performance,” Kael said quietly. “The blood on the sheets. The moans they expect to hear through the door. You give them that.”
Cassian’s breath hitched.
“You keep this,” Kael’s thumb brushed Cassian’s lower lip. Barely touch. “Your real reactions. Your real fear. Your real trust. That’s mine. Only mine. No one else gets it.”
Cassian stared at him. The scar. The gray eyes. The absolute certainty.
“You’re splitting me in half,” Cassian whispered.
“Yes,” Kael agreed. No apology. “Because the part they get will survive. And the part I keep will be safe.”
It was cruel. It was kind. It was the most honest thing anyone had ever said to Cassian.
He nodded. Slow. “I… I’ll try.”
“Not try,” Kael corrected. His thumb pressed slightly. “You will. Because you’re mine. And I don’t collect broken things I can’t fix.”
He let go, and distance returned.
“Today’s lesson: silence,” Kael said, turning back to the map. “You will sit here for four hours and not speak. Not move unless I tell you to. You will learn to be still while being watched. Because at the wedding, everyone will watch you.”
Cassian sat in the chair Kael pointed to. He folded his hands. He made his breathing even.
Four hours. Being seen. Being owned. Being safe.
It was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
But Kael stayed in the room the whole time. Reading. Working. A wall of black and steel between Cassian and the world.
And for the first time in eighteen years, Cassian didn’t feel alone while being watched.
Four hours of silence ended when the library clock struck four.
Kael closed the map. “Stand up.”
Cassian stood. His legs were numb. His back was stiff. But he didn’t sway. He’d learned that much.
Kael walked around the desk until he stood in front of Cassian. No desk between them now. No distance. Just air and tension and the smell of old books plus steel.
“Look at me,” Kael ordered.
Cassian looked up. Violet eyes met steel gray. Four hours of silence had stripped him raw. He had no walls left. No lies. Just himself, standing there.
Kael’s hand came up. Slow. Deliberate. He brushed Cassian’s cheekbone with his knuckles. Barely touch. Like he was checking if Cassian was real.
“You didn’t move,” Kael said quietly. “You didn’t beg. You didn’t cry. You endured.”
Cassian didn’t answer. Speaking felt dangerous now.
“That’s what I need from you,” Kael continued. His thumb caught the corner of Cassian’s mouth. “Not obedience from fear. Obedience from trust. You trust me to tell you when to move, when to speak, when to break. So you don’t have to decide alone.”
Cassian’s breath shook. “I don’t know how to trust anyone.”
“Then learn,” Kael said. Simple. “Starting with me.”
He dropped his hand. Distance returned, but it felt different now. Not cold. Chosen.
“Dinner at seven,” Kael said. “Same uniform. After dinner, you’ll come to my study. We’ll begin physical conditioning. Nothing more. Not yet.”
Cassian nodded. His throat was too tight for words.
He bowed and left. In the hallway, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
You’re mine. Broken or whole, it doesn’t matter.
The words followed him. They were in the stones. In the air. In his chest where something new was growing, painful and bright.
Dinner took place as usual. Same table. Same silence. But Cassian ate this time. Because Kael told him to. Because his body wasn’t just his anymore.
After the plates were cleared, Kael stood. “My study.”
Cassian followed. The private room was warm from the fireplace. No desk tonight. Just the two chairs and a long table covered in cloth.
On the table were leather straps. Oil. A knife. Nothing threatening. But Cassian’s heart hammered anyway.
Kael saw his face. “Breathe,” he said. “I told you. I won’t hurt you.”
“What are those for?” Cassian whispered.
“Conditioning,” Kael answered. He picked up the straps. “Your wrists. Your ankles. You need to learn how it feels to be bound. Because at the wedding, you’ll be tied to the bed for the blood contract. If you panic, you’ll hurt yourself. If you trust the bindings, you’ll survive.”
Cassian stared at the leather. Eighteen years of being untouched. Now this.
“Take off your jacket,” Kael said gently.
Cassian obeyed. Hands shaking. He set it on the chair. Stood there in just his undershirt, pale and exposed.
Kael didn’t look away. Didn’t leer. Just watched like he was memorizing Cassian’s fear so he could take it apart later.
“Hands,” Kael said. He held out the straps.
Cassian held out his wrists. The leather was cold. Kael buckled the first strap. Not tight. Just snug. The second one followed.
Then Kael looked up. “Tell me if it hurts. Tell me if you want me to stop. That’s your right. Mine is to decide if I listen.”
The words should’ve been cruel. They weren’t. They were honesty. Cassian realized Kael had never lied to him. Not once.
“Does it hurt?” Kael asked.
Cassian tested the bindings. Pulled slightly. “No. Just… tight.”
“Good.” Kael stood. Walked behind him. Cassian heard his breathing. Felt the heat of him. But no touch yet. “Now you stand there for ten minutes. While I watch. While you’re bound. You learn that being restrained doesn’t mean being powerless. It means you chose to trust the person holding the key.”
Ten minutes was an eternity.
Cassian stared at the fireplace. At the flames. He counted his breaths. In. Out. In. Out.
Behind him, Kael didn’t speak. Didn’t touch. Just existed. A wall of heat and steel and _mine_.
At minute seven, Cassian’s knees started to shake. Not from fear. From the weight of being seen while vulnerable.
“Kael,” he whispered. The name slipped out without thinking.
“I’m here,” Kael answered immediately. No distance in his voice.
Cassian closed his eyes. Tears burned, but he wouldn’t let them fall. Not yet. Not here.
At minute ten, Kael stepped forward. His fingers worked the buckles. The straps fell away. Blood rushed back to Cassian’s wrists, tingling.
Kael didn’t let go. He held Cassian’s wrists in his hands. Thumb brushing over the red marks the leather left.
“See?” Kael murmured, lips close to Cassian’s ear. “I told you I’d put you back together. You didn’t break.”
Cassian’s knees gave out. Not from weakness. From relief. From eighteen years of no one catching him finally ending.
Kael caught him. Of course he did. He lifted Cassian like he weighed nothing and carried him to the chair by the fire.
Sat him down. Knelt in front of him. Still holding his wrists.
“Look at me, Cassian.”
Cassian looked. His vision was blurry. He couldn’t tell if it was tears or exhaustion.
Kael’s thumb wiped under his eye. This time there was a tear. Just one. “Good boy,” Kael said. Soft. No command in it. Just fact.
Cassian broke. Not loud. Not ugly. Just quiet. He buried his face in Kael’s shoulder and let the sobs come. Small, choked things he’d swallowed for eighteen years.
Kael didn’t shush him. Didn’t tell him to stop. He just held him. One hand on the back of Cassian’s head, the other still on his wrist.
_Mine_, the hold said. _I’ve got you._
When the crying stopped, Cassian was empty. Hollowed out and clean.
Kael lifted his face with two fingers. “Tomorrow we do this again. Longer. Until you don’t shake. Until you understand: bindings from me are safety, not prison.”
Cassian nodded. He couldn’t speak. But he understood.
Kael stood. Carried him to his room. Laid him on the too-big bed. Pulled the blanket up to his chin.
“Sleep,” Kael said. He didn’t leave. He pulled a chair to the bedside and sat. “I’ll stay until you do.”
Cassian closed his eyes. The last thing he heard was Kael’s voice, low and absolute:
“You’re not alone anymore, spare heir. You’re mine now.”
The door clicked shut somewhere far away. But Kael stayed.
And for the first time in eighteen years, Cassian slept without dreaming of doors closing.
- Writer
