Between Crown and Heart

Enter Cassian

Cassian made his way down the corridors of the guards’ quarters towards his chamber, accompanied by two of his men.

The feast was over.

Well—not exactly. There were still guests in the banquet hall. People eating long after hunger had left them, drinking long after taste had stopped mattering, stretching conversations and laughter to preserve the illusion that the night had not ended.

But the king had already retired. Cassian had escorted him back to his chambers himself.

Once the king left the room, the feast was over.

The corridors grew quieter the farther they walked. The music that had followed them from the banquet hall became dull and distant until only fragments remained.

Cassian stopped outside his door and turned.

“Go back,” he said. “Join the others.”

The guards nodded once and left without question.

Cassian watched them disappear around the corridor before opening his chamber door.

Warm air greeted him. Not warm enough to feel luxurious. Just lived in. Quiet, too.

After hours spent in bright halls full of noise, servants, nobles and too many moving parts, the silence almost felt unfamiliar. He preferred a certain kind of noise—a feast wasn’t it. The noise he understood came with commands, marching feet, and the clean certainty of purpose.

He stepped inside and shut the door.

For a second, he simply stood there and let out a slow breath. His hand moved to the belt at his waist. He unbuckled it and pulled the sword free with practiced ease before setting it on the table. The metal landed with a dull weight. Only then did he realize how long he had spent holding himself tight.

The entire day had passed like that. From morning preparations to the hunt to inspections to the feast itself, he had moved with the quiet expectation that something would go wrong.

A disturbance. A threat. Nothing had.

He would rather face threats than have to prepare for none.

He rolled his neck once and reached for the straps of his armor, undoing one after the other. His fingers had just found the third when he stopped.

Footsteps.

Coming from afar. Too far for most people to notice.

Cassian listened.

The sound came faint through stone and distance but it was growing louder.

Coming here.

His hand moved automatically toward the sword, fingers wrapped around the hilt.

He listened again.

The rhythm wasn’t cautious—not an intruder. Too heavy to be a servant. Too direct to be a guard making rounds.

Cassian narrowed his eyes.

Then he recognized it.

It was not the footsteps themselves, but the way they moved. Long stride with little concern for who occupied the corridor, and fast enough to suggest irritation.

Cassian let go of the sword. Then turned toward the door.

The door opened sharply.

Atlas stepped inside without announcement. His eyes swept the room once before landing on Cassian—and staying there.

The prince looked as though he had left the feast in one body and arrived here in another.

His formal clothes were still immaculate by ordinary standards, but court standards were cruel. His coat hung open. The collar had shifted slightly. Pale strands of hair had escaped whatever careful arrangement had been forced onto him earlier and now fell untidily across his forehead.

His face gave almost nothing away. That was the first thing Cassian noticed—not anger—control. Too much of it.

“Your highness?” Cassian frowned faintly.

Atlas walked toward him. Purposeful. He stopped close, closer than etiquette allowed. Tall enough that Cassian had to lift his eyes slightly.

Atlas had inherited height before authority and seemed to be attempting to use one in place of the other.

“You knew.” Atlas’s voice came with vibration.

Cassian tilted his head, mockishly. “Knew what, Your Highness?”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Atlas reached behind him—without looking. His hand found the sword exactly where Cassian had left it and pulled the blade free.

Cassian’s eyes dropped.

That—was unexpected.

He lifted the sword and placed the edge lightly against Cassian’s neck.

Cold metal.

Steady hands.

Cassian looked at the blade. Then back at Atlas. He did not step away. He watched him quietly. This wasn’t rage. This was something worse. Humiliation trying very hard to look composed.

“You. Knew.” Atlas’s eyes remained on Cassian. “You stood beside him,” he said. “You stand beside him.”

His voice didn’t match the sword. For a brief moment, Cassian wondered: who held a blade to another man’s throat and spoke that softly?

Part of him wanted to take the sword from him and end this little performance. Because even though Atlas outranked him—he had crossed half the palace to threaten the wrong person.

But Cassian understood.

The king had announced something that should have belonged to Atlas. In front of everyone. And Atlas had learned it with them.

Cassian looked at him for another second. Then answered.

“Yes. I knew.”

Atlas blinked once. His grip loosened before tightening again. Like something in him had preferred the denial.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t my place,” Cassian replied flatly.

“Yes.” Atlas nodded. “That seems to be a popular sentence tonight.”

Then he looked down. The sword remained at Cassian’s neck and Cassian stayed still under it. After a moment, Cassian inhaled. His brows pulled together slightly. Then—

“You smell like wine.” His eyes moved once over Atlas. “A whole vineyard of it.”

Atlas glanced up slowly. “Well, you smell like shit.”

He did not take the sword away. He held it there. Kept his eyes down, looking into the space between them as he tried to steady himself. Then, out of nowhere—

“Is she ugly?” He asked.

Cassian’s brows raised. “That’s your first question?”

“No.” Atlas finally looked up. “Just my first thought.”

He lowered the sword and tossed it carelessly back onto the table. The blade struck the wood with a heavy sound.

“Who else knew?” Atlas asked, walking straight toward the jug of wine on the other side of the room.

“No one.”

Atlas picked up the jug. “Did she know? Or did she find out tonight too?”

Cassian felt a sting in his neck and reached up to touch it. A thin smear of blood stained his fingertips. He looked at it once, then at Atlas, watching as the prince poured himself a cup.

“I think you’ve had enough of that for one night.”

Atlas lifted the cup. For a second, he looked at the wine instead of drinking. Then said—

“I found out tonight that I apparently have a wife hidden somewhere in this kingdom.” He gave a small laugh that wasn’t laughter. “The same moment the rest of the kingdom did.”

He looked at Cassian. “Cassian, I’ll drink as much as I want.”

He drank until the cup was empty and went on to refill it.

Cassian, still trying to cling to his one moment of solitude all day, weighed comforting the prince. Eventually, he decided. He turned away. Took a deep breath. And continued removing his armor.

The room fell silent. Metal shifted. Leather loosened. And Cassian lifted his armor off.