Enter Cassian - pt II
1240 Words
Atlas stood by the table with the cup in his hand. For a while, he looked toward the window. Not really at it. Not even through it. The glass reflected faint pieces of the room back at him—the table, the bed, Cassian moving behind him.
His own reflection.
He thought about his father.
The announcement. The certainty with which it had been spoken. Things like this did not appear overnight. He knew his father enough to know he must have planned this long ago and everyone else just arrived late.
He felt like a fool.
He thought about marching straight into Astaburn’s chambers and demanding an explanation. But he couldn’t. He had been trained to understand that he was first a soldier before a son. A soldier had to wait until he was called upon. And that only swelled his impatience.
Atlas looked down at the wine in his hand. Then—
“Who is she?” Atlas asked. His voice stayed calm.
“The king will explain everything in the morning,” Cassian answered.
Atlas stood still for a second. Then turned and walked over. He stopped beside Cassian. Not as close as before. No sword this time, only the cup in his hand.
“Who is she?” He asked again.
But there was more weight in it now. Enough that Cassian looked at him, studied him for a moment before answering.
“Your Highness, I can’t say.”
“Stop this ‘highness’ nonsense. You know my name, Cassian.”
Cassian said nothing.
Atlas’s eyes shifted briefly. Thinking. Then, out of nowhere—
“Is she from Rose Tower?” He asked.
Cassian paused.
Atlas had not asked if she was noble. He had gone straight to the politics of it. Precisely where Cassian himself should never go.
“No,” Cassian answered. “That’s all I can tell you.”
Cassian returned to undoing the last straps. Atlas didn’t move. He stayed there—watching. Waiting.
Cassian held. He ignored him, moving to the other wrist. Atlas continued waiting.
Cassian looked at him.
Atlas said nothing.
Cassian looked away again.
Atlas was still there. Like a guard. Or worse—like the king.
“For f**k sake,” Cassian muttered in defeat. He dropped his palms flat against the table and exhaled sharply through his nose.
He walked to the door. Closed it. Then returned and pulled free the final piece of armor. He set the leather down, and instantly regretted that he was about to open his mouth.
“She’s a Lord’s daughter.”
“Which Lord?” Atlas asked immediately.
Cassian paused to take his shirt off. “Evanaw.”
Atlas frowned. The name tugged at something faint and unfinished. He searched his memory for it and found almost nothing.
Cassian noticed. “Near the mountains,” he said.
Atlas looked at him. “The waterfall?”
Cassian glanced over. “The city.”
Atlas stood still for a moment. Then set his cup down.
Without asking, he opened one of the drawers and pulled out a rolled map. The paper unfolded with a dry sound as he spread it open across the table.
His eyes moved quickly. South. West. River. Mountain. Then—
Evanaw.
Small. So small he almost missed it. A narrow mark pressed against the edge of the mountains beside a waterfall carrying the same name.
No.
He looked again.
The city wasn’t old enough to have named the waterfall. The waterfall had named the city. Places only borrowed names when they hadn’t existed long enough to earn their own.
Atlas stared at it.
That was all? This was where his future wife had come from?
“What territory?” He asked.
Cassian crossed behind him toward the bed. “Evanaw doesn’t have territories.”
Atlas looked up.
“There’s only one Lord,” Cassian added, taking his seat on the bed.
Atlas’s brows pulled together.
That didn’t make sense. Every free city had divisions. Four if possible. Even insignificant regions were broken apart because the king wanted power checked.
Atlas looked back at the map. Then at Cassian. And back again.
How had he barely heard of this place?
That bothered him more than the marriage.
His father had taught him everything. Told him everything. Atlas always assumed that what he didn’t know simply wasn’t important. Now he wasn’t so sure.
His eyes remained on the map. “When was it conquered?”
Cassian paused while loosening one boot. Then— “It wasn’t.”
Atlas looked over.
Cassian pulled the boot free. “Evanaw surrendered before we knew it existed.”
Atlas turned fully, which made it harder for Cassian to stop.
“Your father had no plans to expand to the mountains,” Cassian continued. “The chief came to the king himself. Said he believed in the idea of one kingdom. The king was impressed. Named him Lord. Let him keep the whole region under Ashtur.”
A pause.
“As a reward.”
Atlas turned back to the map, staring at the small mark that was the city of Evanaw.
Cities surrendered after losing. After starvation and war. After watching neighboring territories burn and decided survival mattered more than pride.
But surrender before conquest—before being found—that wasn’t surrender.
That was something else—a wretched coward. Or someone just like his father.
“How long ago was this?” He finally spoke.
Cassian looked at him. “Twenty years.”
Atlas met his gaze. Then let out a quiet breath through his nose. Almost a laugh. Not because it was funny, but because suddenly his own ignorance felt absurd.
“So what is this?” Atlas tilted his head slightly. “A deal between old friends?”
Cassian said nothing. As he looked at Atlas, his expression shifted slightly. It wasn’t pity. Something quieter. He had seen this question coming and knew there wasn’t an answer that could be given in one sentence.
He looked away. Then shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”
Atlas frowned. That answer landed badly, pulling his mind in many directions. Political alliance. Debt. Control.
Cassian stood. “Your father will explain, but not tonight.” He walked over and stopped in front of him. “Stop asking.”
Atlas stared at him for another moment, deciding—push. Or Wait.
He exhaled. Reached for the cup and finished what remained of the wine.
Cassian was right about waiting.
And apparently—about the wine. His thoughts had become slower. His balance was worse. And there was still somewhere he intended to go tonight.
Atlas set the cup down.
“Send me an escort of four guards,” he said, turning toward he door.
Cassian watched him. “Might I ask where you’re going, Your Highness?”
Atlas stopped. His hand rested on the handle.
“No.” A small pause. “You might not.”
The door shut. And silence returned.
Cassian stood there for a while. Then picked up the sword. He looked at the thin line of blood left on the edge and wiped it with his thumb.
He walked to the bed, placed the sword beneath his pillow and sat.
His eyes drifted toward the table. Toward the map. Toward Evanaw.
And with a low, empty voice, he said to himself. “Long live Astaburn… King of Ashtur.”
- Writer
