The days bled one into the next, heavy with silence, thick with the scent of healing herbs and burnt incense. The once-mighty Emperor Cassian lay in a haze of half-sleep and pain, wrapped in silk and shadows, while outside his chamber, the empire whispered of weakness, vultures circling.
Riven sat beside the bed, motionless, as if his stillness could anchor Cassian's wandering soul. But it wasn't only poison in the Emperor's blood—it was betrayal, uncertainty, the ghost of pain that no tincture could purge.
He watched the feverish twitch of Cassian's brow, the sheen of sweat at his temples. The man who had ruled with iron and brilliance now flinched at invisible blades. Riven touched his hand—slowly, reverently—and felt the tremble travel through Cassian's body.
"Come back to me," he whispered. "Come back, Cassian."
Cassian stirred. His eyes opened, sluggish and unfocused. "Riven..." The voice was cracked glass. "Am I dead yet?"
"No," Riven answered. "But you were close. Too close."
Cassian coughed, then winced. "Who dares poison an Emperor?"
"Someone inside," Riven murmured, the words bitter. "Someone trusted."
Cassian gritted his teeth, his gaze sharpening. "Then let them burn."
Riven stood alone in the council chamber two days later, the seat at the head of the table ominously empty. He wore Cassian's signet ring around his neck—its weight a reminder, its authority borrowed. The lords and ladies stared at him with veiled contempt and curiosity.
"We are not without leadership," Riven said, voice steady. "I will act as steward until the Emperor recovers."
"Is that your decision or his?" Lord Haldran asked, raising a brow.
"Both," Riven answered, lying.
He watched their expressions shift. Calculations behind jeweled eyes. Arien, the court's smiling spider, gave a graceful nod. "We trust you, Commander Riven. The realm must endure."
But Riven knew better. Arien's web was tightening—already he saw threads of manipulation in court appointments, in whispers passed too softly to hear. Cassian had ruled through fear and fire. Riven would have to rule through shadows.
That night, Riven returned to Cassian's chamber—only to find it empty.
He froze.
"Cassian?"
The sound of silk brushing stone came from the adjoining room. Riven burst through—
—and found Cassian standing, half-dressed, leaning against the wall for support. His eyes were wild, his skin pale as moonlight.
"You should be resting," Riven said, rushing to him.
Cassian shoved him back.
"Don't touch me. Not after what you did."
"What—?"
"I heard," Cassian hissed. "Arien's lips to mine. 'Riven takes well to the crown.' You're making deals. In my name."
"I did what was necessary," Riven said. "To keep your empire from fracturing."
Cassian's voice broke. "Is that all I am to you now? A throne to sit on? A crown to wear?"
"No." Riven stepped closer, his voice hoarse. "You're everything. And I will prove it."
He reached out.
Cassian let him.
Their mouths met—angry, desperate. It wasn't the kiss of lovers—it was war. A battle of tongues and teeth, of punishment and need. Clothes fell away. Wounds kissed flesh. Hands mapped pain and memory. In the hush between thrusts, between gasps and gritted groans, they broke.
And built something new.
After, Riven sat on the edge of the bed, bloodied lips and haunted eyes. Cassian lay sprawled in the aftermath, chest rising with shallow breaths.
"You still don't trust me," Riven said.
Cassian didn't answer.
"I saw the archive," Riven whispered. "Your father's letters. The pact with the Virex Dominion. You were going to use me as a pawn in that deal."
Cassian closed his eyes. "It was before I knew you."
"But you never told me."
"You were safer not knowing."
Riven rose, pain etched in every line of his face. "I have no crown. No family. Only you. And you still keep me at arm's length."
Cassian turned away. "And if I asked you to give up the council, the power?"
"I would."
"Then do it."
"I already did." Riven took off the signet and placed it on the bedside table. "But don't expect me to bow to you in the dark while you hand me orders soaked in lies."
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