The new imperial palace at the heart of the Crimson Eclipse Empire was a strange hybrid: Valmont's warm golden stone married to Arcturus's severe black marble, resulting in corridors that felt both inviting and oppressive at once. Elara had been given her own suite of rooms during the first weeks after the wedding, a concession Cassian had offered without explanation. She had accepted it gratefully, using the distance as a shield.
But tonight the head steward had appeared at her door just after supper, bowing deeply.
"His Imperial Highness requests the Princess Consort's presence in the imperial bedchamber this evening. It is… customary."
Elara had frozen, hairbrush still in hand. Customary. The word landed like a stone in her stomach. She had known this moment would come eventually—the marriage had been consummated only in the legal sense at the border altar—but she had clung to the illusion of separation. Now the illusion was crumbling.
She dressed carefully in a simple nightgown of pale ivory silk, the kind she used to wear at home, hoping the familiarity would steady her nerves. Her hair she left loose, a dark curtain down her back.
When she pushed open the heavy double doors to Cassian's chamber, the room was dimmer than she expected. A low fire crackled in the massive hearth. Candles burned on tall iron stands, casting long, wavering shadows. The bed—enormous, draped in black velvet embroidered with crimson thread—dominated the space. Cassian stood near the window, still dressed in the dark tunic and trousers he had worn at the evening meal. He turned as she entered.
For several heartbeats neither spoke.
Elara closed the door behind her with a soft click that sounded deafening in the quiet. She took three careful steps into the room and stopped.
Cassian tilted his head, studying her as though she were a puzzle he hadn't quite solved.
"Why are you here?" he asked at last. His voice was low, calm, almost curious.
Elara lifted her chin, though her cheeks already felt warm. "Because it is our wedding night. Or… one of them. And the steward said you requested my presence."
"I requested nothing." He took a single step toward her. "I told the steward to inform you that the imperial bedchamber is now open to you whenever you choose to use it. That is all."
Elara blinked. "Then why did he make it sound—"
"Because courtiers love drama," Cassian said dryly. "And because they assume I would want my wife in my bed on the first night we share a roof as husband and wife." He paused. "Do you want to be here?"
The question hung between them, naked and uncomfortable.
Elara opened her mouth, closed it again. Heat climbed up her throat. "I… it is tradition. In Valmont, a bride does not spend her first night apart from her husband unless there is illness or extreme distress. It is considered… disrespectful in my family."
Cassian's mouth curved—not quite a smile, but the ghost of one. "So you are here out of duty. To Valmont tradition."
"Yes." The word came out smaller than she intended.
He took another step closer. Just closing the distance. "And if I told you I do not care about Valmont tradition? If I told you that you are free to leave this room and return to your own chambers without consequence?"
Elara's fingers twisted in the silk of her nightgown. "Then I would ask why you are making this difficult."
"Am I?" He sounded genuinely interested. "I merely asked a question. You're the one blushing like a maiden at her first ball."
"I am not—" She felt the lie die on her tongue. Her face was burning. She looked away, toward the fire. "Fine. I'm blushing. Happy?"
"Not particularly." Cassian's voice softened by the smallest degree. "I simply find it… interesting. You came here carrying a knife to my throat only weeks ago. Now you stand in my bedchamber, embarrassed because custom requires you to share a bed with a man you despise."
"I don't—" She stopped herself. The denial would have been a lie, and they both knew it. Instead she said, "I don't despise you tonight. Not exactly. I just… don't know how to do this."
Cassian regarded her for a long moment. Then he crossed the last few steps and stopped just outside arm's reach.
"Why are you coming to my room, Elara?" he asked again, quieter this time. "Don't you want to live like me? Separate. Contained. Untouched by anyone else's warmth?"
The question pierced her more sharply than she expected. She had accused him of being a doll, empty, cold. And here he was, throwing her own words back at her.
Her throat tightened. "I don't want to live like you," she said, almost in a whisper. "That's the problem. I don't want to be alone in a separate room, pretending the other person doesn't exist. I don't want to spend my life walking past you in corridors and never knowing whether you're angry, or sad, or… anything at all. Even if I hate you, even if I'm afraid of you, I would rather be near you than live like that."
Silence stretched after her words. Cassian's expression did not change, but something shifted in his eyes—something raw and unguarded that vanished almost instantly.
Elara swallowed hard. "But if you want me to leave—if you truly prefer solitude—then fine. I'll sleep in a different room. I won't force myself on you."
She turned toward the door, shoulders stiff, cheeks still flaming.
She had taken only two steps when his voice stopped her.
"Wait."
She paused, hand on the latch, but did not turn around.
Cassian spoke from behind her, very quietly. "Stay."
Elara's heart thudded against her ribs. She let her hand fall from the door.
When she finally faced him again, he had moved back toward the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, elbows on his knees, looking at the fire instead of at her.
"I don't know how to do this either," he said. The admission sounded like it cost him something. "Sharing space. Sharing a bed. Letting someone see me sleep. It's… foreign."
Elara took a hesitant step back into the room. "You've never shared a bed with anyone?"
"Not willingly." He gave a short, humorless laugh. "My siblings and I were taught early that closeness invites knives. Even the nurses who tended us as children were searched every night."
Elara felt an unexpected pang in her chest. Not quite pity—pity felt too soft for what he was—but something close to sorrow.
She walked slowly to the other side of the bed and sat on the edge, mirroring his posture. The mattress dipped beneath her weight. The space between them felt vast.
"I won't hurt you," she said softly.
Cassian turned his head just enough to look at her. "I know you won't. Not tonight." A pause. "And I won't hurt you."
It was the closest thing to a promise she had ever heard from him.
They sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the fire snap and the wind moan against the tall windows.
Finally Elara spoke again, voice small. "Do we… just sleep?"
"That seems safest," Cassian answered dryly. "For both our dignities."
She let out a shaky laugh—the first real one she had managed in his presence since the festival. "Agreed."
They moved with careful awkwardness. Elara slipped beneath the covers on her side, keeping close to the edge. Cassian extinguished the candles one by one until only the firelight remained. Then he lay down on the far side, leaving a wide, deliberate gulf between them.
The bed was enormous, yet the space felt charged.
"Goodnight, Cassian," she whispered into the darkness.
A long pause.
"Goodnight, Elara."
She listened to his breathing slowly even out. She thought he had fallen asleep.
Then, very softly, almost inaudibly: "Thank you for staying."
Her heart stuttered. She didn't answer—didn't trust her voice—but she let herself relax a fraction, let her body sink deeper into the mattress.
Sleep was creeping closer when a new sound reached her ears.
A faint creak. it was not the wind.
Elara's eyes snapped open.
Cassian's breathing had changed—shallow, alert.
He had heard it too.
In the dim glow of the dying fire, a shadow detached itself from the far wall near the servant's door. A man, cloaked in black, face masked, a thin dagger gleaming in his right hand.
Elara tensed, ready to scream.
Before she could draw breath, Cassian spoke—calm, almost bored.
"You're late," he said to the darkness. "I expected you an hour ago."
The assassin froze.
Cassian sat up slowly, unhurried, as though greeting a tardy guest. "Come into the light, Kael. There's no need to skulk."
The figure hesitated, then stepped forward. The mask came down, revealing a lean face Elara recognized—one of the younger Arcturian guards who had ridden escort on the journey south. Kael. He looked pale, sweat beading on his brow.
"Your Highness," he said hoarsely. "I was told… the Emperor expects—"
"My father expects many things," Cassian interrupted. His voice was soft, almost gentle. "But tonight he expects a corpse. Mine and possibly hers." He nodded toward Elara without looking at her.
Elara's blood ran cold.
Cassian tilted his head. "Tell me, Kael. Did he promise you a title? Lands? Or did he simply remind you how easily your sister's throat could be cut?"
The assassin swallowed visibly. "He… he said the empire needed cleansing. That the Valmont woman was poison."
Cassian sighed—a sound so human it startled Elara more than the dagger.
"Put the blade down," he said quietly. "You're not going to use it. We both know that."
Kael's hand trembled. The dagger wavered.
Cassian rose from the bed in one fluid motion. Barefoot, unarmed, he walked toward the assassin as though approaching a frightened horse.
"Drop it," he repeated.
The dagger clattered to the floor.
Cassian stopped inches away. "Go back to your barracks. Tell no one what you saw tonight. In the morning, you will resign your commission and leave the capital before noon. If you do this, your sister will remain untouched. If you do not…" He let the sentence hang.
Kael nodded jerkily, eyes wide with terror.
"Go."
The assassin stumbled backward, then turned and fled through the servant's door.
Silence returned, broken only by the crackling fire.
Cassian picked up the fallen dagger, examined it briefly, then set it on the bedside table beside Elara's hairpin knife from weeks ago.
He returned to his side of the bed and lay down again as though nothing had happened.
Elara stared at him across the gulf of sheets and shadows.
"You knew he was here," she whispered.
"I suspected." Cassian folded his hands behind his head. "My father has never trusted shared beds. Too many opportunities for intimacy.
Too many opportunities for trust anyone."
Elara swallowed. "And you let him stand there… with a knife."
"I wanted to see if you would scream," Cassian said simply. "You didn't."
She didn't know whether to be angry or grateful. "I was too shocked."
A faint smile touched his mouth. "Or you trusted me to handle it."
Elara said nothing.
Cassian turned his head to look at her in the dying firelight. "Go to sleep, Elara. The night is long, and tomorrow will be worse."
She lay back slowly, heart still racing.
The room grew quiet again.
But this time the silence between them felt different—less empty, more watchful.
As her eyes drifted closed, one final thought slipped through her mind:
He had thanked her for staying.
And he had just protected her life without hesitation.
She didn't know what any of it meant.
But for the first time since crossing the border, she didn't feel entirely alone in the dark.