"Well, well, well! If it isn’t the royal brooding machine himself!"
A younger man stepped out from the crowd... maybe twenty-three or twenty-four, tall, broad-shouldered, and built with the same towering, formidable physique as the rest of the Draeven bloodline. He had messy dark brown hair falling carelessly into his eyes, a fine silk tunic left unbuttoned halfway down his chest in complete defiance of court etiquette, and a cocky, infectious grin plastered across his face that practically screamed chaos.
He strutted right up to them, swinging a heavy silver goblet between two fingers, wine sloshing dangerously close to the polished floorboards. "Hello, dear cousin. You look as miserable as ever. Excellent work."
Valeric’s blank expression didn’t change at all, though his dark brows twitched downward by a fraction of a millimeter. "Cassian. What are you doing here? I explicitly ordered you to stay at the eastern garrison until the seasonal patrols were finished."
"Oh, please! Patrols are boring, the eastern garrison smells like wet fur, and besides, I heard there was free booze and a grand feast," Cassian boomed, completely unbothered as he threw his head back and took a dramatic gulp from his goblet. "Did you really think a few military orders would keep me from seeing the great stone statue actually get hitched?"
"I invited him," Nana said cheerfully from beside them, patting Cassian’s broad forearm as he leaned down to plant a loud, smacking kiss right on her cheek. "It’s your wedding, Valeric. Everyone’s invited. Even the royal headache."
"Hey, I am not a headache, Nana. I am a delight," Cassian corrected smoothly, wiping a drop of wine from his lip before turning his bright, golden-brown eyes straight onto Elyra.
His grin grew instantly wider, turning slow, appreciative, and downright dazzled as his eyes swept over her. "By the Ancestors... I heard rumors that the northern wolf was pretty, but nobody bothered to warn me she was a literal goddess."
Without a single shred of fear, he stepped directly into Valeric’s personal space, practically shoving his cousin out of the way to offer Elyra a sweeping, theatrical bow. "Greetings, your stunning Highness. I am Cassian. The handsome cousin, the fun cousin, and realistically, the only reason anyone stays sane in this dreary castle."
A sudden wave of heat rushed up into Elyra’s cheeks. After an hour of cold stares, silent judgment, and Valeric’s stone-faced silence, the sudden, unabashed warmth hit her like a beam of sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
A tiny, surprised smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she carefully lifted her hand. For the briefest moment, she let herself simply enjoy being looked at with delight instead of suspicion.
Cassian didn’t just take it; he bent low, taking her knuckles in his warm, calloused palm and pressing a dramatic, lingering kiss to the back of her hand, winking right at her as he straightened up.
"Honestly, my lady, I’m genuinely impressed," Cassian declared, leaning in toward her with a mock-confidential whisper that carried across half the court. "I have no idea how you managed to drag His Royal Gloominess to the altar. Half the females in the realm have been throwing themselves at his feet for years trying to break that icy exterior... especially Rub... "
Before the name could fully leave his lips, Torin moved.
The massive guard stepped in from Valeric’s flank with the practiced precision of a man who had handled this exact situation a hundred times before. Keeping a bright, perfectly polite courtier smile plastered across his rugged face for the watching nobles, Torin smoothly clamped one massive, leather-gloved hand directly over Cassian’s mouth, instantly smothering the name into a muffled, wet gasp.
At the exact same time, Torin drove his heavy elbow sideways, jabbing Cassian sharp and hard right between the ribs.
"Ah, what Lord Cassian means to say," Torin announced in a loud, boisterous, friendly voice, his smile widening till his teeth showed while his fingers dug ruthlessly into Cassian’s jawline, "is that His Majesty is a very blessed man tonight! Isn’t that right, my lord?"
Cassian wheezed, his eyes bulging as he doubled over slightly from the rib-jab, his hands slapping uselessly at Torin’s massive arm. "Mmmph! Mmm-rf!"
"Look at him, practically speechless with joy!" Torin continued cheerfully, giving Cassian a brutal, affectionate-looking pat on the back that sounded like a sack of grain hitting the floor. "He was just telling me earlier how much he was looking forward to... shutting his mouth and going back to the garrison!"
Torin subtly dragged the younger man back two full paces, steering him completely away from Elyra while maintaining his dazzling, fake smile toward the surrounding elders. He bent down slightly, whispering low and deadly against Cassian’s ear while still beaming for the crowd. "If you drop one more name in front of the bride, Cassian, I will personally break your nose, throw you over my shoulder, and ride you back to the eastern border sideways."
Cassian finally managed to pry Torin’s hand off his face, gasping for air and clutching his side with a dramatically wounded expression. "You brute! You nearly crushed my sternum! Is this how you treat royalty?"
"It’s how I treat idiots who don’t know when to stop talking," Torin replied, his smile never wavering for a single second as he adjusted his guard armor. "Now drink your wine, smile for the elders, and keep your hands off the King’s wife before he decides to let me off my leash."
Cassian shook his head, straightening his crumpled collar with a huff, though his cocky grin flashed right back onto his face a second later. He raised his goblet toward Torin in a mock toast. "You’re just jealous because she smiled at me first, Torin. Always so protective! You’re going to get grey hair before you’re thirty if you keep stressing like that."
"I already have three grey hairs, and every single one of them has your name on it," Torin grunted back softly.
Elyra’s smile stretched a little wider, genuine and bright for the first time all evening. She couldn’t help the soft, bubbling laugh that escaped her chest. Okay, she thought to herself, I already like this guy. He was cheeky, alive, completely chaotic, and unbothered in a room filled with frozen, terrifying statues.
For a brief moment, watching Cassian and Torin bicker like brothers, she almost forgot the ache in her back and the weight of the crown she wasn’t meant to wear. It struck her, oddly, how much she craved this... the easy warmth of banter, the reminder that laughter still existed somewhere in this gilded, suffocating world.
But as the hilarity of the moment settled, her sharp mind caught on the first three letters Cassian had managed to drop before Torin nearly suffocated him.
Rub...
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the emerald gown disappearing into the sea of nobles... Rubina.
Elyra glanced sideways, looking up at Valeric’s profile. He was staring straight ahead at the far wall, his jaw locked tight into that familiar, stone-cold mask. There was no flicker of amusement at his cousin’s antics, no sign of annoyance, and certainly no hint of jealousy or embarrassment over the implied history.
It was just that blank, unyielding wall he wore so well, treating any hint of emotion like a dirty, dangerous taboo he refused to touch. She found herself studying him a moment too long, wondering what it might take to crack that wall, and hating herself a little for wondering at all.
Some small, foolish part of her wanted to know if Rubina’s name had ever meant something to him, and she despised that curiosity the moment it surfaced.
The only sign that anything had reached him at all was the tiny, rhythmic pulse of a muscle ticking along the edge of his sharp jawline.
Elyra couldn’t resist. After enduring his icy commands and flat lectures for the past hour, a tiny, mischievous spark danced in her gold-flecked eyes. She tilted her head toward him, leaning in just close enough so her bare shoulder brushed against the heavy fabric of his jacket, her voice dripping with sweet, innocent politeness.
"Does your cousin always introduce himself with quite so much drama, Your Majesty?" she asked quietly, her eyes gleaming with subtle mockery. "Or is suffocating under your guard’s hands a Draeven family tradition saved for special occasions... like weddings, perhaps?"
Valeric didn’t look down at her immediately. He let two agonizing seconds of silence stretch between them, his eyes fixed on the High Elders across the room before his head slowly turned. He looked down at her with those pale, dead eyes... unmoving, unreadable, and completely unbothered by her tease.
"He introduces himself that way to anyone with a face and a pulse, Ms. Veyrith," Valeric said, his voice a flat, low rumble against her ear. "Do not flatter yourself. And do not encourage him. He is an absolute idiot, and I have very little patience left tonight."
"Oh, come now, Valeric," Elyra whispered back, her smile widening just a fraction as she felt a tiny bit of her heavy fear evaporate into genuine amusement. "He’s the only person in this entire room who hasn’t looked at me like he wants to run me through with a silver pike. I’d say that makes him the most sensible person here."
"Sensible people do not kiss the hands of wolves in front of a council of Lycan lords, nor do they let Torin jab them in the ribs for sport," Valeric replied smoothly, his eyes sweeping over her face without a drop of warmth. "Now keep walking. The High Table is waiting, and if you spend another three minutes flirting with my cousin, I will have Torin lock him in the cellar until morning."
"You wouldn’t dare," she murmured.
"Try me," Valeric said, his voice deadpan and utterly devoid of humor as his heavy hand guided her forward across the floor. "I have locked him in worse places for far less."