The Grand Hall was dressed in funeral colors.
Dark crimson banners hung from the rafters.
Silver candelabras burned low, casting long, trembling shadows across the tables.
The music was slow and heavy, a dirge disguised as a celebration.
Selene entered at Cassian's side, every step measured, every breath a calculation.
The court awaited them, standing in wary silence, their faces masks of grief and loyalty.
It was a feast to honor survival.
It was a trap woven in velvet and blood.
They took their places at the high table, overlooking the lords and ladies gathered below.
Servants moved among the guests with platters of roasted meats, flagons of dark wine, fruits so ripe they bled when touched.
It was a king's bounty.
And a murderer's stage.
Selene's gown tonight was a deep shade of garnet, embroidered with black threads that twisted like smoke along the hem.
Hidden beneath the folds of her skirts, her blades rested against her skin, cool and reassuring.
She could feel the tension radiating from Cassian beside her, as palpable as the storm brewing behind the stained-glass windows.
Tonight, someone would make their move.
Tonight, the real wolves would bare their fangs.
The first toast was raised by the Duke of Marvane, his voice trembling slightly as he praised Cassian's "unshakable rule."
The second by Lady Alessa, her smile sharp enough to slice through silk as she offered a prayer for "enduring alliances."
Selene drank when expected, smiled when required, and watched.
Always watched.
Near the third course, she saw it.
A servant, moving against the natural flow of the room.
Too fast.
Too precise.
Carrying a silver tray toward the high table.
Selene's instincts screamed.
She shifted slightly, ready to intercept.
But Cassian had already seen it.
He rose from his chair, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword, his eyes cold and merciless.
The servant reached the foot of the dais.
Cassian's voice cut through the hall, low and lethal.
"Stop."
The room froze.
The servant did not.
He moved faster, lunging forward with something small and glinting in his hand.
A dagger, thin and wicked, designed for one purpose.
Murder.
Selene moved first.
She seized a goblet from the table and hurled it at the attacker's head.
The silver cup struck with a dull thud, sending the man sprawling.
Guards surged forward, weapons drawn.
Screams echoed through the hall as nobles scrambled back from the chaos.
Selene stood, her hand already sliding toward the hidden blade at her thigh, when Cassian descended the dais.
He did not shout.
He did not hesitate.
He drew his sword in a single, brutal motion and ran it through the would-be assassin's chest.
The man gasped once, a wet, broken sound, and crumpled to the floor.
Blood pooled across the marble, black in the candlelight.
The silence that followed was absolute.
Cassian wiped his blade clean on the dead man's tunic.
Then he turned to face the court, his expression carved from stone.
"This," he said, his voice carrying easily through the stunned hall, "is the price of treachery."
No one moved.
No one spoke.
Selene's heart thundered against her ribs.
Not from fear.
From certainty.
Cassian was not just sending a message.
He was declaring open war.
The feast continued after the body was dragged away.
The musicians played shakily.
The nobles drank deeply, some with shaking hands.
The servants moved even more carefully, eyes averted, steps precise.
Selene ate little, drank less.
She felt the pressure building with every passing moment, a storm coiling tighter and tighter above the gilded ceiling.
Cassian spoke little as well, though his gaze never stopped moving.
Calculating.
Judging.
Choosing.
The court would never forgive this night.
And Cassian had no intention of asking for forgiveness.
When the last toast was called and the guests filed out in stiff, uneasy silence, Cassian did not immediately rise.
Selene waited, hands folded, heart steady.
Finally, he spoke.
"You saved me again," he said.
His tone was almost casual, but she heard the strain beneath it.
Selene shrugged lightly.
"Perhaps I enjoy your company more than I should."
Cassian smiled faintly, a grim and bitter thing.
"Or perhaps you are not yet ready to kill me yourself."
Selene returned his gaze without flinching.
"Perhaps," she said.
The firelight flickered between them, casting long, twisting shadows against the stone walls.
A king who trusted no one.
A queen who owed loyalty to nothing.
And somewhere between them, something fragile and lethal continued to grow.
A bond forged not by love, but by blood and necessity.
And maybe, just maybe, something more dangerous than either had planned.
That night, as Selene stripped away the layers of silk and steel and stared at her reflection in the darkened mirror, she made herself a new promise.
The court could feast on blood and lies.
The crown could crumble.
The kingdom could burn.
But she would survive.
She would endure.
She would carve her place among the ashes if she had to.
And no one, not even Cassian Veredon, would stand in her way.