The palace never truly slept.
Even in the quiet hours of the evening, when the golden light of the setting sun bled through tall windows and stretched across the marble floors, there was always movement—servants whispering through corridors, guards shifting posts, nobles weaving schemes behind closed doors.
And at the center of it all—
The Crown Prince.
Rowan stood just outside the prince's private chambers, unmoving.
It had been hours since their first meeting in the throne hall, yet the weight of it still lingered in his mind. The execution. The silence. The way Cassian had watched him—not like a ruler observing a subject, but like a predator studying something new.
Something… interesting.
Rowan exhaled slowly.
This assignment was not going to be simple.
The heavy doors behind him opened without warning.
"You're still here."
Rowan turned slightly.
Cassian stepped out, already shedding the outer layers of his royal attire. Without the heavy ceremonial cloak, he looked… different.
Less distant.
More dangerous.
"Yes, Your Highness," Rowan replied. "I was assigned to you."
Cassian's gaze flickered over him briefly before he began walking down the corridor. "Most guards rotate shifts."
"I'm not most guards."
A faint pause.
Then—
"That much is obvious."
Rowan followed a step behind him, his presence quiet but constant.
They walked in silence for a while, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly through the corridor. The setting sun cast long shadows, stretching them side by side across the floor.
Two figures.
Bound now by something neither had chosen.
"Tell me," Cassian said suddenly, "do you plan to follow me everywhere?"
"Yes."
Cassian glanced at him. "Even into places you shouldn't?"
"My duty doesn't change based on location."
A slow smile tugged at the prince's lips.
"How inconvenient."
Rowan didn't respond.
But something in his silence made that smile linger just a second longer.
They turned a corner, the air shifting slightly as they entered a quieter wing of the palace—one less adorned, less crowded.
More private.
"Good," Cassian said after a moment. "Then you'll be useful tonight."
Rowan's gaze sharpened slightly. "Tonight?"
"I have a meeting."
"With?"
Cassian didn't answer immediately.
"That's not information you need," he said at last.
Rowan didn't push.
But he noted it.
Carefully.
---
The room was dimly lit.
A single lantern burned low on a carved wooden table, casting flickering shadows across stone walls. It wasn't a place meant for royalty—not openly.
Which meant this meeting wasn't meant to be seen.
Rowan stepped inside first, his eyes scanning the space instinctively.
Empty.
For now.
Cassian entered behind him, completely at ease, as if stepping into danger was no different from walking through his own chambers.
"You're cautious," the prince noted.
"I'm thorough."
"Mm."
Cassian moved further into the room, stopping near the table. "Stay close."
"I intend to."
A beat of silence.
Then—
The door creaked open.
Rowan's hand shifted instantly to the hilt of his sword.
Three men entered.
Not guards.
Not nobles.
Something else.
Their movements were too controlled. Their eyes too sharp. Their presence too quiet.
Assassins.
Or at least men who lived close enough to death that it didn't scare them anymore.
Rowan stepped slightly forward, placing himself just a fraction ahead of Cassian.
Subtle.
But intentional.
The men noticed.
One of them smirked faintly.
"Well," he drawled, "you've replaced your guard quickly, Your Highness."
Cassian didn't react.
"They were inadequate," he said simply.
The man's gaze shifted to Rowan, assessing. "This one looks… different."
Rowan didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
"Careful," Cassian said, his voice smooth. "He bites."
A quiet chuckle passed between the men.
But Rowan didn't miss the tension beneath it.
This wasn't a friendly meeting.
Not even close.
"Let's not waste time," Cassian continued. "You have information."
"And you have payment."
Cassian's expression didn't change. "You'll receive it."
"After," the man corrected.
A pause.
Then—
Cassian nodded once.
"Speak."
The man leaned slightly against the table, lowering his voice. "There's movement in the northern territories. Not just unrest—organization."
Rowan listened carefully, his attention split between the conversation and the men themselves.
Something felt—
Off.
"…a faction forming against the throne," the man continued. "And from what we've gathered…"
His gaze flickered.
Just for a second.
To Rowan.
"…they already have someone inside the palace."
Rowan's grip tightened slightly on his sword.
Cassian's expression remained unreadable.
"Names," the prince said.
"Not yet confirmed."
"Then your information is incomplete."
"It's enough to warn you."
A pause.
Tension thickened.
Then—
It happened.
Fast.
Too fast for most to react.
One of the men moved—his hand slipping beneath his cloak, steel flashing in the dim light.
Rowan saw it instantly.
A blade.
Thrown.
Straight for the prince.
Time slowed.
Cassian didn't move.
Didn't even flinch.
Because he didn't need to.
Rowan stepped in.
Steel met steel.
The sound rang sharp and loud as Rowan deflected the blade mid-flight, the force of it sending it clattering across the stone floor.
Silence.
Then chaos.
The other men moved.
But Rowan was faster.
He drew his sword in a single fluid motion, stepping fully in front of Cassian now, his presence no longer subtle.
Protective.
Absolute.
"Stay behind me," Rowan said quietly.
Cassian didn't argue.
Didn't move.
But his eyes—
They were no longer calm.
They were watching.
Intently.
The first attacker lunged.
Rowan met him head-on.
Their blades clashed, sparks flying in the dim light. The second man moved to flank him—but Rowan pivoted, forcing both attackers into his line of sight.
Controlled.
Precise.
Efficient.
Every movement was calculated.
No wasted energy.
No hesitation.
The third man—who had thrown the blade—darted toward the door.
Running.
Coward.
Rowan's attention flickered—
Just for a second.
Enough.
The first attacker pressed forward, their blades locking.
"Not bad," the man muttered.
Rowan didn't respond.
He shifted his weight—
Then drove his elbow sharply into the man's throat.
A choke.
A stagger.
An opening.
Rowan took it.
His blade cut clean.
The man dropped.
The second attacker lunged again—but this time, Cassian moved.
Not away.
Forward.
He grabbed a dagger from the table and drove it straight into the attacker's side.
Clean.
Efficient.
Lethal.
The man collapsed with a strangled gasp.
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Broken only by the fading echoes of the fight.
Rowan stood still for a moment, his breathing steady, his sword still raised.
Then—
Slowly—
He lowered it.
"They weren't here to negotiate," Rowan said.
"No," Cassian replied softly.
Rowan turned.
And for the first time—
The distance between them felt… different.
Closer.
Charged.
Cassian stepped toward him.
There was blood on his hand.
Not his own.
His gaze moved over Rowan—not like before, not assessing or testing—
But searching.
"You moved without hesitation," Cassian said quietly.
"That's my duty."
"And if you had been wrong?"
"I wasn't."
A pause.
Then—
Cassian reached out.
Rowan stilled.
The prince's fingers brushed lightly against his jaw—just at the edge of his scar.
A fleeting touch.
But enough.
"Not even a scratch," Cassian murmured.
Rowan's breath hitched—
Barely noticeable.
But real.
"I told you," Rowan said, his voice lower now, "I've seen worse."
Cassian's gaze lifted to meet his.
Close.
Too close.
For a moment—
Neither of them moved.
Then—
Cassian stepped back.
The space returned.
But the feeling didn't.
"Good," the prince said, his tone shifting back to something controlled. "I dislike losing things that belong to me."
The words hung in the air.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Rowan's grip tightened slightly at his side.
"I'm not something you own," he said.
Cassian's lips curved faintly.
"No," he agreed.
A pause.
Then—
"Not yet."
Silence.
Dangerous.
Unspoken.
Rowan didn't respond.
Couldn't.
Because something in his chest had shifted again—
And this time, it wasn't subtle.
Cassian turned, already moving toward the door. "Come," he said. "We have a traitor to find."
Rowan followed.
As always.
But now—
The line between duty and something else had begun to blur.
And neither of them was prepared for what that would become.
---