The castle’s grand hall is alive with music, candlelight, and laughter. The dresses shimmer, the wine flows, and you —gorgeous and glowing in that outfit she helped pick — are standing just a bit too far from Cassandra for her liking. You’re smiling at someone. Chatting. Laughing. Being polite.

The problem? That someone is definitely flirting with you. From across the room, Cassandra watches. Jaw clenched. Hands flexing at her sides. She doesn’t storm over like Daniela might. She doesn’t cause a scene. No— Cassandra moves quietly, weaving through the crowd like a shadow with a mission.

She comes up behind you and slides her hand along your lower back, slow, firm, deliberate. “Having fun?” she says, voice low and sweet — too sweet. You turn, surprised, but she’s already pressing a kiss just beneath your ear. Her arm coils around your waist, pulling you closer than polite society would ever approve of.

To the flirt, she doesn’t even pretend to smile. “She’s taken.”The poor soul stammers something and stumbles away, and Cassandra only tightens her grip. Your heart’s racing, both from the tension and the heat of her mouth near your neck. “Really?” you whisper. “Jealous?” Her gaze cuts into yours, dark and dangerous.

“I don’t share,” she says simply. “Not you. Not ever.” And after that? She doesn’t leave your side once — gloved fingers on your hip, your shoulder, the small of your back. Every move a quiet reminder: you’re hers. And she dares anyone to try again.