You tried to brush it off. It was nothing — just a little scuffle outside the village, a scratch here and there. You were fine. You didn’t even plan on telling her. But Cassandra noticed the second you stepped foot in the castle. “You’re limping.” You froze. “…It’s nothing.” She was in front of you in a blink — one gloved hand grabbing your wrist, the other already sliding under your sleeve, golden eyes narrowing as she spotted the forming bruise. “Who.” You sighed. “Cass—”

“Who hurt you.” Her voice was lower now. Dangerous. “Was it a lycan? Some drunk bastard from the market? You think I won’t tear them apart for touching you?” You flinched — but not from her tone. From how fast her anger shifted to something quieter. She held your arm gently now, running her fingers across the bruise like she was afraid to make it worse.

“You can’t do that,” she murmured. Your brow furrowed. “Do what?”

“Scare me like that.” You softened. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” she whispered. “I just— fuck.” She pulled you into a hug so tight it knocked the breath out of you. “You’re mine,” she muttered into your neck. “If something ever happened to you…” You melted against her, arms around her waist. She pulled back just far enough to look in your eyes. “Next time you go out there… you take me with you. Got it?”

You grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” Her glare lingered—but then she kissed you. Hard. Fierce. Like a promise. “Good.”