After the ceremony with the Septon, the feasting hall was alive with excitement. Lords and ladies of both Courts gathered, their voices filling the air as the celebration began in earnest. The musicians played lively tunes, and servants weaved between the guests, ensuring no one went without a glass of wine. Cassian and you, however, stood somewhat apart from the crowd, your forced proximity a reminder of the arrangement rather than a celebration of it. Though the expectation was clear: remain close, act as if this was a union born of love and desire, neither of you could quite muster the enthusiasm for the act. Cassian’s broad shoulders were tense as he surveyed the room, his usual confident posture softened by a quiet frustration that only someone who knew him well would notice. A servant passed by with a tray of wine goblets, his eyes wary but respectful as he offered them to Cassian first. Without hesitation, Cassian took two, his strong fingers wrapping around the stems with practiced ease. He handed you one of the goblets, a faint, knowing smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

You took the glass with a slight tilt of your head, your gaze never leaving his. After a slow sip, you muttered under your breath, “Wanker.”

Cassian’s sharp hearing caught the words immediately, his dark eyes snapping to you. There was a flicker of amusement in his expression, but it was tempered by the same gruffness that seemed to color everything about him. “Did you just call me a wanker?”

You gave him a half-hearted smile, swirling your drink in your hand as you kept your gaze steady. “I called myself a wanker. But you’re probably one too.”

His eyebrow twitched, the faintest spark of challenge in his eyes, but it was quickly followed by the low chuckle that only Cassian could produce—loud enough to catch the attention of a few nearby guests. He took a long swig from his goblet, his grin now widening. “Well, if the boot fits…” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough for you to hear.