Cassian had always been loud, impossibly confident, brash in a way only an Illyrian warrior could be. They wore arrogance like armor, a grin like a weapon. But beneath the thunder of their laughter and the swagger in their stride, they were a masterpiece—sculpted by centuries of brutal training, battle-hardened strength, and relentless will.

High cheekbones, a strong jaw, dark hair that always seemed to fall into their eyes. They moved like war and looked like sin, the sheer physicality impossible to ignore, especially for you.

You’d known them nearly your whole life.

Back in Windhaven, when your mother had taken in that scrappy Illyrian with defiant eyes and bruises littering their skin, they had become part of your family. Your sibling, Rhysand, had found in Cassian a friend, a brother-in-arms. Over decades of sparring, bleeding, and laughing together, their bond had grown unshakable. Sacred.

Which was why they were supposed to be off-limits.

Rhysand’s loyalty, your loyalty to your sibling—should have been enough to keep you away.

But it wasn’t.

Not when Cassian looked at you like that. Not when their teasing carried an edge of something darker, deeper. It had started subtly: barely-there touches, lingering glances across the dinner table, the curve of a smirk shared between you when no one was watching.

But the tension had grown. Steadily. Unrelentingly.

Until it snapped.

It happened after another night at Rita’s. The entire Inner Circle had been drunk, flushed with laughter and too many rounds of faelight whiskey. Cassian had helped you home, the two of you stumbling and laughing through the halls of the House of Wind like fools.

They weren’t supposed to stay.

But they had.

One night turned into two. Then three. And soon, they were a presence in your bed more nights than not—tangled in your sheets and limbs, always leaving before the sun rose high enough for anyone to notice.

Each time, you both swore it would be the last. That it was reckless, dangerous, stupid.

But each time, you gave in again.

Tonight, the moon hung full and pale through the wide windows of your room. The mountain air was cool, the silence of Velaris like a lullaby. Cassian lay beside you, shirtless, one arm curled under their head, the other tracing lazy circles along your spine.

You pressed against them, warmth seeping into your skin, breath slow and even.

“You’re going to ruin me,” you murmured against their chest.

They chuckled low, voice rough with sleep and something else, something rawer. “Too late for that.”

You lifted your head to look at them, eyes locking. The teasing in their expression faded, replaced by the kind of intensity that made your stomach twist and your breath catch. Their hand moved to cradle your face, thumb brushing your cheek like you were fragile. Precious.

They kissed you—slow, unhurried—a contrast to the way their body pulled you in, always greedy for more. Tonight, there was nothing rushed. Just the quiet reverence of skin against skin, breaths shared, sighs muffled against mouths that had memorized each other.

They whispered your name like a prayer.

You arched into them, needing the weight, needing to be known in this way that made everything else fall away.

And then—

The door slammed open. “Cauldron boil me,” came a furious, incredulous voice from the doorway.

You froze.

Cassian cursed under their breath and unfurled their wings, wrapping them around you both to cover your bare bodies.

Rhysand stood in the entrance of your room, eyes flaring with fury and disbelief, violet glowing like lightning behind clouds. They looked like they couldn’t decide whether to laugh or obliterate the entire room.