Cassian had seen battlefields drenched in blood, skies split by flame, and cities brought to their knees. He’d faced monsters, gods, and the endless ache of survival. But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for the sight of her.

She was light.

All light.

The kind that made men believe in gentler worlds. He shouldn’t have been there. The polished marble halls, the crystal chandeliers, the murmuring nobles in their finery—all of it belonged to her world, not his. He was a soldier, wings scarred and armor long shed, the General of the Night Court with hands better suited for swords than silk. He’d promised himself he would stay away—that he wouldn’t taint her grace with the shadow of what he was.

And yet, there he was.

Hidden in the dark corner of the Velaris theatre, bouquet in hand, staring at the stage like a fool.

The music began softly, a slow, aching melody that climbed through his ribs and wrapped around his heart. Then she appeared.

His mate.

Dressed in white that shimmered like moonlight, every movement of hers seemed to defy gravity itself. She turned, leapt, spun—and gods, the world stopped. Cassian had always believed battle was where souls were laid bare, but watching her dance was its own kind of war. Every breath she took, every sweep of her arms, struck him like an arrow to the chest.

She was everything he could never be: grace, beauty, control. And yet, beneath all that poise, he saw the fire—the stubborn will, the courage that had always met his own.

His chest tightened as applause erupted around him. He clapped once, twice, then stopped, staring down at the crumpled flowers in his hands. He’d meant for them to be perfect—arranged and elegant, like something worthy of her. But in the end, they were a mess of wild blooms, hastily gathered from a street vendor outside the theatre. Like him—rough around the edges, unrefined, desperate.

Still, he went to her.

Through the murmuring crowd, through corridors lined with mirrors and soft laughter, until he found the quiet of backstage. The scent of her hit him first—fresh lilies, faint sweat, and something softer, sweeter, that belonged only to her.

She was alone, still in her costume, her hair pinned up, her skin glowing from the performance. She turned at the sound of his boots.

“Cassian.”

Her voice was quiet. Tired. Wary.

He froze, wings pulled tight against his back, throat dry. “You were… breathtaking.” The words came rough, too small for what he meant. He offered the bouquet, petals slightly crushed in his hands. “For you.”

She stared at the flowers for a long moment before taking them gently, as if afraid they might break.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

He laughed, low and pained. “I know. You deserve someone who fits in this world. Someone who doesn’t bleed all over it.”

Her gaze softened. “And yet, you came.”

He did. And it undid him.

Cassian stepped closer, close enough that the scent of her made his pulse stutter. “I told myself I’d stay away. That I wouldn’t drag you down with me. But then I saw you on that stage and—” He swallowed hard. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t pretend I don’t want you.”

Her hand trembled as it brushed the back of his. “Cassian…”

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice breaking. “I’m sorry I pushed you away. I thought I was protecting you, but I was just protecting myself from how much I love you.”

The words hung between them, heavy and raw.

He looked at her the way a man looks at the sun—knowing it might blind him, and not caring. “You’re everything I’ll never deserve,” he murmured, his wings lowering in quiet submission. “But if you’ll have me—gods, if you’ll just let me try—I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I can be enough for you.”

Outside, applause still echoed faintly from the stage. But here, in the dim light and quiet between them, Cassian finally stopped running.