Chapter Three: Under the Needle's Eye

Cassian’s eyes didn’t leave Eden's face.

She could feel the weight of his silence pressing into her skin, heavier than Seraphine’s slap. Her pulse drummed in her ears, louder now that the room had quieted, louder still under the scrutiny of a king who had gone still as stone.

Finally, he spoke.

“What’s your full name?”

His voice was calm, but edged—like the moment before a blade was drawn.

Eden’s throat tightened. Her lips parted, but for a moment, nothing came out.

She hadn’t said it in so long. Not fully. Not where it mattered. Not where it could make her bleed.

She glanced once toward Garrick. He’d gone perfectly still behind the gown, his jaw set, hands frozen mid-stitch.

Eden looked back to Cassian.

“Eden,” she said softly. Then, after a breath that felt like it might shatter her chest, “Eden Briar.”

The name hung in the air like a thread suspended between two needles—fragile, glinting, impossible to ignore.

Cassian’s eyes darkened—not with anger, but with something far sharper. Recognition gave way to calculation, his posture straightening as if a weight had locked into place across his shoulders.

“Briar,” he repeated, quiet and clipped.

He stepped back, just slightly, like putting distance would help him see her more clearly.

“You’re Erec’s sister.”

Eden flinched at the name. It sounded foreign coming from Cassian’s mouth. Heavy. Accusatory.

Her voice trembled. “I didn’t know he was—”

Cassian cut her off with a wave of his hand, turning away briefly as if speaking to the far wall. “You expect me to believe this is coincidence? That his sister—unknown, unmentioned—just appears in my castle, at my bride’s side, days before the engagement?”

“I—” Eden’s voice broke. “I didn’t know he was alive.”

Cassian turned back toward her, his eyes narrowing. The fury from before hadn’t returned—but suspicion was worse. It was colder. Harder. More dangerous.

“You’ve been living under Garrick’s roof. Close to the merchant quarter. Near Cade’s lines.”

He took a step forward.

“Are you his messenger? His spy?”

Eden’s breath caught.

“I’m a seamstress,” she whispered.

“That’s a convenient cover,” Cassian snapped.

Before she could respond, Garrick’s voice cut through the room like a blade drawn across stone.

“That’s enough.”

Cassian’s gaze snapped to Garrick—sharp, assessing.

“I’ve tracked Cade’s movements for years,” Garrick said, stepping forward, placing himself just slightly between Eden and the king. “I’ve reported every shift—new recruits, loyal merchants, smuggled messages hidden in crates of fabric. You’ve trusted my word this long.”

His tone was steel—firmer than Eden had ever heard.

“She was barely eight when I found her—half-starved, hiding in the ruins of her family’s estate. I took her in, gave her my name, taught her the trade. She’s lived quietly ever since. If she’d had contact with Erec, or anyone else in Cade’s network, I would’ve known. And I would’ve told you.”

Cassian didn’t speak.

Garrick continued, slower now. Quieter. “She’s not a threat, Cassian. She’s a girl who lost everything and learned to make something with her hands because it was the only thing no one could take from her.”

Eden swallowed hard, emotion building like a tide she couldn’t stop.

“She’s loyal to the kingdom because she was raised to be loyal to people who did right by her. That’s it. That’s all.”

Cassian didn’t speak.

He studied Garrick in silence, the weight of his gaze like a blade balanced on edge. His eyes moved slowly—over the lines etched deep into Garrick’s face, the steadiness of his shoulders, the unwavering calm in his voice. The silence stretched, but Garrick didn’t waver. He stood with the quiet certainty of a man who had long ago made peace with the consequences of truth.

Cassian’s jaw tensed. He looked past Garrick, toward Eden.

She hadn’t moved.

Her hands were still at her sides, her cheek still red from the slap. But she stood straight. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t shrink beneath his scrutiny.

And that, somehow, said more than anything she could have offered in words.

He tilted his head slightly, as if seeing her for the first time—not just as a girl in the wrong place, but as a piece of something larger. A threat. Or a tool.

“If she’s lying,” Cassian said finally, his voice low and cold, “you’ll lose more than your shop.”

Garrick didn’t blink. “Then I won’t have anything to lose.”