Chapter Two: The King Unmasked

Eden kept her head lowered, needle threaded, hovering just above the waistline of Seraphine’s gown as heavy bootsteps echoed across the chamber floor.

More followed—measured, deliberate. The kind that belonged to men used to being obeyed.

She didn’t look up.

She’d seen King Cassian before—on parade days, painted in portraits, polished and composed. Always the image of royal restraint.

But this wasn’t that man.

He entered like a storm barely contained. His dark hair was tousled, his jaw clenched, the collar of his deep blue tunic loose enough to reveal the edge of a thin scar. Even the crimson embroidery along his chest looked disrupted—off-center, like he’d dressed in anger.

And his eyes—usually calm in every public image—burned.

Eden’s breath caught.

Cassian swept past her and Garrick without a glance, heading straight for Seraphine. One of his guards leaned in and whispered something. Cassian’s brow twitched. The guard stepped back.

He turned to Seraphine. “Your engagement may not be the only thing in motion tonight,” he said, voice low and clipped. “Cade’s second—Erec—was seen speaking with one of the caterers.”

Eden froze.

The needle in her hand stilled mid-stitch, trembling slightly between her fingers.

Erec.

The name echoed in her skull, louder than the thrum of blood in her ears.

Seraphine raised a perfectly arched brow. “Then deal with it.”

Cassian exhaled through his nose and turned to one of the men behind him. “He’s being held for questioning.”

Eden blinked hard, her vision swimming.

It couldn’t be that Erec. Her brother. He’d vanished after the war—left and never returned. Not for their parents funeral. Not for her.

Not for anything.

He wouldn’t be here now. Not after all this time. And not with Cade.

Eden's hand shook, and the needle slipped—just slightly, but enough.

Seraphine gasped, flinching. “Ow!”

Before Eden could react, the noblewoman spun, fury flashing across her perfect face.

“You imbecile!”

Her hand struck Eden across the cheek with practiced precision.

The sting bloomed fast and hot. Eden dropped to her knees, head bowed low, apology forming on her lips before she could even breathe.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking with shame.

Seraphine loomed above her, voice rising. “Get her out of here. I won’t—”

“Wait.”

Cassian’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

It was the first time he’d acknowledged either of them.

His gaze landed on Eden—truly landed—and she felt the weight of it pin her in place. His eyes narrowed, taking in the flush on her cheek, the bowed head, the trembling hands.

He stepped forward, slow and purposeful.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

Eden swallowed hard. “Eden,” she whispered.

He extended a hand.

“Stand up, Eden.”

She hesitated, heart pounding, then placed her hand in his. His grip was steady—warm, surprisingly gentle for someone who’d stormed in moments ago. As she stood, head still bowed, the sting of Seraphine’s slap burned across her cheek.

Cassian’s eyes traced the mark on her skin. He reached out and tipped her chin up with two fingers.

Her breath caught.

She didn’t meet his gaze. Her green eyes hovered just below his collar, unsteady.

“Someone bring a cold towel,” Cassian said, his voice low and composed—the version of the king people expected.

Then, quieter, to her alone: “If Garrick took you on, I trust you’re here for a good reason.”

Before Eden could respond, a sharp scoff cut through the room.

Seraphine.

She stood just a few paces off, arms crossed, perfectly posed yet clearly seething. “Really, Cassian? This is what draws your attention?”

She turned on her heel and waved her hand at her entourage with a lazy flick.

“Leave us,” she snapped. “The dress still needs to be finished.”

The women looked to one another, hesitant, then quietly slipped out—some casting Eden looks of either pity or disdain, it was hard to tell which.

Once the room had emptied, Seraphine turned to Garrick, her voice clipped. “You. Keep working.”

Garrick hesitated, just for a beat.

He met Eden’s eyes—worried, searching. A silent question passed between them, one neither dared to answer aloud. Then, without a word, he turned back to the gown, steadying the fabric between his hands as if grounding himself in the work.

Eden remained still.

Cassian hadn’t moved from her side.

He studied her, brow furrowing slightly. Not in judgment—but in curiosity, as though some thread had unraveled and he was watching where it might lead.

She kept her eyes down at first, the sting in her cheek pulsing in time with her heartbeat. But then something drew her gaze upward—some pull she didn’t understand until her eyes met his.

Green met blue.

For a long, breathless second, the room felt silent.

Cassian’s expression shifted—only slightly, but enough. The steel of his jaw slackened. His brows lifted. His breath hitched so subtly it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else.

Eden saw it. Felt it.

Because in that moment, she knew: he was seeing someone else. Someone in her.

Her brother.

Cassian took half a step back, his gaze flicking across her features—the curve of her jaw, the shape of her mouth, the color of her eyes—as if confirming what his gut had already told him.

Recognition flashed across his face like lightning behind glass.

And Eden felt the air in the room shift.