Brute 190

Chapter 190 

ATASHA’S POV 

Cassian didn’t let go of my hand even after the soldier escorted Lady Kenneth into the room. I moved off his lap only because he needed to sit like a lord in front of a political representative, but he kept me close, our chairs side by side, his arm resting along the back of mine as if he intended to remind everyone who I belonged with. 

Lady Kenneth sat across from us, back straight, expression carefully arranged into polite concern. Her gown was untouched, her hair perfectly arranged, not a single strand out of place. She hadn’t stepped outside during the attack-not even once. If someone saw her now without knowing what happened, they would never believe a rebellion had erupted only hours 

earlier. 

Lucas’ report still echoed in my mind. Witches. Corrupted stones. Soldiers collapsing without the chance to lift a blade. And in the middle of all that, Lady Kenneth had stayed inside her room from start to finish. No scratches, no dust on her sleeves, not even the smell of smoke clinging to her. 

Her hands folded neatly over her lap as she spoke. “What happened today was… deeply unfortunate.” Her gaze flicked to Cassian briefly before returning to us both. “I have witnessed the aftermath. The carnage outside…” She shook her head, letting her voice soften. “I still struggle to believe Matron Yara would dare stage a coup while I was inside these walls.” 

I watched her closely. The words were shaped perfectly, gentle in tone, offended in principle, but I couldn’t shake the tightness in my chest. Matron Yara was reckless, yes, but she wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t try something of this scale unless she believed the representative of the King either supported it… or would stay conveniently uninvolved. 

Lady Kenneth’s face held all the right expressions, but the timing was too neat. 

She waited until the chaos was over. Until the bodies had been dragged from the snow. Until Cassian was upright again. And only then did she request an audience. Not during the screams. Not during the fighting. Not while Cassian was choking on blood in the courtyard. 

Now, the woman looked safe and untouched. 

I felt Cassian’s hand tighten faintly around mine, as if he sensed my thoughts. 

Lady Kenneth continued, her tone almost sympathetic. “I will need to inform His Majesty of everything I witnessed tonight. I will be very thorough in my report.” 

My eyes lifted to Cassian, and I knew he understood the weight of what she was implying. 

She wasn’t here to check on casualties or offer aid. 

She was here to collect information. 

And she had seen plenty. 

During the battle, word had spread quickly. Cassian had fallen. He had coughed blood onto the snow. He had collapsed to his knees in front of soldiers and enemies alike. Even if he rose again-strong, breathing, alive-it didn’t erase the image that dozens of eyes had already seen. 

Cassian Valemont, the Tyrant Lord, brother of the Alpha King, had a moment of weakness. 

A moment the King would hear about. 

And Lady Kenneth would make sure that report reached him. 

I swallowed hard, the realization settling like a heavy stone in my stomach. 

Lucas’ report about witches and corrupted stones already painted a grim picture. The rebellion had been organized and well-informed. Witches. Hidden anchors. Stones powerful enough to shut down entire battalions. And now, ided to that, the representative of the King had witnessed Cassian fall. 

Cassian didn’t flinch or look away. His expression didn’t change, but I felt the tension rising in him again. It wound itself through the air between us, making the space feel tighter. 

Lady Kenneth spoke with the calm confidence of someone who believed every word she said carried weight. Her tone never wavered, and not once did she acknowledge the way the entire room tightened with each sentence. “I am certain the King will want to act swiftly,” she said, her hands folded neatly over her lap as if she were discussing a minor political inconvenience and not the aftermath of a massacre. “He will not overlook what happened.” 

There was nothing casual about the implication. The King would hear about everything-the coup Matron Yara staged under his nose, the witches hidden among her supporters, the corrupted stones, the casualties, and worst of all, the sight that so many soldiers had witnessed in the courtyard. Cassian dropping to his knees. Cassian choking on his own blood. Cassian fighting the corruption inside him until he had nearly collapsed completely. 

The King would hear all of it. 

I looked at Cassian then, and the familiar pressure rose behind my ribs-not fear for myself, but fear of what this meant for him. In the North, strength was more than brute force; it was the foundation of authority. A leader’s power depended on the belief that he could not be broken, that nothing could bring him down. Reputation was armor, heavier and more valuable than steel, and it kept enemies from trying to sink their teeth into the first sign of weakness. 

Tonight, that armor cracked. Too many people saw it. Too many would talk. And now the one person tasked with reporting directly to the King sat in front of us, untouched by the chaos, poised to deliver every detail with perfect clarity. 

Cassian’s jaw tensed again, and his hand shifted slightly on my waist, a silent acknowledgement that he understood exactly what she was doing. He wasn’t afraid. I knew that fear was something he rarely entertained, but he was calculating, already adjusting to the political storm gathering beyond these walls. 

I felt it too, the certainty settling far too easily in my chest. The rebels had been only the beginning, a warning of something deeper and far more dangerous moving underneath the surface. Whatever Matron Yara started wouldn’t end with her arrest or with the bodies in the snow. 

This was only the start of something larger. 

And no matter how much Cassian tried to hide it, no matter how calm he appeared sitting beside me, the truth hung in the air like smoke: 

This wasn’t over. 

Not even close. 

The silence that followed Lady Kenneth’s last statement was stiff enough to hold its own weight. Cassian didn’t move, and neither did I. Lady Kenneth shifted her gaze between us, waiting for a response that Cassian clearly had no intention of giving her. 

Before the tension could stretch any further, the door opened. 

Lucas stepped inside with the same urgency he carried on a battlefield, though he bowed the moment his boots touched the rug. What caught me by surprise wasn’t his expression or his timing-it was the direction he bowed toward. 

Not to Cassian but to me. 

Then, he lowered his head with a level of formality he didn’t often use. “My Lady,” he said, leaning slightly closer so that Lady Kenneth couldn’t hear the next part. “A woman has arrived at the gate. She claims… to be your sister.” 

My entire body froze. 

Every thought I had been juggling, fell away instantly, snuffed out by the single sentence Lucas had spoken A cold jolt shot through me from the base of my spine to the back of my skull. 

My sister. 

Celeste.