Chapter 270
Atasha’s POV
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The tent smelled like blood before I even pushed the flap aside.
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It was thick in the air, mixed with damp cloth, sweat, crushed herbs, and the sharp metallic edge that clung to skin no matter how much water you poured over it. The ground had been packed down with boards and canvas, but mud still crept in at the edges, tracked by boots and stretchers and bodies dragged in too fast for anyone to clean properly.
Lanterns hung from poles driven into the earth, their light uneven, casting shadows that moved every time someone rushed past.
This was not a real infirmary. It was what people built when there was no time to wait for one.
Rows of makeshift beds lined the tent, some nothing more than cloaks spread over crates, others reinforced with scavenged planks and rope. Wounded soldiers filled them, some conscious and biting back pain, others drifting in and out, faces pale, lips cracked, eyes unfocused. Healers moved constantly between them, hands slick with blood, sleeves rolled past elbows that were already stained beyond saving.
I stepped in and went straight to work.
The first man had a gash across his thigh where a beast’s claws had torn through muscle. He was shaking, teeth clenched, breath coming too fast. I pressed my palm against the wound and pushed my power forward, steady and controlled. Flesh pulled together under my hand, skin sealing, bleeding slowing to nothing. His breath hitched, then eased.
I moved on without waiting for thanks.
Another had burns across his forearm, skin blistered and blackened where fae–charged explosives had gone off too close. Healing fire wounds always took more focus. I worked slowly, forcing myself not to rush, ignoring the ache that had already begun to settle behind my eyes.
Someone groaned behind me. Someone shouted for more bandages. A healer swore softly when a patient seized.
I did not stop.
By the time Grace reached me, my hands were already stained again.
“Your Highness,” she said carefully, raising her voice just enough to reach me over the noise. “His Highness is
here.”
I did not look up. “I am busy.”
Grace hesitated, which told me immediately that she was not going to leave this time.
“I believe you need to talk to him,” she said. “I do not mean to be disrespectful, but it has been a few days.”
Three days, I thought.
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Chapter 270
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Three days since the capital. Three days since the throne room. Three days since Cassian tried to pull me out and I refused to move.
I kept healing because it was easier than speaking. I came back south with the wounded because it gave my anger somewhere to go that did not end in broken things or words I could not take back. Cassian had remained near Nightfall with the King, coordinating, planning, preparing for whatever waited at the passage. And I had not spoken to him since.
Not once.
I finished sealing the last wound and pulled my hand away, flexing my fingers as the dull ache crept deeper into my wrist.
“Clean up here,” I said to Grace. “Make sure they rotate healers before anyone collapses.”
Grace nodded immediately, relief crossing her face. “I will handle it.”
I wiped my hands on a clean cloth, stripped off the outer layer of my gloves, and stepped out of the tent.
Cassian was waiting a short distance away.
He stood near a supply cart, armor scuffed and marked, his coat hanging open despite the cold, eyes fixed on the tent flap as if he had been expecting me to emerge at any moment. When he saw me, his posture shifted slightly.
“Let’s take a walk,” I said.
He nodded without speaking.
We moved away from the camp together, past rows of tents and guarded supply lines, until the noise dulled behind us. The land sloped downward, the ground uneven but firm, and soon the river came into view below the cliff’s edge. It cut through the terrain in a wide, steady line, dark water moving fast from recent storms. The air was cooler here, carrying the scent of wet stone and churned earth rather than blood.
We stopped near the edge, far enough back that no one would accuse us of being careless.
“If I am right,” I said, breaking the silence. “We are heading to the passage in a few hours.”
Cassian did not deny it. “You do not have to come.”
I turned to face him. “Who will heal you if I do not?”
That stopped him.
He shifted his weight and looked away toward the river before turning back to me. “We are not even certain the anchor is there,” he said. “If you are wrong, you could push yourself for nothing. You could hurt yourself.”
“I can heal myself,” I said. “And I can heal you.”
His jaw tightened, teeth pressing together hard enough that I saw the muscle jump.
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Chapter 270
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The conversation stalled, neither of us willing to yield ground. He watched me for a long moment.
Then he exhaled through his nose and said, “Do you understand that this could be a suicide mission?”
I did not look away. “Is that why the King is going with you?”
Cassian’s gaze flicked toward the horizon. “The King is the King for a reason,” he said. “He is strong. Stronger than any Alpha.”
I nodded, accepting that answer without agreeing with it.
My thoughts drifted to the camp behind us, to the banners I had seen earlier, the crests from different territories staked into the ground near command tents.
Other Alphas and packs had sent soldiers. Healers as well as supplies. This place sat near Nightfall, close enough to feel the aftershocks, but the beasts had not reached it. A temporary barrier surrounded the area. It was made of fae stones that had been embedded in the earth, reinforced by controlled detonations using fae- charged explosives. It was not elegant and it was not permanent, but it held, for now, just enough to keep the tide from spreading.
Cassian let out a long breath and scrubbed a hand over his face.
“I am sorry,” he said.
The words surprised me enough that I did not respond immediately.
“I should not have tried to pull you out like that,” he continued. “I should have told you sooner. I thought keeping you away would protect you. Instead, it only made things worse.”
I watched him carefully. “I was angry,” I admitted. “And I still am.”
Cassian met my gaze, and for the first time since the throne room, the tension between us eased just enough to let something steady take its place.
I let out a sigh. “This isn’t just your fight Cassian… it’s ours. I’m your mate for a reason.”
For a moment, he did not answer.
His
gaze stayed on me, intense enough that it felt like pressure against my skin. Then he stepped closer, close enough that the cold air between us vanished, close enough that the heat from his body replaced it.
Cassian lifted both hands and cupped my face.
His palms were rough, still carrying the faint scrape of battle and the calluses that came from holding steel more than anything else. His thumbs brushed my cheekbones as if he needed to confirm I was real, as if touching me was the only way to ground himself.
“I could not stand it,” he said, and his voice sounded lower than before. “If something happens to you, I could
not stand it.”
My brows tightened. I hated how quickly my throat started to burn.
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Chapter 270
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I should have snapped back. I should have reminded him that I already nearly died once, that the world did not pause because he was afraid.
Instead, the truth hit me in a different way.
I could not stand it either.
Not the idea of him bleeding, not the idea of him being torn apart by beasts or spells or whatever waited behind that passage. But what was worse than seeing him hurt was being forced to stand somewhere safe while it happened, knowing my hands could have been on him, knowing my power could have kept him standing.
Cassian’s eyes searched mine, as if he could read the thought before I said it.
“You can still stay,” he said. “You have done enough. You have healed enough. You do not have to walk into that place with us.”
I swallowed, then shook my head.
“I cannot,” I said.”I would rather die than let you enter that place without me.”
Cassian’s jaw clenched so hard that the muscle in his cheek jumped again. His hands stayed on my face, holding me there, forcing me to meet him head–on as if he could fix my stubbornness by sheer force.
Then he turned my head slightly, not to look away, but as if he was trying to breathe around the frustration in his chest.
His eyes returned to mine, and something in his expression shifted into helpless disbelief.
“You really are the bane of me,” he said. The words should have sounded like a complaint, but they came out like a confession he did not know how to take back.
A smile pulled at my mouth before I could stop it. “Good,” I murmured. “I like that idea.”
Cassian stared at me like he wanted to argue again, like he wanted to list every reason this was dangerous and irrational and reckless, but the argument did not come. Instead, his hands tightened a fraction, and his thumbs brushed my cheeks again, slower this time.
I rose onto my toes.
I tilted my head and pressed a small kiss to his chin, right where the line of his jaw met the faint stubble that had grown in the past days.
Cassian froze for a heartbeat.
Then he lowered his head.
This time… I kissed his lips.
The contact was warm and firm, and it cut through the cold air so fast that my body reacted before my thoughts could. For a second, everything else disappeared, the camp behind us, the barrier, the passage, the
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Chapter 270
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King, Nightfall, all of it pushed out by the simple fact that Cassian was here and I was here and we were still alive.
His mouth moved against mine like he had been holding back for days, like restraint had been forced on him and he had reached the edge of it. One of his hands slid into my hair, fingers tightening slightly at the base of my skull as he kept me close, as if letting go would tempt the world to take me again.
I pulled back just enough to breathe, my forehead nearly brushing his.
Cassian’s eyes stayed locked on mine, darker now, full of the kind of hunger that did not belong only to battle.
And then someone cleared their throat behind us.
Cassian did not turn immediately. His hand remained on my face, as if he refused to acknowledge anything that tried to interrupt us.
I turned my head first, irritation flaring before I even saw who it was.
A messenger stood a few paces away, posture stiff, gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder as if he had decided looking directly at us would get him killed. His armor carried the capital’s crest, and his expression was tight with urgency.
“Your Highness,” he said, voice careful, directed to Cassian first and then flicking briefly to me. “The King says… it is time.”
AD
