32. Moving Forward

Moving Forward

T o my relief, Cass hadn't gone to bed while I'd been with Ace. He'd finished getting ready for bed, though, so when I stepped back into the monarchal suite, he was wearing pajamas (including, to my sorrow, a shirt), and he'd brushed his hair out so that it rested against his shoulders in shining waves. He looked up from where he was halfway through playing chess against himself, searching my expression.

Whatever he found must have reassured him, because he gave me a half-smile and sat back. "You have a bit of a temper, don't you?"

I shrugged, not meeting his eyes. It was true.

"Are you still angry with me?" he asked.

"I wasn't really angry in the first place," I said. I sighed and walked over to him, then dropped heavily into the seat across from him. "I'm not that great at being emotionally vulnerable, and being tangled up with you… it strips off all my shields. It's not bad, but I'm not good at it." I shrugged, feeling awkward about the admission. "I was hurt, I guess. It feels like we take three steps forward and two steps back sometimes."

His expression eased. "That's still progress."

"I know. I just hate going backwards." I sprawled back against the chair. "I guess it's only been six days, though, huh? Maybe I shouldn't be so high-strung."

Cass hooked an arm over the back of the chair with a smile. "You were talking to Vaylir."

"Listening in?" I asked.

He lifted a wing in a half-shrug. "Through the Court, and only at a surface level. I wanted to make sure I wasn't supposed to follow you to make amends."

I scrunched up my face with disgust before he even finished. "Don't do that. I hate that."

"Yes," he said, breathing a laugh. "That was the sense I was getting. "

I examined the chess board so that I didn't have to look in his eyes. "About Vaylir…"

He leaned forward and tapped the chessboard. "Your move. Go on."

"Did you know they have infertility spells on them? The dukes, I mean." I chose a piece, mostly at random, and moved it to a plausible location. I wasn't very good at chess.

"Many people do," Cass said, frowning at the board. "I have one. Vad and Dani both do, too. I did Vad's myself." He moved a rook. "Check."

"Yeah, well, I'm assuming Vad's won't kill him if he tries to remove it." It took me a second to figure out how I was in check. I hopped a pawn forward to take the hit, instead. "They're all the last of their lines, apparently. The last last, since none of them can have kids. I was hoping you could break the spells for them. I, uh," I added, blushing a little, "implied as much to Vaylir. He seemed pretty moved by the offer."

"Fucking Omahice," he growled. "Daesarys was a ruthless bastard. For all that I tried to save him, and for as much as I dislike being King, I'm glad he's dead." Cass glared at the chessboard for a moment, a focused look on his face, then shook his head and took my pawn with his knight.

I knocked over my king instead of making a move, earning a bark of laughter.

"You weren't checkmated," he said, sounding amused.

"Yeah, well, I'm shit at chess. You were going to beat me eventually." I dropped my chin onto my hand and smiled at him. "Will you do it? And while you're at it, could you keep taking care of Vaylir's leg, even once he leaves palace grounds? He gave permission."

Cass smirked back, his expression one of bemused tolerance. "Being free with my favors, Quyen?"

I flicked my fingers at him. "It's not like I have any of my own to give. Plus, infertility spells are your domain. You're the reflexive command healer who channeled an entire Court's wild magic, not me."

"True enough." He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded me. "Unlike the rest of Mercy, those three duchies have enough of a memory of being their own Courts that they could theoretically break loose. Reinstating those royal lines risks destabilizing the Court." Cass raised a brow at me, like a challenge—or invitation.

He did this that first day, too , I realized. My brows drew together. Despite the fact that he was offering points against what I wanted, he wasn't exactly saying no. Cass had been surprised, too, when I'd stopped engaging with him before— "But we haven't concluded a bargain."

Maybe he wasn't trying to be combative, or to weasel out of answering. This could be his way of thinking things through out loud, and of trying to find the best path forward .

The man had spent three hundred years in the fae equivalent of medical school, after all. It probably shouldn't surprise me that he made decisions like an academic, complete with presumably-friendly debate.

It was worth a shot, at least.

"Fae have a pretty low birthrate, though, right?" I countered, raising my own brow. "The chances of them having kids in the next few years seems unlikely, and given how land-tied you are, I suspect that by then, even the duchies will know who's boss."

Cass inclined his head towards me. Point to Quyen. "It's still not negligible, though. Is that a risk you're willing to take?" He hesitated, then added, "I suspect losing part of the Court would be physically very painful for me, and likely for you, too, even without us being balanced. I imagine it would be something like having my wings torn off my back."

Nausea and guilt twisted inside me. The image of young Cass playing with his power slipped into my mind: a little boy, plucking the wings off a dragonfly.

Maybe I deserve it.

"You don't. You don't deserve that," I said, the rejection out of my mouth before I could think of how Cass might react to having me answer his thoughts out loud.

His skin darkened with embarrassment. Cass looked away. "More than ten thousand people died during my ascension," he said, his eyes unfocused and voice steady. "We don't have a complete count of the missing, yet. It's likely many more were lost in the upheaval."

"Could you have controlled it?" I asked. "If you'd known it was going to happen? Sat there next to Omahice and held his hand while he killed himself to make you King? Would it have changed anything?"

His ears flattened against his skull. His jaw clenched, the muscle standing out.

I didn't need him to speak to hear the answer: No.

"Yeah. That's what I thought." I pushed myself up and stretched, lacing my fingers above my head. "Forced sterilization is cruel and inhumane. You've got the chance to undo one of the crimes of our predecessor, and I think you should take it. Omahice was a conqueror, but we don't have to be." I walked over and ran my fingers along the cool metal of his wing in a caress. "Our legacy can be healing. Don't you think that's worth the risk?"

"Ours," Cass murmured, then sighed out a heavy breath, his whole body relaxing as he did. He tilted his head back, black hair pooling across his shoulders, and gave me a weary smile. "If we do this, we ought to tell them, and we ought to be careful about how. A child might be an unpleasant surprise if they're relying on what was forced upon them, and I doubt any of them would take kindly to feeling as if we're using false benevolence to ensnare them in debt."

"Ace mentioned that. Vaylir, I mean," I said, smiling back down at him. I set my hand on his wing and left it there. "I told him it wasn't being merciful. We were paying back the debt we inherited."

He snorted, but the corner of his mouth kicked higher, and he leaned a little bit of his weight into my hand. "I wondered what that shift in debt meant. I suppose it's lucky to have a mortal soulmate who can say such things, and in doing so make them true."

The warmth of his regard settled into me, like having a cat purring on my chest. "You'll do it?"

"Why not? I'll try after I get some sleep," he said, with that easy smile on his face. "And I'll see to Vaylir's pain as best I can. I may need to spend some time convincing Mercy when he reaches the Sagebrush Duchy again, but I believe I should be able to do so."

He was so open. Even without the ability to step past the gates of his heart, it would be impossible not to see the man behind those gold-flecked eyes. It scared me—a little bit, at least. I didn't do that sort of vulnerability, but if I wanted Cass, I suspected that cracking myself open the way he did would be the only way to keep him.

"Thank you," I said softly, feeling the balance of the world shift under my feet.

His ear tilted towards me in soft focus. "It's my pleasure, your majesty."

"Giving me a little respect, splendor?" I asked, raising my brows.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

I wrinkled my nose, somewhat embarrassed at how much I did. "I do."

"Good." Cass flashed me a brighter smile. "It was never my intention to deny you pet names, for what it's worth. Until today, I hadn't heard you call anyone anything aside from their formal names, titles, or chosen name. I assumed you disliked diminutives, and acted accordingly."

"When you assume, it makes an ass out of you and me," I said pertly. "I don't like when people shorten my name, but I do like pet names."

His lips twitched. "So it seems."

I patted him on the wing and stepped back so he could get up without risking slashing me with the sharp edge. "Go to bed, Cass. I'd like some sleep."

"Think up some names for me with a little less formality, of your kindness," Cass said, getting to his feet with a groan. "I'll see if I can't resign myself to hearing you call me 'splendor,' but I'm fonder of affection than respect."

"Maybe I think you're resplendent," I said, smirking up at him.

He snorted, rolling his eyes. "It's the wings," he said drily, cocking them so they caught the light, flashing a reflection up onto the vaulted ceiling. "They can be quite bright under the right conditions. Stymphalian birds often use sunlight to blind their opponents. "

I gave him a doe-eyed blink, schooling my face into innocence. "Would you prefer if I directed my respect there?"

"Yes, actually," Cass said with a laugh. He folded them back down and sauntered across the room to his door. "I have a great deal of respect for stymphalian wings. There's a reason I'm the only Fury who has them."

"Oh?"

He paused in the doorway, wearing a very self-satisfied expression, and stretched one wing out to its fullest extent. Underneath it, the thin leather over the bottom half of his shirt was gouged half to death, witness to the deadly power of even his inner feathers. "I'm the only one who can't accidentally kill myself with them, dove."