CHAPTER 162: CHAPTER 162: A DAY IN THE LIFE OF CASSIAN

A knock came at the door.

Not the thunderous, urgent kind that meant bad news or another royal summons, but the familiar three-tap rhythm of the demon servant who always brought him his breakfast and clothes for the day. Predictable routine. Usually something Cassian met with a groan and a pillow flung over his head.

But not today.

Today, Cassian sat up—still blushing, still internally combusting, still very much a disaster wrapped in rumpled sheets, but a small smile was plastered on his face, even if he had not noticed.

He cleared his throat and called out, "Come in!" in a voice that didn’t quite hide the crack of sleep or the lingering tremble of last night’s dream.

The servant entered with practiced grace, bowing low as always. A silver tray with toast, honeyed fruit, and dark tea was placed gently on the small table near the window. A neatly folded outfit—polished, tailored, and appropriate for today’s etiquette class—was set on the velvet bench by the foot of the bed.

Nothing special or grand. But today, it all looked... different. Brighter. Because for once, he didn’t feel like he was being forced into something he didn’t want. He felt like so many things had finally become clear.

Cassian whispered a soft thank-you as the servant backed out silently, the door closing with a quiet click. He let himself sit in the soft hush that followed, eyes drifting to the breakfast, then the clothes, then the sun streaming in from the tall arched windows.

The world hadn’t changed.

But he had.

Something inside him felt lighter—as if the weight he’d been dragging behind him for so long had finally fallen away. That dream—it should’ve left many questions, but strangely he felt very calm after it.

The dream should’ve left him crawling under his bed and refusing to face anyone for the rest of the week.

And yet...

Cassian chuckled softly to himself, stretching his arms above his head, his hair a wild mess and his cheeks still a little pink. His chest didn’t feel as tight. His throat wasn’t burning from unshed words. For the first time in a long while, he was hopeful for a new day.

He stood and padded barefoot across the floor, grabbing a grape off the tray and popping it into his mouth. As he chewed, his gaze drifted out the window.

Everything in the dream—Dorian’s words, his kiss, the fire in his voice when he said, "You are mine, only mine, now and forever."

Cassian hugged himself lightly, a small, stunned laugh escaping him. "I must’ve lost my mind," he murmured, but there was no panic in his tone—just awe.

And then...he suddenly remembered...

Dorian’s words, from days ago. From that day they argued about him leaving the demon realm and his warning that he would never allow him. He had also said something like that...

"Claim your position back."

At the time, Cassian hadn’t understood. He’d been angry, bitter. He thought it meant bending, submitting, and letting the palace rules define him again. He thought it was a challenge.

But now...

"Only concubines are eligible to become consorts," he whispered to himself, the words slipping out as if remembering a passage from a long-lost book. His fingers clenched the edge of his shirt.

Dorian hadn’t been demanding. He’d been inviting.

Asking Cassian to fight—not for power, not for duty—but for them. For what they used to be. For what they still could be. because he knew the politics in the demon realm ran deeper than any human kingdoms.

He stared at the mirror and saw the way his lips curved up despite himself.

"I wish I’d had that dream before I shouted at him," he muttered, reaching for his clothes. "Would’ve saved myself from such a confrontation."

But there was no real regret in his tone.

Just the dawning knowledge of something real. And now... now that he had it—now that the possibility was blooming behind his ribs like a secret garden—Cassian wasn’t going to let it die.

He’d go to etiquette class. He had done everything that was necessary to get to that position.

And maybe—just maybe—he’d find the courage to talk to Dorian again. Because that place is beside the Demon Lord? He wanted it. And for the first time... he believed it was his rightful place.

Cassian dressed slowly, carefully, his fingers moving over buttons and folds with a quiet attention he rarely gave to palace protocol. Today, it felt like more than just dressing for another boring round of lessons—it felt like preparing for something... significant.

Not because the class itself mattered. Not really. But because he mattered.

By the time he stepped out into the corridor, the palace halls were already humming with quiet morning energy. His boots echoed gently down the polished floor. He glanced around briefly, scanning the halls as he neared the staircase.

No sign of Lyra. He slowed just a little, lips pressing together thoughtfully.

She had left midway through their journey back from the temple, saying she had something to take care of. Cassian hadn’t asked questions—he respected her space, her independence. After all, Lyra did have her own life, her own paths to walk.

Still... he missed her and the way she somehow always knew when he needed a hug.

"Hope she’s okay," he muttered to himself under his breath as he reached the wide double doors of the etiquette hall.

And there—leaning against one of the ivory pillars outside the room like he owned the entire damn wing—was Veyce.

Cassian blinked.

He looked as effortlessly perfect as ever, robes neat, hair tied back in a half-tail with not a strand out of place. His expression was unreadable, though the arch of one pale brow suggested mild surprise. Or amusement. It was always hard to tell with Veyce.

Cassian tilted his head, squinting slightly. "What, waiting to ambush me with a lecture before I even sit down?"

Veyce’s lips quirked into the ghost of a smirk. "Please. If I were planning an ambush, you’d already be on the floor."

Cassian snorted.

Veyce’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary. Then, softly—but with a hint of something sharper—he said, "You look different today."

"Let me guess." Cassian rolled his eyes. "I look smarter than you..."

But Veyce didn’t answer with a quip. Instead, he pushed off the pillar, stepping closer, his eyes narrowing slightly...

"Something happened," he said quietly.

Cassian looked away, adjusting the sleeve of his robe with studied casualness. Veyce replied dryly. "You’re glowing like a fool in love."

Cassian flushed. "I am not glowing. And if I am, it’s just the lighting."

Veyce didn’t press. He simply gestured toward the door. "Come on. The instructor’s inside already. And today’s lecture is on formal court language during consort selection ceremonies."

Cassian paused. Then turned slowly toward him. "...Wait. That’s today’s topic?"