Cassian, similarly, wasn’t a great sleeper. You didn’t carry the weight of a growing empire on your shoulders and sleep like a baby. Not unless you were a psychopath. Cassian wasn’t there yet.

This night, sleep wasn’t coming. He wanted to not care, to suppress the exchange with Regan, but he found himself caring, and to use the ring too often would change him in a way he didn’t want to change. Magic was not to be trifled with.

He should have been sleeping, but he was still dressed for the day and sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to process the unprocessed situation from the day before. He found it largely indigestible. He had minor breakthroughs, but overall he was left with confusion.

A walk, perhaps, would clear his mind. A walk to where he knew Regan resided might help, too. No, a walk without her, without words. Just the night sky and the cooling air.

He rose from the bed, ran a hand through his end-of-day hair, and opened his door. He stopped in the doorway, eyes on Regan. No words, just a look. A little less neutral than normal and a little more weary.

Regan’s dark eyes fell on Cassian as if she’d known he would emerge and was only waiting for him to appear. There was a charged energy in their inky blackness, though now no flames could form.

When she stood, Regan's approach was slow, but not hesitant or apologetic. If she were in her wolf form, her tail would have swiped in low, expectant swooshes, her ears tilted back in deference. But she would not have stooped and slithered across the ground to him like before. Regan's head would be high, her gaze level.

Regan stopped until she was just close enough that she’d need to tip up her chin to look at her king, hands tucked behind her back as if standing at attention. She was close enough that her voice only needed to be a gentle rumble to be heard.

“Can I come with you, Your Majesty?” Because he must be going somewhere, she thought, dressed in boots and day clothes at this hour. The where didn’t matter to her—never did. Just that she could come along wherever Cassian went.

In truth, Cassian had been going in search of her. He wasn’t about to admit that. He wasn’t sure of the conflicting surges in him, the one to step back from her, the one to step up against her, the one to deny her, and the one to draw her into his chamber. The last thought alone sickened him. He was above her, heads and shoulders, knees and toes above her. She was a commoner with little reputation except that which he had bestowed on her. She owed him everything, and yet his chest still hurt because of her hand.

He raised his brows eyes so slightly, granting her wish, and moved past her with purposeful strides. He had decided where he was pretending he was headed. At the end of the hall, the two royal guards on duty would fall into step, keeping a distance between themselves and Regan.

Should she keep silent, Cassian’s path would lead him out of the castle entirely and down to the beach of black sands close to the castle. Seeing the king leaving the castle, two additional royal guards would fall into step, as well as a soldier pair on duty. No one spoke. They just did their jobs.

Regan fell into step, just behind Cassian’s shoulder, as always a little closer than she needed—or had the right—to be. She kept pace, though she found herself growing more and more agitated with each step. Cassian was attuned to her enough that he’d likely noticed the unsettled energy and bristling wolf that was just under the surface. They exited the castle, the black sand sinking beneath their boots as they walked. Regan’s impulse was of course to speak. To vomit every thought that buzzed in her head like a swarm of bees.

But she was determined not to. For once, Regan had decided to wait him out—though not without effort. Her jaw was clenched to keep her tongue behind her teeth as she waited, salt air whipping her hair out from behind her ear.

Cassian went to the edge of the water, so that each tired wave that crept up the black shores licked the toes of his boots. He cast his gaze into the sea of darkness, searching it as if his answers lay within.

The guard tails, seeing he had settled, backed even more to give them privacy. They knew the king’s habits well enough.

Regan joined him at the edge of the water so that her feet lined up with his. So that they stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing out at the dark waves as they rolled in. She would continue to focus on resisting the temptation to speak, breathing deeply to let the cool salt air fill her lungs.

1...2...3...

While Cassian’s eyes remained on the black and churning sea, Regan’s eyes would not stay fixed. Occasionally, subtly—or so she hoped—her eyes would flicker over to Cassian as if to check he was still there. Still, she was determined not to speak first, though the silence was growing more and more difficult to bear.

Cassian's back was to Regan. He was oblivious of her eyes. In fact, he seemed entirely oblivious of her presence. The truth was that he was not. He was acutely honed in on her, her breathing, her movement, and what she was emoting.

Determined, and easily silent, Cassian did not speak. If Regan refused to break the barrier, they would remain this way for a good fifteen minutes before Cassian abruptly turned and headed back towards the castle.

Regan was, for all her chaos, a predictable creature. Silence was not something she tolerated well, and eventually, her tenuous hold on her tongue snapped. It was only minutes before she couldn't help herself and buzzing bees of her thoughts escaped their hive.

"Did a healer come?" It was one way to ask if he was alright, but Regan figured that was a bigger question than one explicitly regarding the wound on his chest. There was no whisper or apology in her voice. Instead, there was a provoking tension in her tone, like the cracking of a dam nearly ready to break.

Cassian flinched ever so slightly when she did eventually talk. He’d been expecting it but not counting on it. Her words were…obnoxious. Irritation flared in him.

“Not your concern.” His voice was quiet, ensuring none standing guard would overhear.

Regan’s brow furrowed, and her irritation flared to match Cassian’s. Not her concern? Cassian was her only concern. Surely she’d made that plain by now. Surely she’d earned more than a cold shoulder and a silent tongue.

“Why shouldn’t it be?” Regan’s voice was low too, as Cassian’s tone had reminded her of the guards she’d nearly forgotten. The question was, despite the tension in her body, surprisingly sincere when it left her lips.

“Because,” Cassian returned, uncharacteristically quick to the bite, “you are my huntsman. You take orders. You protect me from harm.” That last statement carried the most sarcasm Cassian ever used—which was totally minimal, easily overlooked. “There should be no further concern aside from those things.”

He still hadn’t looked at her. He dare not, lest his resolve crumble and he admit—even only to himself—that her concern was a part of why he trusted her. Used to trust her. Still trusted…? He was deeply angry and confused. Best not to talk when in this state, but her desperate mess was too great to ignore.

Regan had already felt the knife of Cassian’s rejection side between her ribs. It had been twisting there for days now, festering as she grew accustomed to the pain. So now, it was indigence and rage that boiled up where pain and hurt might have otherwise cooled it.

“I do and I did,” Regan retorted in a hushed but sharp whisper, “And if you think I do that because—because of some title—“ The frustration was too much now. Unless stopped, she’d put herself in front of him, so that the sea was above her ankles and he eyes before Cassian and not the horizon.

“If you think I’d hesitate for one second if gutting myself like a fish would make a difference, then I don’t know what you think of me. I don’t know what you see.” Regan was spitting now like a cornered animal.

Cassian was forced to look at her when she moved in front of him, irresponsibly wetting her boots. His own anger began to climb. Clearly she was overstepping boundaries, forcing something he wasn’t establishing himself. Did she even respect him as king anymore, or had he set in her the confidence she needed to take the blade that had stabbed him in the back—no, sliced him across the chest. The only way? She had wanted to hurt him. She had wanted to prove he was not untouchable. Now she had what she wanted, and it still wasn’t enough.

He grabbed his anger by the horns and mastered it, flaring nostril and tense eyes stilling at once, growing as cold as they did before he breathed ice. He had let her touch him before, and at once he resolved not to let it happen again. Cassian would have no weakness, not in a wife, not in his children, and not in a huntsman who forgot her place.

“Neither do I anymore.” He relayed, his tone reflecting the stony resignation in his expression. A softer man might have soul searched. A Cassian that hadn’t been manipulated and beaten into the king he was today. But alas.