Regan had not known King Akagi well—why would she?—but in every instance she’d interacted with him, he’d treated her with dignity and kindness. Perhaps one instance was not enough to judge a man, but Regan had no reason to believe he was anything other than kindhearted and therefore undeserving of his fate. But it was not that king that concerned her now. It was Cassian—always Cassian—for if the Eldouir were in the business of slaying kings…

No. Regan would burn the world first.

When the guards exited, Regan’s eyes met Cassian’s. She wasn’t one to offer advice. Her position relative to Cassian’s made it improper to do so, and what nuance could she offer anyway beyond the obvious? But, seeing the scramble behind Cassian’s eyes, she offered certainty. She stepped forward, voice low.

“I, uh, don’t know Her Majesty like you do, but if I lost someone like that…I’d want my brother first, then my king," Regan tried to smile, but the expression wouldn't form on her face, "I think we can spare a moment for that, Your Majesty. At least it's somewhere to start."

Cassian would have just long enough to respond if he chose before there was a knock at the door and the monarch in question entered.

Ophelia had never looked so pale. That and the small veins of bloodshot in her eyes were the only clues to the tragedy that had just befallen her. Her hair was wound tightly into a braided bun, her tiny frame bound up in a gown of Arynnite bottle green. As if with just her dress any questions about her rights to her position could be silenced, and her connection to her adopted home solidified.

But it was a ruse, surely. In truth, what Ophelia wanted most was to run home to Nevermere. But alas, there was work to be done. And with Akagi’s death squeezing her so hard she could barely breathe, the work is all she had.

A knock would signal Ophelia’s arrival. She would not look at Regan—the woman was a fixture at Cassian’s side, and she’d grown just to accept her as part of the landscape. Instead, she fixed on her brother, like he were a lighthouse on shore and she adrift in a stormy sea.

“Your Majesty,” Ophelia dipped her head, lifting her skirts in a slight curtsy. Her hands trembled, but her expression remained eerily calm. When that was done she just...stared. When the muscle memory of formalities expired, she could not quite find her next foothold. For where to begin?

Cassian did not reply to Regan. Instead he simply looked at her, digesting her words in a way he didn’t normally. Did she normally give him advice? It was another shock, if small, to the day. To think that this commoner woman would have insight he would have otherwise passed over. Ophelia was Julius’ daughter. She was groomed to perfection and precision, without the freedom to be human—though perhaps a pinch more than Cassian. Would she want him as her brother? Surely she took greater comfort in him as her king.

When the woman in question entered, Cassian had a sinking feeling that Regan was right. Another shocking thought. His eyes drank in her pale skin and absent expression, and at once he was uncertain of what it meant to be a brother. What could he possibly contribute beyond words of a king and power that might bring some color back to her cheeks?

He thought of Iliana. He had known what she needed because he knew her. Did he even know Ophelia? She looked so unfamiliar (or unphomelia hehe) to him in that moment.

A bit awkwardly, but with intention, Cassian closed the distance between them and sought to take his little sister in his arms, just as he had Iliana.

It took Ophelia a moment to fully process what was happening. Julius had not raised his children to be creatures of affection. To him, affection was weakness, demanding vulnerability and opening one to exploitation. Akagi had softened Ophelia in that regard, but a lifetime of conditioning was hard to undo. When Cassian approached her, she stiffened in surprise. For a moment, she remained frozen in his embrace before she collapsed into him. She ceased to be the queen of Arynn Frey and instead melted into a heartbroken girl—uncertain, afraid, and clinging to the only sure thing in her world: Cassian. Nevermere.

Ophelia’s crying couldn’t be heard; the silence of it was deafening, stretching on as long as Cassian allowed. When she pulled away, the wet patch on his tunic bore evidence of her tears. At first, Ophelia trembled, holding tightly to Cassian as if bracing against the pain leaving her body. Minutes passed before her trembling stilled. The tears stopped, and when Ophelia’s eyes met Cassian’s gaze, there was now color in her cheeks. Her eyes, though shining, held a new light. Amid the sorrow, a spark of defiance and a new will emerged.

“Thank you,” Ophelia whispered, her fingers briefly and awkwardly brushing Cassian’s cheek before she stepped back, standing before him properly though a little closer than before, as if the brief display of affection had never occurred. 

When Cassian stepped forward, Regan stepped back. She tucked herself in the corner, trying to make herself all but invisible while still being at hand to serve her king. At first, she tried to avert her eyes but found she could not help but watch them. To watch him. It took her a moment to realize she'd stopped breathing.

Cassian held Ophelia for as long mg as she needed, gradually, gradually sinking into the hug. With time it changed from a gesture to a sentiment, and he melted against her in a similar way she did him. It was not lost on him that she had just lost her husband. Not just her husband, her life, in a way. How she sobbed, however, even if silent, sent shivers into his bones. He never wanted to be reduced to this. Never. Not for his sister, not for his wife, not for his pack mates, not for his children. Two thoughts were born of that resolve: the first was to do whatever he needed to do to ensure their safety. The second was to keep them from getting in too close. The latter conclusion made my someone with attachment issues, no doubt.

When their moment finished Cassian waited, letting her regain herself. She seemed prepared to move on, even if only for a moment. A moment was all he needed.

“Your next moves will determine the future of Arynn Frey’s relationship with Nevermere; it will determine your daughter’s legacy.” He spoke of Lorelle, of course. After a pause, he offered, “I will assist you however you need.”

Ophelia didn’t need to be reminded, but it was good to have the truth of the matter presented plainly. Something sharpened in her gaze—anger, perhaps. Resolve, more likely. She walked to the window, further away from the door as if someone might be listening on the other side.

“Sylas Llewellyn has made his intentions plain. When we gathered, with Akagi’s body not yet cold, he declared himself regent. His mother and aunt shamed him appropriately to silence, but I can’t imagine he’ll wait long to make his move.” She turned to Cassian.

“We must make ours first. Another Llewleyn-Rainecourt marriage is in the best interests of both our kingdoms. If I bear Sylas no children, then Lorelle’s claim to the throne remains uncontested.”

Cassian didn’t know Sylas, so learning of his actions did not surprise him. No matter the kingdom, no matter the values, there would always be someone drawn to power and willing to snatch it up at the first opportunity. And for Sylas, why stop at regent? It was likely just the beginning. Cassian’s gaze mirrored his sister’s slightly, full of resolve.

“Another marriage?” He repeated the words, for himself, not to actually clarify, and let his calculating mind begin to work. “There is a wisdom to that. I cannot help but wonder if Sylas will understand your intention and be adverse to it. What if he is unagreeable?”

Another marriage. The thought twisted in Ophelia’s heart like a dagger, but she clenched her teeth against the pain. For all his faults, her marriage to Akagi had been one of tenderness an affection. She was under no illusion she’d be so lucky a second time—nor did she want to be. Ophelia did not want to hurt like this again. To have another part of her soul hollowed out to wither and die. She’d had love, and now she had the memory to hold on to. That would have to be enough.

“We make him believe it is an idea of his own making,” Ophelia said, each word sounding more hollow than the last, “The Arynnites are not ones to act in haste, so neither should we. He and Kimora have agreed to increase the presence of Nevermerean soldiers in the capital in the interim, which will only work in our favor. We must make clear what is already the truth: their alliance with Nevermere is indispensable. The prince has agreed to partner with me to strengthen Arynn Frey’s defenses, so perhaps there will be opportunity enough to,” Ophelia paused, just enough to add additional meaning to her words, “Endear myself.”

Ophelia was no great temptress, but she was a woman raised to be a prize. A pretty treasure worthy enough to tempt a king. Though many years had passed since she was a young debutante, perhaps her appeal had not vanished entirely.