Page 30 of Iron Roses

I shift in the chair.

But I don’t leave.

The blanket shifts again. A sigh slips from her lips—fragile, caught somewhere between waking and want.

My eyes stay trained on the rise of her chest.

I wonder if she knows how much has been given for her all year.

I was sixteen, reckless and deeply in love. With my face half-hidden by my hood, I scaled the southern wall of the Fontanesi mansion to avoid the guards who would’ve gutted me before asking who I was. And rightfully so.

They didn’t know.

They didn’t know their heir had already been bound to me.

I didn’t come for her, I came for Giovanna.

Always for Giovanna.

She was waiting in the garden—barefoot, hair pinned in that low, messy knot she only wore when she couldn’t be bothered to care. She had flowers in her lap and dirt on her knuckles and when she looked up at me, the corners of her mouth twitched like she’d been trying not to smile all day.

“You took too long,” she said.

I didn’t answer. I never did with her. She didn’t need my words—just my hands, my presence, the silence that filled the space between us and made it ours.

Then her step mother appeared from nowhere. She didn’t act surprised to see me. She asked that I follow her and I did. She led me to a room and she sat straight-backed on the edge of a brocade chair.

“Cassian,” she said, like we were cordial acquaintances, not fire and kindling. “Sit.”

I did. Warily.

She watched me with a kind of quiet desperation women like her wear like perfume. A need that clings to power because love’s already abandoned them.

She didn’t waste time.

“Are you in love with Giovanna?”

My spine stiffened. I didn’t speak.

She asked again—gentler, like she was asking if I liked the weather.

I nodded.

She smiled.

“Then why don’t you marry her?” she said. “Why don’t you love her?”

I didn’t understand. At first.

And then—

“Elaria is young. Too young for you. She’s still a petulant child.”

My throat dried.

She leaned forward, rosary swinging slightly, catching light in silver glints. “Is it about the bond?”

My silence said enough.

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