#dees asks

Cassian hadn’t even finished his drink before the room shifted. Not literally—though it may as well have, judging by the way Rhysand straightened in his seat and Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter at his back.

You walked in like you owned the place—like Velaris was just another soft-bellied city full of flinching men and breakable furniture. Your posture was easy, loose even, but your eyes held the cold glitter of a blade just pulled from the forge. You were in full leathers, polished and layered with a red-stitched Autumn crest over your heart. Your hair was twisted back in a braid that looked like it had been done by a soldier, not a servant. You didn’t nod. Didn’t bow. Just looked straight at Cassian and let your mouth curl.

And flanking you like a smug fox came Eris.

“Well,” Eris drawled, spinning a gold ring on his finger as he sauntered forward. “I see the Night Court’s finest still drinks like a village brute. Hello, Cassian.”

“Hello, Eris,” Cassian muttered, gaze unmoving from you. “Nice to see you didn’t send someone competent in your place.”

“Oh, I did,” Eris said smoothly, gesturing toward you with something between condescension and pride. “General of the Third Legion. Or had you not heard? Autumn’s been doing quite a bit of cleaning up lately.”

Cassian knew. Everyone with a functioning pair of wings knew. You’d gained a reputation for your brutality in the border skirmishes—strategic and swift, but merciless. Your army didn’t just win. They eradicated.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” you said dryly, voice rich like aged whiskey. “Though I’m sure you’ve told yourself all kinds of things about me.”

Cassian smiled tightly. “Only the ones that sound fun.”

Rhys cleared his throat with the tired air of a male already regretting this. “Now that we’re all here…”

He motioned to the large map table in the center of the room, lined with carved pieces representing units, routes, and encampments. A blue-flagged territory near the mountain border glowed faintly—Illyrian territory. South of it, an orange-bronze marker blinked: Autumn.

“We’ve confirmed reports of multiple rogue warbands,” Rhys said, voice clipped. “Former Illyrian soldiers who’ve abandoned their ranks and taken up mercenary work—raiding villages on both sides of the border. They’re targeting supply lines and using the confusion to incite rebellion. It's escalating faster than expected.”

“They’re not only ex-Illyrians,” Azriel added, stepping from the shadows. “Some are being funded. Trained. Their weapons are not cheap.”

Eris made a low sound of distaste. “So your sloppy discipline problem has become our border problem. Shocking.”

Rhys ignored him. “Given that these attacks affect both our courts, we’ve agreed to form a joint response team. Two high-ranking officers—one from each court—will investigate the source of these attacks, identify the leaders, and shut them down before we’re dragged into a larger conflict.”

“And I’m to play babysitter to that?” you asked, arching a brow at Cassian with open disdain.

“You’re not babysitting anyone,” Rhys said. “You’re working with him. Cassian is the Commander of our armies, and I expect mutual professionalism.”

Cassian barked a dry laugh. “Don’t worry, I won’t cry if she glares at me.”

“I might,” Azriel muttered.

Rhys didn’t smile. “This is serious. We’ve seen what happens when tensions between courts spiral out of control. You both have the experience and authority to end this quickly. So you’ll go together. You’ll cooperate. And you’ll finish it.”

Silence fell.

You studied the map, then turned your gaze to Eris. “You’re fine with this?”

Eris gave a shrug. “Think of it as a… diplomatic opportunity.”

“I’m not a diplomat,” you said coldly.

“You’re a general,” Eris replied, smile twitching. “You’ll do what needs to be done. And I’m trusting you to represent Autumn well.”

Cassian didn’t miss the subtle exchange of power—Eris wasn’t just handing you off. He was testing you, calculating how far you could go in Night Court territory without burning the bridge they were just barely keeping stable.

You turned back to Rhys. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Rhys said. “You’ll fly south and begin with the villages hit along the mountain edge.”

Cassian watched your jaw tick. “Fine.”

“Any questions?” Rhys asked.

Cassian lifted a hand. “Yeah. Are we staying in the same tent or do I get to pitch mine somewhere far, far away from the sound of her voice?”

You smirked at him. “Don’t worry, Cassian. If you can’t handle sleeping near me, I’m sure there’s a cave somewhere you can crawl into.”

The wind cut sharp along the mountain pass as the two generals trudged side by side—though “side by side” was generous. Cassian walked just ahead, his wings twitching with restrained annoyance, while you kept to his left, boots crunching over snow-dusted stone, gaze cold and hard beneath your crimson hood.

You hadn't spoken much since leaving the war camp near the border. Not beyond clipped logistical updates and barely civil insults. You didn’t need to—each of you understood the mission. Investigate the rising tensions along the Autumn-Winter edge, determine if the scattered unrest among rebel Illyrians and rogue Autumn soldiers posed a unified threat, and eliminate the problem before it caught fire.

What neither of you had expected was the weather to turn so quickly. And Cassian, always the optimist, hadn’t thought to prepare for a damn blizzard.

“Nice planning,” you muttered under your breath, hugging your fur-lined cloak tighter around you. “Didn’t think the general of the Night Court would be undone by a little ice.”

Cassian threw you a look over his shoulder. “I figured a flame-wielding general from the Autumn Court wouldn’t be whining about the cold.”

“Flames don’t fix your lack of foresight.”

He bit back a growl and kept walking.

By the time you stumbled upon the old outpost—half-buried in snow and abandoned for decades—the sun had already dipped behind the peaks. The wood creaked as Cassian forced the door open, stepping aside to let you in first. You didn’t thank him. Of course you didn’t.

The inside was just barely livable. One room. A stone hearth, cracked and dusty. A table, two chairs, a narrow bed that sagged in the middle, and not nearly enough space for two warriors bred for war and mistrust.

You eyed the room, then him. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh, believe me,” he said, tossing his gear into a corner, “I’m fantasizing about being literally anywhere else.”

“Good,” you snapped, and peeled your gloves off, revealing calloused, ink-lined fingers—the map of battle etched on skin.

Cassian watched you for a beat too long. You were always like this—sharp edges, barbed wit, power coiled under skin like a whip waiting to snap. But under the frost, under the armor… there was fire. And he felt it every time you fought. Every time you stood too close. Every time your scent hit him like a war drum in his chest.

He hated it.

He hated that he knew what it meant. He hated that he knew you didn’t.

You knelt by the hearth and lit a flame with a flick of your fingers, feeding it slowly until warmth began to creep through the stone walls. Cassian dragged a chair toward the fire and dropped into it, wings aching from the wind and cold.

You took the other chair. Silence stretched long between you, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the storm screaming outside.

Cassian leaned back, studying you from the corner of his eye.

“So,” he said, voice low. “You gonna tell me why you hate me, or should I just keep guessing?”

You didn’t look at him. “I don’t hate you.”

He arched a brow. “You’ve been acting like I kicked your favorite pet since day one.”

“That’s just how I am.”

“No,” he said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re not like this with Eris. You’re not like this with Rhys. Just me.”

You finally looked at him, and gods, your eyes were wildfire—dangerous and untamable. “That’s because they don’t get under my skin.”

He froze. So did you. The fire popped.

A beat passed. Then another.

You stood abruptly, pacing to the window, arms crossed tight. “You’re reckless. Arrogant. You act like you know what’s best for everyone, and you don’t even see how much damage you do.”

“And you think I don’t carry every ounce of it?”

“Maybe you do,” you said over your shoulder. “But you cover it with jokes and brute force. That doesn’t impress me.”

“I’m not trying to impress you.”

You turned back. “Good. Because it wouldn’t work.”

Another silence fell, hotter this time. He rose, slowly. You were barely three feet apart now.

“You’re lying,” he said.

You swallowed. “Don’t start.”

“You feel it,” he said, voice hoarse. “Don’t you?”

Your jaw clenched.

“I wish I didn’t,” he whispered.

And there it was—that heavy, humming pause between you, like the air knew something you didn’t want to admit.

Your voice dropped. “Then don’t.”

Cassian stepped closer. “I’ve tried.”

So had you. Gods knew you had. But this? This wasn’t trying anymore. This was surrender.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Cassian’s breath was shallow, ragged at the edges. The firelight danced across your armor, glinting off the red stitching like it was soaked in blood.

“You think I don’t fight it?” you said, voice low. “You think I haven’t tried to kill it every time I look at you?”

His throat bobbed with the effort not to reach for you.

“You make me insane,” you breathed. “I hate how loud you are. How cocky. How you throw yourself into danger like it’s a sport.”

Cassian’s wings flared behind him, muscles coiled like a bowstring. “Then stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to tear me apart.”

You blinked. Once. Then twice. Your expression twisted—equal parts rage and need—and when you moved, it was fast.

Cassian caught you around the waist as you slammed him against the wall, your mouths crashing together in a kiss that wasn’t soft or slow or anything close to sane. It was war—teeth and tongue, armor scraping, a growl vibrating from deep in his chest as you yanked at the buckle of his chest strap like you’d been waiting years to do it.

His hands fisted in your leathers, pulling you flush against him. Your curves pressed hard into his body, and he felt it—that snap deep in his bones, in his soul, the one he’d been ignoring for far too long.

Mine.

You bit his lip.

“Fuck,” he snarled, shoving his knee between your legs, forcing you back just enough to rip the outer layers of your armor open. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

“Good,” you gasped, nails dragging down his chest. “Now you know how it feels.”

He spun you, slamming you into the wall, and kissed you again—harder, deeper, like he could bury the bond with his mouth. But it only snapped tighter, louder with every second you moaned against him.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he growled against your throat.

You didn’t answer.

“Say it,” he demanded, dragging his tongue along the curve of your jaw. “Say it and I’ll stop.”

Still, silence.

“Gods,” you whispered. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he said, voice wrecked.

And then you grabbed his hand and shoved it between your thighs.

Cassian’s world went white, narrowed to the heat pulsing beneath your leathers, to the slick warmth coating his fingers as he pressed them against you through your soaked underthings. You were dripping for him—soaked through from rage, from tension, from want so sharp it had fangs.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You’re soaked and we haven’t even started.”

Your only answer was a breathy, defiant sound—half snarl, half moan—as you ground your hips against his hand.

He didn’t give you a warning. Didn’t bother with teasing. He shoved past the soaked fabric and sank two thick fingers inside you, groaning at the way you clenched around him.

Your head hit the wall with a dull thud. “Shit—Cassian—”

“Oh, now you remember my name,” he growled, pumping his fingers hard, deep. “You’re gonna be screaming it soon, so you might as well get used to it.”

You arched into him, panting, nails scraping across his armored shoulders as you tried to stay upright. But he didn’t let you—he pinned you to the wall with his body, rutting his hand into you like he could carve himself into your heat. His thumb found your clit and circled, hard and merciless, until you choked on a gasp.

“You gonna admit it now?” he breathed against your throat. “That you want me? That this bond is real?”

“Go to hell,” you gasped.

He slammed you down on his fingers in reply, curling them until your knees buckled.

“Already there, sweetheart.”

He tore your pants down the moment you started to unravel, your cries high and raw against his shoulder. You came on his hand with a sharp, shaking jolt—hips jerking, muscles locking up—biting down on his neck hard enough to leave teeth marks.

Cassian groaned like a dying man.

Then he spun you around.

Bent you over the table.

And ripped your shirt open from the back like it offended him.

“No armor now,” he muttered, pushing your braid aside, mouth dragging down your spine. “Nothing between us.”

He dropped to his knees behind you, spreading your thighs with calloused hands and burying his face in your soaked, aching cunt like he was starved for it. His tongue was brutal—licking, sucking, fucking into you with a rhythm that had your fists slamming the table, your voice cracking on curses you hadn’t meant to say.

“Cassian—fuck—gods, fuck—”

“That’s it,” he growled, voice wrecked between licks. “Say my name.”

You did. Again and again. Until you came a second time, shaking so hard your legs gave out, collapsing over the table like he’d wrung the fight from your body.

But not your mouth.

“You’re still an arrogant prick,” you muttered hoarsely.

Cassian laughed. Then he stood and dropped his own leathers in one swift motion, cock already hard and leaking, thick and flushed and angry.

“Yeah?” he rasped, dragging the head through your slick folds. “You gonna take this arrogant prick, General?”

You looked over your shoulder—glared at him, lips swollen, pupils blown wide. “Try me.”

He sheathed himself in you in one brutal thrust.

You both groaned—deep and guttural—as your body clenched around him like a vice. He didn’t give you a moment. Just gripped your hips and fucked, hard and fast and furious, his chest pressed to your back, teeth dragging up your neck like he was seconds from claiming you.

You pushed back against him just as desperately, meeting every thrust like a challenge, like this was still a battle you could win. But he felt the bond between you like a chain now—hot and heavy and howling, pulling tighter with every movement, every cry.

“Say it,” he gasped. “Say you feel it.”

“I won’t.”

He fucked you harder.

“You’re mine,” he snarled. “You’ve always been mine.”

“Then take me,” you hissed. “If you want me so bad—take me.”

He did.

He grabbed you by the back of the neck and pulled you upright, keeping himself buried deep as he pounded into you from behind. One hand splayed over your stomach, the other braced against your throat, forcing your head back as he drove up into you again and again, harder, deeper.

Your moans were filthy. Obscene. The slap of skin echoed between the stone walls. The bond sang like a live wire, just on the edge of snapping—

Until you came again, screaming.

And this time, the bond howled back.

Cassian lost it.

He bit down on your shoulder, hard enough to bruise but not break skin, and spilled into you with a raw, shuddering groan, grinding as deep as he could, like he could brand you from the inside out.

You collapsed together—sweaty, panting, ruined.

And still, even after all that, you said:

“You’re still insufferable.”

Cassian let out a wrecked, hoarse laugh against your back.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “But you’re mine now.”

They made it back in one piece.

Mostly.

The rogue warbands were dealt with, the supply routes secured. A victory, technically. But it didn’t feel like one—not to Cassian, anyway. Not with you standing by the open balcony, already dressed in your travel leathers, crimson cloak fluttering like a flag of retreat.

“You’re just leaving?”

You didn’t look at him. “My job here’s done.”

“So that’s it?”

Silence.

Cassian stalked across the room, jaw tight, wings half-flared. “You really think you can fuck me like that, fight beside me, feel what we both felt—and then just disappear back to Eris like none of it mattered?”

“I don’t belong here,” you said flatly.

He laughed, but there was no humor in it—just something raw. “You belong with me.”

Your mouth twisted. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” he snarled. “Because it’s true?”

You finally turned, eyes blazing. “Because if I let myself believe it, I won’t leave. And I have to leave, Cassian. You think I can just stay here—like I’m not a general from a rival court? Like my presence wouldn’t be a threat the second politics shift?”

“You think I give a shit about politics?”

“You should. Because I do. Because if I stay, I’m not just your mate—I’m a liability. For you. For Rhys. For everyone.”

“Fuck that,” he said, crossing the distance in a blink. “You’re not a liability. You’re the only one who didn’t flinch when things got ugly. You’re the only one who’s ever stood toe-to-toe with me and made me feel something real.”

You shook your head, jaw trembling. “You don’t get it. I’ve spent my whole life building this—earning power, respect. I walk into a room and males move. I command. And with you—” You broke off, eyes glittering. “You make me feel like I’m going to burn from the inside out.”

“Then let it burn,” he said, stepping closer, voice hoarse. “Let it all burn.”

You backed away. “Don’t ask me to choose.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m asking you to stop running.”

“I’m not running.”

“You are,” he snapped. “Because you felt the bond snap into place that night. I know you did. And you’re too fucking scared to admit it.”

“I’m not scared,” you growled.

“Then stay.”

You stared at him, breathing hard.

“I’ve lived my whole life thinking I’d never have this,” he said, softer now. “That I’d fight and bleed and die alone. But then there you were—fucking fire and fury and everything I never let myself want. And I can’t pretend it doesn’t gut me to watch you walk away like none of it mattered.”

You swallowed. “It mattered.”

“Then why leave?”

A long silence.

You looked away, toward the mountains in the distance, toward home. Your voice came quiet.

“Because if I stay, I won’t be a general anymore. I’ll just be yours. And I don’t know who I am without that armor.”

Cassian stepped in close, so close you had to tilt your chin to meet his eyes.

“Then take it off,” he whispered. “Just for a minute. Let me see you.”

Your lip trembled.

You could have shoved him away.

Instead, you whispered, “I hate you.”

And Cassian smiled, soft and wrecked. “I know.”

Then you kissed him like you were about to break.

And maybe you were.

But you pulled away first. Breathless. Shaking. Still you.

“I want you,” you said, voice hoarse. “I want this. But I am not some prize you won on the battlefield, Cassian. I am not going to be your mate and fade into the background of your war room. I bled for my command. I earned it. And I’m not giving it up for a bond—no matter how loud it screams.”

His brow furrowed. “You think I want that? You think I’d ask you to choose between me and your command?”

“You wouldn’t ask,” you said. “But it would happen. Slowly. Quietly. One compromise after another until I look in the mirror and I don’t see the female who fought her way out of Autumn. I’d see someone who bent for love. And I won’t be bent.”

Cassian stepped back—not in anger, but in understanding. Respect. His wings dropped. So did his guard.

“Then don’t,” he said simply. “Don’t bend. Don’t follow. Don’t change a single godsdamned thing.”

Your eyes snapped up.

He met them, steady and unflinching. “I want the general. I want the woman who told Rhys to his face that she doesn’t take orders from anyone. I want the female who looked me in the eye and challenged me. You think I want a mate who bows?”

A beat passed.

“I want a partner,” he said. “I want you.”

Something broke open behind your ribs—sharp and terrifying and real.

You crossed the room in three strides and kissed him again, fierce and unapologetic. You pushed him back into the nearest wall and said into his mouth, “Then remember that. Every time you look at me.”

He kissed you like a vow. “Every time.”

And you stayed.

Not because the bond demanded it.

But because you chose to.

BONUS!

Rhys was already smirking when you walked into the war room.

Cassian’s hand brushed against yours—barely a touch, a whisper of heat as subtle as the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. You didn’t reach for him. He didn’t reach for you. But the energy between you sang like a string drawn tight.

Rhys, lounging in his chair like he owned the realm and then some, steepled his fingers and said, far too mildly, “So. You’re not dead.”

Cassian raised a brow. “Disappointed?”

“I wouldn’t say disappointed.” Rhys tilted his head. “Surprised, maybe. Last I heard, you two were halfway to throttling each other on a snow-covered cliff.”

“Progress,” you said coolly.

“Mm.” Rhys’s violet eyes slid to you. “And now you’re… here.”

Cassian crossed his arms and leaned against the wall like he didn’t have a care in the world. “She’s staying.”

Rhys blinked. Then his gaze darted between you and Cassian with growing amusement. “Staying?”

You met his look without flinching. “Temporarily.”

Cassian coughed. “Indefinitely.”

You elbowed him. Lightly. Not that it made much impact on the walking mountain.

Rhys grinned, all teeth and wicked delight. “Well. This is going to be fun.”

“I didn’t come here for fun,” you said.

“No,” Rhys said, rising from his chair and circling the table. “You came here to tell the High Lord of the Night Court that one of the Autumn Court’s most volatile assets has decided to take up residence in his palace. Just after a cross-court skirmish that nearly turned into a diplomatic nightmare.”

Your arms crossed. “Are you objecting?”

Rhys smiled, too pleased. “Gods, no. I’m thrilled. Eris, on the other hand…”

Right on cue, the door swung open, and Eris sauntered in with the smug displeasure of a male who'd had just enough warning to be irritated, but not enough to prepare a speech.

“You’re joking,” he said, not even looking at Cassian. Just you.

“I’m not.”

“You’re staying?”

You nodded once. “Yes.”

“And this is because…?” His gaze flicked to Cassian.

Cassian smiled brightly. “Because I’m irresistible.”

“Because I chose to,” you said over him.

Eris looked at you for a long moment, then at Cassian, then let out a sharp, unamused breath. “Perfect. Just what I needed—another complication with wings.”

Cassian’s wings twitched. “Want me to write it out for you? Draw a little diagram?”

“I want you to shut up,” Eris snapped.

“I want a drink,” you muttered.

Rhys laughed. “There’s wine in the cellar. Go before Azriel shows up and demands a report with footnotes.”

Cassian straightened, already heading for the door. “Come on, General. Let’s toast to terrifying everyone we work with.”

You didn’t look back. But you felt their eyes on your back as you left—Rhys’s quiet satisfaction, Eris’s reluctant acceptance, the ripple you’d just sent through the world with one choice.

And Cassian at your side, smug and steady and real.

Just before you turned the corner, you heard Eris mutter, “You owe me fifty gold marks.”

Rhys replied, far too gleeful, “Told you she’d pick him.”

Cassian’s grin was pure sin. “You bet on us?”

You rolled your eyes. “Idiots.”

But you didn’t stop smiling.