Cash's POV
The council chamber emptied with the scrape of chairs and the heavy thud of boots on stone. Muttered voices drifted into the hall — anger, confusion, thinly veiled threats.
Cash didn't move.
He stood at the head of the long table, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles blanched white. They didn't understand. Couldn't. And he didn't give a damn.
His wolf prowled just beneath his skin, restless and furious, snapping at the chains of control he'd spent years forging. All because of her.
Lilian.
The rogue. The girl he should have turned away. The girl he had to claim — not out of duty or strategy, but because walking away from her felt like carving his own heart out with a dull knife.
She was fire and fury wrapped in soft skin and a stubborn chin, and the gods helped him; he couldn't stay away.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He needed to find Lily. Now.
The fortress was quieter now, the heavy tension from the council meeting simmering like a coming storm. Servants averted their eyes when he passed, and warriors stiffened their spines. Cash ignored them all. He moved through the halls with the single-minded focus of a predator stalking prey.
She was somewhere close. He could feel her — a magnetic pull under his skin, tugging at every nerve ending. His wolf guided him, and every step was an instinct.
He found her in the west wing — the old, abandoned part of the keep they'd given over to the rogues. A section of the fortress few dared tread.
She stood alone in a narrow stone corridor, framed by the glow of a high, narrow window, her arms crossed, her posture tight.
Beautiful. Furious. Untouchable.
Cash slowed, watching her without moving closer. Gods, she was a sight. She looked like she belonged here, not like an intruder, but like some forgotten warrior queen carved from the very bones of the fortress itself.
She must have sensed him because she turned, her green eyes slashing across him like knives.
"Following me now, King?" she said, voice dry and sharp.
Cash prowled forward slowly, hands loose at his sides. "You didn't give me a chance to talk," he said, voice low.
"There's nothing to say," she snapped, spinning on her heel.
Cash moved without thinking. He reached out, catching her wrist — gently but firmly enough that she couldn't shake him off without a fight. She froze, the pulse in her throat leaping under his fingers. The contact burned. A thousand volts of electricity raced up his arm, branding him, claiming him.
She yanked her arm back — or tried to. Cash stepped closer, backing her up against the ancient stone wall. Not touching. Not pinning. Just close enough that she had nowhere to go. The air between them crackled, thick and heavy. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, fury and something hotter warring in her expression.
Cash dragged in a breath, catching her scent — wildflowers crushed under boot, clean rain, and the sharp metallic tang of defiance.
"You didn't have to say it," she said, her voice shaking with emotion. "You didn't have to tell them."
"I did," he said roughly. "Because it's the truth."
Her eyes flashed dangerously. "You don't even know me."
He smiled, then a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. "I know enough."
He leaned down slightly, just enough that his breath stirred the loose strands of her dark hair. "I know you're stubborn. Proud. Strong enough to survive when the world wanted you dead. I know you would rather tear your own heart out than let someone chain you."
Her pupils blew wide, black, swallowing green.
"And I know," he said, his voice dropping even lower, "that you're mine."
Silence stretched between them, vibrating with tension. She shook her head slowly, fiercely. "I belong to no one."
"I don't want to own you," he said, voice hoarse.
Her brows furrowed, confused.
"I want to fight beside you," he said. "I want to build something that can't be broken."
The words spilled out before he could stop them — raw, brutal truth. Her mouth parted slightly, the slightest hitch in her breath betraying the war inside her.
Cash lifted a hand — slow, deliberate — and brushed his knuckles lightly down her jawline. Not gripping. Not demanding. Just touching. Her skin was soft under his calloused fingers, flushed with heat. She didn't pull away. Not yet.
His wolf howled low and triumphant inside him.
He let his hand drop before the need to take more — to claim her mouth, to press her against the stone and mark her as his — overrode every ounce of control he had left.
She blinked up at him, dazed for half a second. Then her spine snapped straight.
"You think a few pretty words will change anything?" she hissed, shoving past him.
Cash let her go, muscles locked tight. "No," he said quietly to the empty corridor. "But they're a start."
Lilian felt the King's gaze on her back as she walked away, each step a battle against the magnetic pull he seemed to exert. He was infuriating, arrogant, and… undeniably alluring. How he looked at her, like she was a prize to be won, ignited a fire within her that she both craved and feared.
She found him again later because he was trapped in one of the narrow servants' passageways that twisted through the oldest parts of the keep. The walls were too close. The air was too thin. And she was too damned beautiful.
They stumbled into each other around a blind corner, colliding with a soft grunt. Cash's arms went around her automatically, steadying her before she could fall.
She froze against him, her hands braced against his chest. Cash went still, his heart thundering in his ears. Every inch of her pressed against him, the soft curves of her body fitting against the hard lines of his like they were made for each other.
His hands fisted in the rough fabric of her shirt, fighting the overwhelming urge to pull her closer.
Lilian tipped her head up, glaring at him. "Do you ever stop looming?"
He smirked, unrepentant. "Do you ever stop running?"
For a second, something like a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, something wild, reckless, and utterly devastating. Then she shoved at his chest hard enough to stagger him back a step.
Cash let her. He would let her push all she wanted. As long as she stayed close enough to catch when she fell.
"Stay out of my way, King," she said, voice shaking with emotion.
"I would," he said, voice low and dangerous, "if fate would let me."
Their eyes locked into a collision as violent as any battle. The air between them burned. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought she might close the distance. That she might choose him, even for just one reckless second.
But then she tore her gaze away, spinning on her heel and vanishing into the darkness of the corridor.
Cash leaned against the cold stone wall, dragging a shaking hand through his hair. He could still feel her against him, soft and furious and right in a way that nothing else in his life had ever been.
The bond between them stretched thin, frayed by stubborn pride and fear and the wounds of a lifetime spent fighting.
But it was still there. Alive. Waiting.
And Cash Sinclair was nothing if not patient when claiming what was his. Even if it killed him. Especially if it killed him.
Lilian slipped through the shadowed alleyways of the rogue's quarter, the scent of woodsmoke and cheap ale clinging to the air. She was a ghost here, a whisper in the dark, a creature of habit and hidden corners. But even in this familiar landscape, Cash's words echoed in her mind, a persistent hum that vibrated beneath her skin.
*He wants to fight beside me.*
The thought was both terrifying and intoxicating. She had spent her entire life fighting for herself, relying on no one and trusting even less. The idea of sharing that burden, of having someone stand shoulder-to-shoulder with her, was foreign, almost… obscene.
She stopped at the entrance to a dilapidated tavern, the flickering candlelight spilling out onto the cobblestones. This was her sanctuary, a place where she could lose herself in the anonymity of the crowd, where she could forget, for a little while, the weight of her past and the uncertainty of her future.
But tonight, even the familiar chaos of the tavern couldn't drown out the memory of Cash's touch, the heat of his gaze, the unsettling sincerity in his voice. She found a dark corner, ordered a drink, and tried to focus on the raucous laughter and the clinking of glasses. But her eyes drifted towards the entrance, half-expecting, half-dreading, to see him standing there, his wolfish grin cutting through the smoky haze.
He wouldn't come, she told herself. He was a king, burdened by responsibilities, bound by duty. He wouldn't risk his reputation or position for a roguelike her.
But deep down, a small, rebellious part of her hoped he would.
As the night wore on and the ale loosened her inhibitions, Lilian found herself drawn into a game of dice with a group of grizzled mercenaries. She was good at it, her sharp mind and even sharper instincts giving her an edge over her opponents. She won a few rounds and lost a few, the thrill of the gamble momentarily eclipsing the turmoil in her heart.
But then, she looked up, and there he was.
Cash stood inside the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the dim light. He wasn't wearing his royal finery but simple, dark clothes that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the lean strength of his body. He looked out of place, a predator in a den of scavengers, but his eyes were fixed on her, unwavering and intense.
A hush fell over the tavern as everyone recognized the King. The mercenaries straightened, their bravado momentarily forgotten. Lilian's breath caught in her throat.
He had come.
He moved through the crowd confidently, his gaze never leaving hers. He stopped at her table, his presence radiating power and danger.
"Leaving so soon, King?" she asked, her voice shaky.
He ignored the question, his eyes searching hers. "I need to talk to you," he said, his voice low and urgent.
Lilian hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew that talking to him would be a mistake and would only complicate things further. But she couldn't resist the pull, the magnetic force that drew her to him like a moth to a flame.
"Fine," she said, pushing back her chair. "Let's talk."
She led him out of the tavern into the cool night air. The alleyway was deserted, and the only sound was the distant murmur of the city. She turned to face him, her arms crossed, her expression guarded.
"What do you want, Cash?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
He stepped closer, his eyes burning into hers. "I want you to stop running," he said, his voice hoarse. "I want you to trust me. I want you to give us a chance."
Lilian's resolve wavered. She wanted to believe him and surrender to the feelings swirling inside her. But she was afraid, terrified of being hurt, of being betrayed.
"I can't," she said, shaking her head. "It's too dangerous."
Cash reached out, cupping her face in his hands. His touch was gentle but firm, and his eyes filled with a desperate plea.
"I know it is," he said, his voice barely audible. "But I'm willing to risk it. Are you?"
Lilian looked into his eyes and saw a reflection of her longing, fear, and desperate hope. And in that moment, she knew that she couldn't run anymore. She had to take a chance, to trust him, to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could build something that couldn't be broken.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded.
"Okay," she said, her voice trembling. "I'll risk it."
A slow smile spread across Cash's face, reaching his eyes and lighting them up with fierce, possessive joy. He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers.
"Good," he whispered. "Because I'm not letting you go."