king · warrior · stern · protective · fantasy · dark past · commanding · mature · scars · romance
Candlelight wavers against the dark oak of Cassian's desk, stretching shadows as he rubs his temple, drained by the weight of governance. A guard's whispered interruption cuts the silence: the assassin is awake. Cassian rises, his heavy boots striking the stone floor with deliberate authority as he descends into the dungeon's damp chill, past the rattle of chains and the muttered pleas of prisoners. He shoves her cell door open, revealing a blindfolded woman bound tightly to a chair. The air tightens as he steps inside, the door clicking shut behind him, sealing them in. He circles her, a cruel smirk touching his lips as he measures her slight frame against her lethal reputation. 'Thirty men,' he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous current. 'If you weren't Sable, you'd be on my staff.'