"Pardon? You're going to the Purple House now? Forgive me for overstepping, Captain," Reynolds said, his tone urgent as he trailed behind Cassian. Despite being explicitly told to leave earlier, he had lingered outside the manor, waiting. "We've already received a summons from His Majesty. Shouldn't you prioritize that, Captain?"
"Mhm. You're right," Cassian replied curtly, his gaze fixed ahead.
"Really? I'm so glad you think so—"
Cassian raised a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence with a sharp scowl. Reynolds immediately fell silent.
"You're right," Cassian said again, his voice colder this time. "You're overstepping, Reynolds."
Reynolds paled, bowing his head in submission. He likely thought Cassian's foul mood was due to the meeting with his father earlier.
Well, it was that—and him.
"Wow. This guy is pretty plain-looking, huh?" a familiar, mocking voice drawled. "First time seeing him. Has he never attended any parties or events before?"
Lucian. Fucking. Faelith.
The ghost drifted lazily around Reynolds, circling him like a predator inspecting prey. From the way Lucian's expression twisted, it was clear he wasn't just observing—he was judging.
Cassian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 'Not everyone can be Mr. Perfect like that Duke of Averin,' he thought bitterly, clamping down on the impulse to say it aloud.
The last thing he needed was anyone discovering he was bound to the ghost of the one person in the entire kingdom he hated the most. It was bad enough he'd been the one to find Lucian's lifeless body—he didn't need people thinking they shared some kind of connection.
"Knights are really unattractive," Lucian commented, his tone dripping with disdain.
Cassian's jaw tightened. He hated how casually Lucian could dissect another man's looks. It was revolting. How could anyone look at another man that way? He had wondered this countless times over the years, especially whenever Lucian had clung to Adrian Averin like a lovesick puppy.
"May I ask why you're heading to the Purple House, Captain?" Reynolds ventured cautiously. "If it's to pay respects, then—"
Cassian barely heard him. His focus was entirely on Lucian, who was now hovering just over Reynolds' shoulder.
"Mhm," Lucian mused, his gaze scrutinizing the knight. "But if he tidied up a bit, maybe... maybe he could look decent. Though, with Adrian as my standard for men, I doubt he'll ever look good."
"—Wouldn't it be better to send them a wreath instead?" Reynolds pressed on, unaware of Cassian's mounting frustration. "I was trying not to mention it, sir, but the reason His Grace summoned you was because—"
Lucian sighed dramatically. "Can he stop talking now? We're wasting time. I want to get back to my body. I don't want to spend another minute tethered to you—"
"—there's a rumor that you might have killed—"
"Enough!" Cassian snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. Both Reynolds and Lucian froze, their eyes snapping to him.
"Captain?" Reynolds asked hesitantly, his confusion evident.
Lucian, however, burst into laughter, clearly delighted. "Oh, he thinks that was for him," he said, his voice rich with amusement.
Cassian's scowl deepened, and he could already feel the headache brewing.
"Ooh, careful, Valenor," Lucian teased, his grin widening. "Your subordinate might think you're crazy if you keep this up."
"He's not a servant, you pompous, ignorant little—" Cassian stopped himself, biting off the words when he noticed the strange look Reynolds was giving him. A mix of confusion and concern.
Cassian hated it.
He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to punch something—preferably Lucian's stupid, smirking face.
Lucian, of course, found this hilarious. He twirled in the air, laughing so hard he had to clutch his sides. "Oh, this is so much fun. Hey, Valenor, should I let us stay stuck like this for a few more days? I'm actually enjoying myself."
Cassian's eye twitched.
'Why is he even more of a smartass now than when he was alive?'
"Captain," Reynolds ventured again, his voice low but tinged with concern. "Are you feeling all right? After what happened earlier… when you passed out in Lucian Faelith's room… I can't help but worry."
Cassian's hands clenched into fists, the leather of his gloves creaking under the strain. He inhaled deeply, forcing the air to fill his lungs before exhaling in a slow, measured release. 'Stay calm. Don't lose your composure in front of him. He's just doing his job.'
"I'm fine," Cassian said, his voice steady but clipped, a practiced tone of control. "I appreciate your concern, Reynolds, but I don't need a nursemaid."
Reynolds straightened, but the worry in his eyes lingered, an unspoken question hanging between them.
"Listen carefully," Cassian continued, his tone sharp and authoritative, the voice of a captain who tolerated no disobedience. "Return to headquarters immediately. I'll join you there as soon as I've concluded my business at the Purple House."
"But, Captain—"
"No arguments, Reynolds," Cassian interrupted, his eyes narrowing as they bore into the knight. His words were not a suggestion but a command. "You'll also deliver a letter to the royal family on my behalf. Inform them that I'll visit soon, but I have urgent matters to handle first. Is that understood?"
Reynolds hesitated, his brow furrowing, before snapping to attention with a crisp salute. "Understood, sir. I'll take care of everything."
"Good. Now go."
Reynolds bowed and turned, his armor clinking softly with each step as he walked away. Cassian stood still, listening as the sound of his subordinate's boots faded into the distance. Only then did he let out a long, controlled breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"You're surprisingly good at barking orders," Lucian drawled, his voice laced with mockery as he floated beside Cassian, smirking like the devil himself. "Expected no less from the king's loyal lap dog."
Cassian's jaw tightened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He didn't dignify Lucian with a response, instead turning sharply toward the stables. His strides were purposeful, each step a silent vow to ignore the ghost haunting his every move.
'Focus. Just focus on the task at hand, Cassian.' Cassian thought, his mind racing. 'Get this brat's soul back into his body. That's step one. After that, finish the king's orders. And finally, ensure Lucian Faelith never bothers the Crown Princess—or her future groom—ever again.'
At the stables, the familiar scent of hay and leather greeted him. Cassian approached his black warhorse, the animal's sleek coat glinting in the sunlight. The horse nickered softly, nudging his shoulder as if sensing his inner turmoil. Cassian placed a gloved hand on its neck, grounding himself in the creature's steady presence.
"That's a fine horse," Lucian commented, circling the animal with a critical eye. "Though, I always imagined you'd ride something more… extravagant. A gryphon, perhaps. Or a nightmare steed. Something befitting your brooding aura."
Cassian tightened the saddle straps, ignoring the ghost entirely.
"What, no witty comeback?" Lucian prodded, leaning casually against a stable post—despite being incorporeal. "Careful, Valenor. Your silence is almost endearing."
Cassian mounted the horse in one smooth motion, his movements deliberate and precise. He gripped the reins tightly, his gaze fixed ahead as he spurred the horse into motion.
"Shut up, Faelith," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the rhythmic clatter of hooves.
Lucian, of course, heard him anyway. The ghost floated alongside him, laughing with unrestrained delight. "Oh, Valenor, this is going to be so much fun. Don't you think we make a great team?"
Cassian's grip on the reins tightened further, his knuckles white.
'Just a little longer,' he thought grimly. 'Get him back to his body. Finish the job. Then I'll finally be free of this arrogant bastard.'