WRATH OF THE ASHEN TWINS: REBORN IN BLOOD

Two wives, One Nightmare

This is what I call an absolute, top-tier psychological damage. It’s watching a grown, powerful man realize he can’t lie his way out of a disaster because his past literally grew up, showed up, and brought knives.

Cassian looked like he was about to throw up right there on his fancy white warhorse. His wife—Lady Eleanor, or whatever her stuck-up, high-born name was—was staring at him with her mouth hanging open, waiting for him to explain why some scarred, dangerous-looking woman and two deadly teenagers with his exact facial structure had just called him out in front of his whole royal army.

"Cassian," his wife hissed, her voice shaking with pure, unadulterated fury. "Who the hell is this? What is she talking about?!"

Cassian opened his mouth, closed it, and looked at me like a cornered rat trapped in a burning building. For a second, I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Then my right leg throbbed with a sharp, burning reminder of the beast-rot I survived down in the Wastes, and any tiny shred of pity I had evaporated into thin air.

"I'm his first draft, your ladyship," I said, stepping closer through the thick mud, letting the heavy iron spike of my boots crunch against the stones. "The one he forgot to shred before he married into royalty."

Cassian’s three teenage kids were completely frozen. The oldest boy, a pompous little prick named Julian who looked like he’d never done a hard day's work in his life, tried to step in front of his mother like a brave little idiot.

"Step back, you dirty peasant," Julian snapped, reaching for the hilt of a decorative court sword he probably didn't even know how to draw from its scabbard. "You don't speak to the royal family that way."

Cael didn't even blink. Before Julian could finish his sentence, Cael moved like a striking snake. A flash of steel, a heavy thud, and Cael’s short sword was pressed flat against Julian’s throat, cold and sharp enough to draw blood instantly. Julian went completely pale, his eyes crossing as he stared down at the gleaming blade inches from his jugular.

"Don't call her a peasant, little prince," Cael muttered, his voice dropping into a flat, deadpan tone that could freeze water. "Your daddy didn't teach you proper manners down in the palace? Don't worry, we can teach you right here for free."

"Cael. Back," I commanded softly.

Cael pulled his blade back with a smooth flick, stepping back beside me, while Julian scrambled backward, tripping over his own expensive velvet boots and landing flat on his ass in the mud. His high-born mother shrieked, jumping down from her horse to coddle her precious boy, glaring daggers at us like she wanted us struck by lightning.

Cassian finally found his voice, though it sounded like dry leaves scraping across pavement. "Sylas... listen. We can't do this here. Not in front of the army. We can talk—we can figure something out—"

"Figure what out, Cassian?" I cut him off, stepping right up to his horse and grabbing the leather reins, forcing the beast to toss its head nervously. I looked right up into his terrified, sweating eyes. "You think I crawled my way out of a rotting hellhole just to negotiate terms in the dirt? No. We’re going straight back to the capital."

His eyes widened in sheer panic. "Back... back to the capital? Sylas, no, you don't understand, the court will—"

"The court will do exactly what I tell them to do," I hissed, a cold, dangerous smile spreading across my face. "Because either you invite us back as your honored, long-lost family, or I let my kids slaughter your precious little battalion right here, drag you through the mud by your golden crown, and burn your precious castle to the ground. Your choice, Your Highness."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the howling wind seemed to stop blowing.

Cassian looked back at his frantic wife, down at his trembling, mud-covered son, and then back at me. He realized right then and there that he had completely run out of options. He had built his entire shiny, perfect life on a massive lie, and the bill had finally come due.

"Fine," Cassian choked out, his shoulders slumping as the heavy weight of his own cowardice finally crushed him. He turned to his captain, who was standing there with his jaw practically detached from his face. "Reroute the carriages. We are returning to the capital... with our new guests."

That was how the most toxic, explosive house party in the history of the kingdom officially began.

Three days later, the massive iron gates of the capital swung open. The high-born nobles lined the streets, expecting a glorious royal homecoming. Instead, they watched Prince Cassian ride through the stone arches looking like he was heading to his own execution, flanked by a scarred ex-commander and two teenagers who looked like they were ready to murder everyone in sight.

When we stepped into the grand palace foyer, Lady Eleanor looked like she was about to pass out from sheer rage. She had spent twenty years believing she was the only queen in Cassian's life, only to find out her husband's dirty little secret had just moved into the master suite right down the hall.

The servants whispered behind massive stone pillars. The high council panicked behind locked doors. And Vesper and Cael stood in the center of the glittering marble ballroom, covered in the dust of the Ashen Wastes, looking around at the gold-plated luxury like wolves sizing up a pen full of fat sheep.

Cassian thought he could bury his past at the bottom of a cliff.

Instead, he just invited it to move into his house. And trust me—we weren't planning on paying rent.