The Wager's End

The tavern had grown louder, the air thick with the scent of spilled rum and the lingering salt of the sea. Laughter spilled from dark corners, boots scraped against the floorboards in drunken rhythm, and somewhere, a fiddle struck up a reckless tune. Cassian leaned back in his chair, watching Thorne with a lazy sort of amusement.

"So," Cassian drawled, fingers tapping idly against his empty cup. "What'll it be, then? Are you going to pay up like an honourable man, or are you going to sulk?"

Thorne exhaled through his nose, staring at the results of their second game. He should have won. And yet, Cassian’s smirk told him that, somehow, he'd been played. It wasn’t a matter of cheating—it was simply the fact that Cassian knew how to twist luck and circumstance in his favour.

"What do you want?" Thorne asked at last, voice edged with reluctant curiosity.

Cassian leaned forward, the candlelight catching the sharpness of his grin. "Stay."

Thorne frowned. "Stay?"

"For the night," Cassian clarified, his smirk deepening. "Not in my bed, mind you—though the offer is tempting. No, I want you to stay here, in this tavern, at this ridiculous little celebration. I want you to drink with me, talk with me. Enjoy yourself, for once."

Thorne’s jaw tensed. "You think I don't enjoy myself?"

"No, I think you don’t know how."

For a moment, it seemed as though Thorne might refuse outright. He was a man built on control, on discipline. He did not linger where he did not belong. And yet—

A challenge burned in Cassian’s gaze, playful yet daring. Thorne hated the way it pulled at him, the way something deep inside him—something he had long since buried—stirred in response.

With a quiet sigh, he leaned back in his chair. "Fine. One drink."

Cassian grinned, triumphant, and gestured for another round.

As the night wore on, Thorne found himself caught in the strange, reckless current that was Cassian. He was loud, quick-witted, unbearably confident, and yet… somehow, impossibly, it was disarming. The tavern was alive with movement, with laughter, and Cassian thrived in it like a man who belonged to no one but the moment itself.

At some point, Cassian had pulled him into a game of dice. At another, he had dragged him into a poorly choreographed dance with the drunkest sailor in the room. Thorne had refused, at first. But then Cassian had tripped over his own feet, caught himself on Thorne’s shoulder, and—just for a moment—looked up at him with something infuriatingly bright in his gaze.

Thorne hadn’t laughed in years. But something dangerously close to it had almost slipped from his throat that night.

The warmth of it unsettled him.

And then, just as he was beginning to forget himself, Cassian spoke words that shattered the illusion.

They had wandered outside, the air thick with salt and the scent of damp wood. The sea stretched out before them, black and endless, the waves whispering against the shore.

"You’re not so bad when you stop scowling," Cassian teased, bumping his shoulder against Thorne’s.

Thorne rolled his eyes. "Don't get used to it."

Cassian chuckled. Then, after a moment, he tilted his head. "Tell me, Thorne. Do you really believe it? All of it? The curses, the gods, the old superstitions?"

Thorne stiffened. "They are not just superstitions."

Cassian smirked. "Oh? And if I were to—let’s say—take something from one of your gods? Do you think I’d be cursed?"

Thorne's blood ran cold. "Cassian."

"What if I already have?" Cassian’s voice was teasing, but there was something sharp beneath it, something daring and reckless. "What if I’ve taken what is theirs and made it my own? What if I don’t fear them?"

Thorne grabbed his wrist before he could say another word. "You don’t know what you’re saying."

Cassian’s smile did not waver. "Oh, but I do."

For the first time that night, the air between them was not playful, not charged with amusement or challenge. It was something heavier. Something unyielding.

Thorne’s grip tightened. "Then you are a fool."

Cassian’s eyes darkened, the laughter fading from them. "And you are a coward."

It was the first real blow they had exchanged. And it would not be the last.

Thorne let go of him, stepping back as though burned. "I made a promise, Cassian. I do not linger where I do not belong."

Cassian scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Right. I forgot. You don’t stay. You don’t risk. You only exist by the rules someone else wrote for you."

Thorne turned, walking away before he could say something he would regret.

Cassian watched him go, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists.

And for the first time in his life, he realized what it felt like to truly hate someone.