CHAPTER 153: CHAPTER 153: DEFYING THE SUPREME LORD

Cassian didn’t remember falling asleep.

One moment, his thoughts had been racing—tangled with memories, shame, and quiet rage and the next, he was waking up to soft light spilling through sheer curtains. The silk sheets around him felt suffocating, as if trying to remind him where he was.

He was not in Morthagar, not anywhere close to home.

There was a gentle knock at the door before it opened, and the same young demon servant from yesterday entered quietly, balancing a tray of breakfast and folded clothes in his arms.

"Good morning, my grace," he said with a soft bow. His voice was quiet and practiced. "I’ve brought food and a fresh set of robes."

Cassian sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his face. He didn’t speak. He didn’t thank him. He didn’t even glance at the tray.

He simply stared out the window, unmoving.

The demon servant set everything down carefully and waited for a moment, as if expecting him to ask something or acknowledge him. But Cassian didn’t look at him. He didn’t even glance at him.

When he finally left the room, the silence returned like a weight on his chest.

He stayed in bed.

He didn’t eat.

He didn’t bathe right away.

He didn’t care about the clothes.

He refused to step outside that door. What was the point? What was there to see in a palace that treated him like a possession?

He had already decided, he would find a way to leave this place. Whether someone helped him or not, whether he had to claw his way through every shadowed hallway in this demon realm...he would escape.

But his thoughts were interrupted by a second knock.

This time, another servant entered older, with sharper features and a more formal posture.

"My lord," she said respectfully, "you are expected to attend your etiquette lessons this morning."

Cassian turned to look at her, his eyes tired but filled with irritation.

"I’m not going anywhere," he said flatly.

The servant blinked. "My lord, the class is important. All new palace concubines must—"

"I said I’m not going," he repeated, his tone harder.

The servant hesitated, clearly unsure of how to respond. "If I return without you, I will be punished," she said quietly. "And... if the Supreme Lord finds out you refused your first lesson, he may order your punishment as well."

Cassian stood slowly, fists clenched at his sides.

"Then let him," he said, his voice rising. "I won’t be trained like some delicate pet to please him. I’m not his concubine. I never agreed to this."

The servant’s face fell. She looked confused. Hurt, even. But she bowed and stepped away, retreating without another word.

Cassian sank back onto the edge of the bed, breathing hard. His anger was burning hotter now. No one here seemed to care about what he wanted. Not one person had asked if he was willing. If he had a choice.

He wasn’t a piece of decoration to be dressed and taught how to bow and smile.

He was a person. And he had already lost too much of himself. But not long after the servant left, the heavy doors creaked open again.

Cassian looked up, expecting another servant.

Instead, a tall man entered, dressed in dark silver robes that shimmered faintly like storm clouds. He was a high-ranking demon—Cassian could feel it. His face was sharp, cold, and unreadable, and his black hair was slicked back with military precision. He looked like a butler, but there was something in his bearing that said he was much more than a servant.

The man bowed, perfectly, then straightened with calm authority.

"My name is Dareth," he said smoothly. "I serve as the High Steward of the Inner Palace."

Cassian didn’t reply.

"I was told you refused to attend the etiquette class," Dareth continued. His voice was polite—but there was steel beneath the surface. "I understand this situation may be difficult, but you must understand: your position has already been confirmed. You are now a concubine of the Supreme Lord."

Cassian’s jaw clenched. "Against my will."

Dareth didn’t flinch. "Be that as it may, you are here. And here, palace rules must be followed. If you do not attend your instruction, disciplinary measures will be taken."

Cassian stood again, eyes flashing. "So, what? I can take punishment rather than being someone’s pleaser toy."

The butler’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t show anger.

But the pressure in the room grew heavier.

"You are free to express your emotions," Dareth said. "But refusing the Lord’s command is not a choice offered to any of us."

Cassian stepped forward, fists clenched. "Then you’ll have to force me."

A tense silence filled the air.

Dareth finally spoke, his voice quiet.

"I do not wish to use force. But I will if you leave me no option."

Cassian stared him down.

The tension crackled like lightning between them.

For a long moment, neither moved.

Then Dareth inclined his head slightly, as if offering one last chance.

"The class begins in one hour," he said. "I will return. And I hope, by then, you will have chosen wisely."

He turned and left, the door closing behind him with a soft, ominous click.

As soon as the door shut behind Dareth, Cassian’s control snapped.

With a low growl of frustration, he grabbed one of the silk cushions and hurled it across the room. It hit the carved mirror and slid to the floor, too soft to break anything, too useless to satisfy the storm inside him.

"Damn this place," he muttered under his breath, pacing the room like a caged animal. "Damn him. Damn his titles. Damn his rules."

His chest heaved. Every breath felt too shallow, too hot. He wanted to scream. To tear down every curtain and shatter every fragile, beautiful thing in this room that wasn’t his.

They had taken everything—his choices, his dignity, his freedom—and now they wanted him to behave. To be grateful for this fucking worthless status.

He had been a servant once. He knew what it meant to be low, to be silent. But he wasn’t that boy anymore, not after what he had endured in those five years.

Now, Prince Dorian was no one to him. He was not his master, and Cassian no longer owed him obedience.

If they thought he would quietly submit, they had chosen the wrong man.