Chained Hearts: From Slavery to Sovereignty
Chapter 149: Meeting Again in a Court Filled with His Concubines

Chapter 149: Chapter 149: Meeting Again in a Court Filled with His Concubines

The taste of porridge still lingered faintly on Cassian’s tongue, but it might as well have turned to ash. Every bite he had taken now felt like a lie. His stomach twisted the longer he sat there, the luxurious table before him suddenly suffocating.

Concubine.

The word echoed in his mind like a curse, each repetition carving deeper into the hollow beneath his ribs.

He couldn’t stay. Not here. Not in this room where the light was too soft, where the music pretended nothing had changed, and where the golden plates felt less like luxury and more like shackles. He needed air—space. Something that didn’t sparkle and shimmer and pretend to be kind.

"I think I need some air," he muttered, pushing his chair back with stiff hands.

Veyce blinked, a little surprised, then gave a loose shrug. "Sure. Go ahead. The hallways are quieter this time of day. Just don’t wander into the moon gardens—they’re patrolled, and the guards bite."

Cassian stood, legs aching, chest tight. Each step toward the curtain-lined archway made the air feel thinner. Veyce didn’t try to follow, didn’t protest. He just offered a lazy wave and a faint grin.

"We’ll talk tomorrow," he called. "I’ll show you where the firebirds roost. You’ll like them."

But Cassian barely heard him.

The moment he stepped through the trailing vines and into the marble hallway beyond, he drew in a long breath—though it did little to calm the pounding in his chest. The air smelled clean and cool, like crushed herbs and fresh stone, but it still felt wrong. It all felt wrong.

This place—this realm—it wasn’t what he thought it would be.

He didn’t know where he was walking. He just moved, legs carrying him down the corridor as if distance could untangle the knot inside him. His thoughts spun, trying to push away the truth. He wasn’t meant to be here. Not in these halls of dragon-blooded nobility and fae royalty. Not among warriors who bowed to a king they never saw. He didn’t belong here.

And then—just as he turned a polished marble column—he heard it.

"...The Supreme Lord is here."

The words dropped like stone.

His breath stopped.

His steps faltered.

And yet, instead of turning back, his feet moved forward, drawn by something he couldn’t name. Each step was hesitant, careful, as if the air itself had grown thinner. Down a side hallway lit with pale blue flames, he found the source of the whispers. Servants, lower courtiers, and lesser concubines lined the walls, heads bowed, trembling, murmuring prayers beneath their breath.

And then he saw him.

At the far end of the corridor, stepping through a crystal archway flanked by seven armored guards, was the Supreme Lord.

He moved with the quiet weight of command, as if the ground itself obeyed his steps. His robe trailed behind him like liquid shadow, embroidered with ancient runes that glowed faintly in Cassian’s vision, though he couldn’t read them. The figures who followed kept a respectful distance—horned nobles, winged fae, creatures of high blood and ancient power—but none walked at his side.

He stood above them all. Taller. Straighter. Sharper.

His presence was not loud. It was the kind of silence that made people hold their breath. The kind that pressed against the skin like a coming storm.

Cassian froze.

He couldn’t look away.

Because that face—

It was the same one from his dreams.

The same one that had haunted his sleep.

No, not dreams.

His Memories. Now it all become clear...the haze had been lifted.

His heart slammed against his chest so hard it ached. His limbs locked. He stared, unable to move, unable to blink.

He didn’t even notice the figure rushing toward him until a hand clamped around his arm.

With a sharp pull, Cassian was yanked down hard. His knees hit the marble with a painful crack just as a voice hissed into his ear.

"Don’t stare! Kneel! Now!"

The spell broke. Cassian blinked, dazed, finally taking in the full hallway.

Everyone—everyone—was kneeling. Their foreheads bowed, bodies low to the ground in reverent silence.

The dragon duchess with her glimmering hair.

The fae prince with galaxy-threaded wings.

Even Veyce, half-hidden behind a column, was flat against the floor.

And Cassian—alone and slow—had been standing. Gazing at there supreme lord.

His heart thundered, drowning out all sound.

He dropped his gaze in a panic, too late.

Because before he looked away, the Supreme Lord’s eyes passed over him.

And in them—there was nothing.

Cassian didn’t know why it hurt so much—why that single glance, so empty and indifferent, cut deeper than any blade. There had been no recognition in those eyes. No connection. And yet in his memories, those same eyes had looked at him like he was something sacred, something distant and bright, like an unreachable star. So why did everything feel so different now? Why did it feel like those memories belonged to someone else?

And it wasn’t just the past he questioned.

And forget about dreams... how could he forget yesterday night when he almost... and now pretending like he did not know him at all.

As if Cassian were a shadow on the wall. A speck of dust caught in the breeze.

Insignificant.

But before Cassian could even process the shame coiling in his gut, the cold ring of metal split the silence.

Shhhk—

Two of the Supreme Lord’s guards moved with terrifying speed.

Blades unsheathed in a flash of shadowed steel, and in the next breath, the pointed tips of twin swords were at Cassian’s throat—one on each side. Deadly. Precise. One wrong breath, and the edges would carve into his skin.

Gasps rippled down the corridor.

Even the proud concubines were wide eyes, staring him like he was a fool.

But Cassian... didn’t flinch.

His body remained still, knees pressed to the cold marble, but his chin lifted. Slowly. Deliberately.

And he looked right into the Supreme Lord’s eyes.

The distance between them felt like a chasm, yet Cassian met that gaze without blinking. Without fear. He didn’t know what compelled him. Pride? Defiance? Or the unbearable ache of recognition that refused to die.