This place was a jungle. A fancy, pink and purple jungle. Girls flocked to the counter, practically pushing each other over to get a glimpse at what was inside. Little cupcakes decorated with lace and edible pearls and ornate designs. Some were even adorned as animals. Cassian made sure to stand back, as to not be swept up in the sugar-crazed mob. What was so special about these desserts? More importantly, why would Rhys ask to meet him here? It had to be a joke. A meeting at this frilly cupcake shop along the Sidra.

He found a seat at a white iron table, toward the back of the shop. The chair was too tiny, his wings were scrunched; he hunched over, trying not to stand out too much. But it was pointless—he could tell people knew who he was. The High Lord's General of Blood.

As hushed whispers filled the air around him, Cassian leaned further down, pretending to read some menu on the table. When was the last time he had felt this uncomfortable? Bryaxis. He shuddered at the thought. Maybe cupcake shops weren't that scary if he had to compare.

When the whispers stopped, Cassian looked up to see Rhys coming toward him. Most of the people inside gawked—but they didn't dare murmur about their High Lord. Rhys smiled, greeted a few people, and things went back to normal. Cassian wondered if Rhys had calmed the patrons down; probably, and they don't even know it.

"Sorry I'm late," Rhys said, grabbing a chair to sit. "I got tied up."

Cassian chuckled, "I didn't realize you let Feyre do that to you—how playful."

Rhys rolled his eyes and snatched the menu from Cassian's hand. "What looks good?"

"They all have silly names," Cassian leaned back, even though his wings protested. "I'll just have a vanilla one."

"Really? I thought you might be a Raspberry Razzle Rabbit kind of guy."

"If it has ears, I don't want it," Cassian said. He crossed his arms. "Why are we here? And not at the house."

"I wanted to get Feyre something special. These cupcakes are supposed to be delicious and luxurious… Should we order tea?"

Cassian huffed. "Just tell me why you wanted to meet here, in this very public place, where I won't make a scene. Are you breaking up with me?"

Rhys gave a sly smile that hid a little sympathy behind it. "No, it's worse than that."

It was then that Rhys started talking about Nesta, and Cassian wanted to break free of this world.

Cassian had this ache in his left shoulder. He rubbed it, incessantly. He tried massaging it all day, but it just wouldn't go away. He cursed and breathed deliberately. Today was not going to go well. The feeling seeped into his bones. This pain, his brain had probably made it up. To remind him of the ache he was going to face in person.

At least Rhys had let him get acquainted with the cabin he would have to visit every day after their excursion to the cupcake shop. At least he had run his hand along the wooden table, counters, and walls to get the feel of the place. He was a soldier, a commander, after all. Cassian certainly needed to know his battleground.

The fact that he had not been a part of the plan made the ache in his shoulder worse. His High Lord and Lady had left him out, opted to tell him about it after discussions had occurred. Why? Well… Maybe he could understand. But he was still pissed about it.

Rhys had asked him out on a date after the fact. To a fancy little cupcake stand in the middle of Velaris. Someplace public, of course, which would prevent Cassian from causing a scene. Amongst pink, frosted treats he had been told what his new job would be:

Cassian, the babysitter.

He slid back into the chair he occupied in the home of his High Lord's river estate. The cushions gave him comfort, and he didn't want to leave. Once again, he rubbed his shoulder. It wasn't enough to warrant a healer. The pain was nothing compared to his accumulated catalog of hurt.

For fuck's sake, Cassian was solid. He was a leader. And no, he did not need a phantom pain that reminded him of a girl he had to go see who had made him so angry he had thrown her gift into the Sidra. That stupid gift.

In all his years he had never felt this way.

Why was Rhysand doing this to him? Well, and Feyre. And Elain. A trio who had made a choice which seriously affected him and that girl. Right now, if he acknowledged she was a woman it would probably break him in a way that he certainly couldn't handle. So just as she was, a girl who pissed him off. Not a woman who had shielded him in the face of imminent death. Absolutely fucking not!

The faint footsteps did not startle him. Cassian smiled, weakly, as Elain entered the social room he occupied. It was a little surprising to see her, and he had hardly ever been alone with her.

"Are you going to see Nesta?" She broadly asked, standing before him.

Looking up, Cassian replied, as softly as he could manage. "Soon."

Elain nodded and handed him a basket he had not noticed. "I made some more bread. And some other things. Could you please give this to her?"

"Yeah, of course," he reached out, left the comfort of the cushion, and took the package. He tried to smile, again, but it was harder than he had realized. He felt her touch his hand and it felt oddly familiar, albeit shocking.

"I know Nesta can push," Elain squeezed his hand, smiled, and released him. "Thank you."

Cassian got the feeling she was saying a lot more than that to him. Cassian nodded and made his way out. He could not think about this anymore. Was he even emotionally mature enough to combat these thoughts? He had thrown Nesta's gift in the Sidra. He had been a child.

And now Elain plainly saw his agony and offered comfort. This was all wrong. Nothing had ever gone this badly for him before—he really, really, really wanted to stay away from Nesta. For weeks, months, he had. Cassian had stopped making himself miserable because of the men she brought home. He had stopped going to the local haunts, in the hopes of seeing her like a creep. Gods, he had felt like a slinky piece of shit.

The notion that someone could dissolve him. It was impossible, yet it was happening. He had to fix this.

He put the basket on the ground for a moment. The air was soft outside, and he would fly. Reaching back, he tied his shoulder-length brown hair. The muscle still ached. The Nesta muscle. It wasn't going to stop hurting any time soon. With an eye-roll directed at someone who wasn't there, he took off to the skies. Off to the cabin in the woods.