Marrying a Warhound (Cassian) novel Chapter 193

**Chapter 193**

**Celeste’s POV**

“Atasha?” The name slipped from her lips, and she fought to suppress the quiver that threatened to betray her composure. With a deliberate effort, she straightened her back and lifted her chin, steeling herself against the unexpected surge of anxiety that raced through her veins.

Atasha advanced slowly, and the mere sight of her sister sent Celeste’s irritation spiraling into sharper, more jagged edges. Once drab and unkempt, Atasha’s hair now gleamed under the soft glow of the greenhouse lamps, each golden strand radiating a vibrancy that seemed almost surreal. It was as if she had emerged from a realm of luxury, where warm oils and lavish treatments were a daily indulgence, rather than from a battlefield steeped in chaos. Celeste found herself transfixed, unable to tear her gaze away.

How could this be?

In a place rife with the stench of conflict, blonde hair should have appeared wild and tangled, perhaps even frozen or weighed down by the biting wind. Yet, it cascaded over Atasha’s shoulders in soft waves, catching the light as if the greenhouse had been crafted solely to showcase her like a prized possession.

Celeste’s eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the rest of her sister’s appearance.

Atasha was adorned in a gown. Not just any garment, but a beautifully tailored creation that hugged her waist before flowing down in layers of soft fabric, the kind of attire one would expect at a royal banquet, not after traversing a battlefield soaked in blood. The collar was intricately embroidered, far too elegant for the rugged tastes of the North, and she moved with an ease that suggested she had always been accustomed to such finery.

A gown. In the midst of this turmoil.

Was she out of her mind? Did she truly not grasp the horror unfolding beyond these glass walls? Did she not sense the death and despair that lingered in the air, the very essence of chaos that had claimed so many lives just hours before? Celeste felt her jaw tighten as her thoughts raced.

So, it wasn’t that they were mistreating Atasha.

No, they were indulging her, showering her with affection and luxury while the North bled around her.

Atasha approached with an unhurried grace, her expression adorned with a gentle smile, calm and soft, as if she were welcoming a cherished guest rather than a sister who had braved the cold, the peril, and the humiliation just to see her.

Celeste’s stomach churned.

Why was she smiling so serenely? Why did she appear so… composed? Atasha should have been trembling, filled with fear and exhaustion, or at the very least, shivering from the cold. Instead, she glided across the greenhouse, looking as if she had just awoken from a restful slumber on silk sheets, attended by servants who brushed her hair with tender care.

As Celeste watched her sister approach, a whirlwind of thoughts spiraled in her mind.

If Atasha was living in such comfort, then why had she ignored Celeste’s letters? Why had she chosen silence for months on end? How dare she greet her with that smile after Celeste had been the one to worry, the one to struggle, the one to lose everything? Atasha owed her explanations, loyalty, and obedience after everything Celeste had sacrificed for her growing up.

Yet there she stood, draped in a gown, strolling through a fragrant haven while the world outside these glass panes resembled a mass grave.

Celeste tore her gaze from Atasha’s dress, forcing herself to examine her sister’s face. Her skin was flawless, her posture confident. There were no signs of sleepless nights or the weight of grief etched into her features. Worse still, not a single bruise marred her skin. If Cassian was as monstrous as the rumors suggested, he certainly wasn’t taking it out on Atasha.

A surge of envy bubbled within Celeste, bitter and sharp.

How could Atasha, of all people, be living this charmed life? How could this naive, delicate girl bask in gowns and warmth while Celeste herself endured frigid carriages, tightened budgets, and a pack crumbling under the relentless Demon Fang attacks?

Atasha loved her, yes, but did she love her enough? Celeste wouldn’t know until she put it to the test.

She steadied herself, preparing to don the mask she needed to wear.

“Sister…?” Atasha’s voice finally broke through the tension, soft and gentle in a way that made Celeste’s teeth clench.

Celeste forced a smile, mirroring her sister’s expression with one of her own, carefully concealing the storm brewing within.

With practiced ease, she smoothed her face into a mask of warmth, her eyes softening as she stepped forward, arms opening wide. “Atasha,” she murmured, infusing her tone with feigned affection, “I missed you.”

Atasha stepped into her embrace without a moment’s hesitation, wrapping her arms around Celeste in a tight hug that caught Celeste off guard for a heartbeat. But she quickly leaned into it, returning the gesture even as annoyance simmered beneath her skin. Atasha smelled like fresh flowers and warm linen, a stark contrast to the metallic scent that still clung to the others. Of course. She was protected, sheltered, and coddled.

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