Chapter Sixteen #2
“And I was wrong,” she reminded him. “The southern ridge breach happened exactly where I said it wouldn’t.”
Julian shook his head. “You were thirteen,” he repeated, his voice softer now. “And you still knew more than half the so-called experts.”
She glanced at him, surprised by the warmth in his tone.
For a moment, she glimpsed the boy she’d grown up with, the one who’d climbed trees with her, who’d stood up to her father when no one else would, who’d looked at her like she hung the moon even when she was covered in mud and full of wild ideas.
Before expectations had twisted everything between them.
They paused near a small fountain, its water catching the last rays of sunlight. Julian turned to face her, his expression suddenly serious.
“I miss you,” he said quietly. “The real you. Not this… armor you’ve been wearing ever since we arrived.”
Cassara stiffened. “I’m still me.”
“Are you?” His eyes searched hers. “Because the Cass I knew wasn’t afraid to let people see her. Wasn’t afraid to feel things.”
“I’m not afraid,” she said, but the words rang hollow even to her own ears.
Julian stepped closer, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from her face. The gesture was achingly familiar, he’d done it a hundred times over the years, when they were children, when they were almost more.
“Then why are you running?” he asked. “From me. From everyone.”
From Auren, she thought, and immediately hated herself for it.
Julian’s fingers lingered against her cheek, and she didn’t pull away. She was so tired of fighting against her father’s expectations, against Julian’s persistence, against her own traitorous heart that still raced whenever she thought of Auren.
“I’m not running,” she said, the lie bitter on her tongue.
Julian’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “Prove it.”
Cassara knew what would happen next. Could see it unfolding like a page already written. He would lean in. She would let him. And maybe, just maybe, the taste of him would overwrite the memory of Auren. Maybe it would give her something simple and uncomplicated to hold onto.
When Julian’s lips touched hers, she didn’t pull away.
The kiss was gentle, almost hesitant, so different from the desperate collision with Auren. Julian’s hand cradled her face, his mouth moving against hers with practiced care.
Cassara closed her eyes, trying to lose herself in the moment. but instead of clarity, all she felt was emptiness.
Julian deepened the kiss, his other hand finding her waist, drawing her closer. She let him, her own hands coming up to rest against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat racing beneath her palm, his breath catching with want.
She felt nothing but absence.
No fire. No thunder. Just a void in her chest where desire should have been.
Julian pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers, his breathing uneven. “I’ve missed that,” he whispered.
Cassara opened her eyes, reality crashing back with brutal clarity.
What was she doing?
This wasn’t fair, not to Julian, not to herself. Not when every cell in her body was still humming with the memory of another man’s touch. Not when she’d closed her eyes and wished, just for a moment, that it had been Auren’s voice murmuring against her skin.
She stepped back, breaking contact. “Julian, I—”
“Don’t,” he said, his smile small but genuine. “Don’t apologize. Don’t overthink it.” His fingers traced her cheek one last time before falling away. “Just remember that not everything has to be complicated. That some things can be simple if you let them.”
But nothing about this felt simple. Not the guilt twisting in her stomach, the emptiness where desire should have been, or the realization that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t kiss away the memory of Auren’s heated touch.
Movement at the edge of the garden caught her eye. A tall figure passing between lanterns, pausing just long enough for her to recognize the familiar silhouette.
Auren.
Their eyes met across the distance, his expression unreadable in the gathering shadows.
Had he seen? Did it matter if he had?
He continued walking without acknowledgment, disappearing around the curve of the path as if he’d never been there at all.
Cassara turned back to Julian, who was watching her with a mixture of renewed hope and uncertainty.
“It’s getting late,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “We should head back.”
Julian nodded, offering his arm. She took it, allowing him this small victory, even as her mind raced with the implications of what she’d just done, and what she hadn’t felt.
One thing was devastatingly clear, she couldn’t kiss away Auren’s memory.
And she wasn’t sure she wanted to try anymore.
Rain lashed the upper training field, turning packed earth to mud, and stone to slick, treacherous ground. Students ran the perimeter in staggered formation, boots splashing through puddles, uniforms soaked through despite weather-resistant enchantments.
Cassara pushed herself harder with each lap, lungs burning, muscles screaming. The cold rain stung her face, plastered her hair to her neck, seeped through every layer until she could no longer tell where the water ended and her own sweat began.
She welcomed the discomfort. Craved it.
Seven days since Auren. One day since Julian.
One day since she’d made everything infinitely more complicated.
“Faster!” Nareen barked from beneath the shelter of the observation pavilion. “The Wildes won’t slow down because you’re tired!”
Cassara dug deeper, forcing her legs to push harder against the muddy terrain. She overtook two students, then three, her breath coming in ragged gasps that fogged in the cold air. Each step was a punishment, each stride a desperate attempt to outrun her own thoughts.
Had Auren seen her with Julian? Did it matter if he had?
She wasn’t accountable to him. Owed him nothing. He’d lied about why he wanted to train her, then kissed her like she was oxygen, then walked away like she was nothing.
And Julian… gods, Julian. The look in his eyes after she’d let him kiss her. Hope. Triumph. As if one moment of weakness meant she’d finally surrendered.
She pushed harder, muscles screaming, lungs burning.
Around her, other students began to falter as the rain intensified, the wind cutting across the field like a blade. A few dropped to a walk, hands braced on knees, chests heaving.
Cassara didn’t slow.
“Allencourt!” Nareen called, her voice sharp through the downpour. “That’s enough!”
She pretended not to hear and kept running, kept punishing her body for the chaos in her mind.
Until a figure stepped into her path, forcing her to skid to a halt, mud spraying from beneath her boots.
Auren.
He stood before her, mouth set in a grim line, eyes cold, rain streaming down his face and dripping from the edge of his jaw. His training gear was soaked through, clinging to the lean muscle beneath. He must have been running drills with the upper years on the adjacent field.
“Instructor Nareen gave you an order,” he said, voice flat.
Cassara’s chest heaved, her breath coming in painful gasps. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” His gaze was clinical, detached. “You’re pushing too hard. Risking injury before the expedition.”
“Since when do you care about my limits?” she shot back, too breathless to care who might overhear.
“Since it became my job to keep first-years from killing themselves out of stubbornness.” His voice was cold, as if the training room had never happened at all. As if he hadn’t seen her in Julian’s arms just yesterday.
It was infuriating.
Cassara straightened, pushing wet hair from her face. “Is that concern, Instructor? Or jealousy?”
The words were out before she could stop them, low enough that only he could hear but sharp enough to draw blood.
Auren’s expression didn’t change, but she saw the muscle in his jaw flex. “Pack it up, Allencourt,” he said. “Unless you want to face disciplinary action.”
He walked away without waiting for her response.
Cassara stood frozen, rain streaming down her face, heart pounding with exertion and something dangerously close to regret. Around her, the remaining students continued their laps, giving her a wide berth, curious glances sliding over her and then away.
She’d wanted a reaction. Any reaction.
And she'd gotten exactly what she deserved—nothing. Just empty air where something real had been.
Later, in the armory mirror, she caught sight of herself as she changed out of her sodden gear. Pale face, dark circles beneath her eyes, hair tangled and dripping. She looked haunted. Hollowed out.
Like someone she barely recognized.
Was this what she’d become? Someone who kissed one man to forget another, then lashed out when neither gave her what she wanted?
She turned away from her reflection, disgusted.
Ten days until the Wildes expedition. Ten days to get her head straight, to focus on what mattered. To remember who she was supposed to be.
Not a girl tangled between two men.
But an Allencourt with everything to prove.