Chapter 26 #3
The ones who reminded her, with uncomfortable clarity, of herself just days ago.
She remembered the way she’d dismissed Oliver, the quiet boy who preferred working alone. The way she’d categorized people by their usefulness, their potential, their worth to her goals. Standing here now, watching others do the same to her, left a foul taste in her mouth.
“Cassara.”
Julian stepped forward like a god in a story he’d written for himself. His smile held no kindness. “Want to redeem that golden debut? I’ve got one spot left.” he said, voice rich with false generosity. “I’ll even carry your weight, if you’re sweet enough about it.”
His eyes flicked to her feet, where Flicker sat grooming his silver fur with meticulous care, apparently unbothered by the conversation.
“All you have to do,” Julian continued, stepping closer, “is ask nicely.”
The words hung in the air between them. Around them, other students had stopped their conversations to listen. This was entertainment now. The fallen prodigy, brought low, begging for scraps from her almost-fiance.
Cassara held his gaze a beat longer, then turned her face away.
He didn’t take it well.
“Suit yourself,” Julian muttered, doing little to mask the bitterness in his tone. “We’ll see how long it takes before you come crawling back.”
She didn’t dignify his assumptions with a response.
The field buzzed around her, a tide she couldn’t quite reach.
And then—
Boots crunched beside her. She looked up sharply expecting to see Julian returned for another round.
Instead Gideon stood there, arms folded, watching her like he was trying to solve a puzzle that wouldn’t sit still.
“I’m surprised you didn’t take him up on it,” he said. “Tremaine always did have a soft spot for pretty things that break easy.”
The disgust that flashed across Cassara’s face was swift and visceral, gone almost before it appeared.
Her spine straightened instinctively. “Come to add your insult to the pile?”
Flicker turned toward Gideon with curiosity, then, without hesitation, started nibbling at his boot laces. Little, hopeful tugs.
To his credit, Gideon didn’t move. He just reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out.
A unit pin, plain black.
He held it out to her.
Cassara stared. “What is that?”
“A place. On my unit.”
She blinked. “Why?”
His eyes didn’t waver. “Because you’re not afraid to burn.”
She let out a laugh. “You don’t even like me. And he’s useless.”
Flicker paused in his play to chirp softly, as if agreeing with the assessment. The sound was so matter-of-fact that it almost made her smile.
“No,” he said, and stepped in closer. “But I respect you.”
He caught her wrist gently, pressed the crest into her palm, closed her fingers around it like a promise.
“Training starts tomorrow at nine. Don’t be late.”
And then he turned, leaving no room for argument, no time to second guess.
“Well,” she murmured, fingers brushing over the velvet rise of Flicker’s ears, “looks like we’ve got ourselves a team.”
He chirred at her touch, leaning into it with a contented flutter.
Cassara’s gaze swept the training field once more.
“Come on,” she said quietly. “Let’s get out of here.”
She hadn’t gotten far when Julian’s voice cut through the air behind her.
“Cassara. Wait.”
She didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around. But she heard his footsteps following, quick and determined.
“I said wait.” His hand closed around her wrist, spinning her back to face him. The crest in her palm pressed sharp against her fingers where his grip tightened.
“Let go of me,” she said quietly.
Julian’s eyes were bright with something ugly. Jealousy, maybe. Or wounded pride.
“So that’s how it is,” he said, voice pitched low enough that only she could hear. “All this time, acting like you were above such things. But you’re not, are you? You’re just like every other ambitious little—”
“Careful,” Cassara warned.
“It was him, wasn’t it?” Julian’s grip tightened, his thumb pressing into her wrist. “That night you came back late? I could smell him on you. Delvanir. Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out?”
Heat flooded Cassara’s cheeks, but she kept her voice level. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me.” His smile was sharp, predatory. “It doesn’t matter, you know. Whatever arrangement you have with him. I can offer you something better. More secure. You wouldn’t have to debase yourself, slumming it with damaged goods from a disgraced family.”
Cassara tried to pull away, but Julian’s grip held firm.
“Think about it,” he continued, leaning closer. “My team. My protection. My bed, if you’re willing to be reasonable about it. Much more civilized than whatever desperation led you to—”
“Get your hands off her.”
The voice came from behind Julian, cold and steady. Gideon stood there, his eyes fixed on the hand wrapped around Cassara’s wrist.
Julian turned, his grip loosening slightly but not releasing. “This is a private conversation, Delvanir.”
“No,” Gideon said, taking a step forward. “It’s not.”
“Gideon,” Cassara started, but he wasn’t looking at her. His attention was focused entirely on Julian, on the space between them that was shrinking with each deliberate step.
“Was I not clear enough, Tremaine? Let. Her. Go.”
“Or what?” Julian’s voice carried that familiar edge of entitled amusement, his grip tightening causing Cassara to wince. “You’ll make me? We both know your family doesn’t have the influence to—”
Gideon’s fist connected with Julian’s jaw with a sound like breaking wood.
Julian staggered backward, releasing Cassara’s wrist as his hand flew to his face. Around them, the field erupted in gasps and excited whispers. Students pressed closer, sensing blood in the water.
“What the hell,” Julian started, but Gideon was already moving again.
“Maybe if you spent less time talking, you’d be able to hear better,” Gideon’s voice was low, lethal.
The second punch caught Julian in the stomach, doubling him over. He wheezed, spittle flying from his lips as he struggled to breathe.
“That’s enough.”
Auren’s voice cut through the chaos as he strode across the field, students parting before him like water.
His expression was carefully neutral, but Cassara caught the flash of something fierce in his eyes as he took in the scene, Julian on the ground, Gideon standing over him with bloody knuckles, herself with finger-shaped bruises already blooming on her wrist.
“Tremaine, get up,” Auren ordered. Julian struggled to his feet, one hand pressed to his ribs, the other dabbing at his split lip.
“He attacked me!” Julian protested, voice higher than usual. “Unprovoked assault! I demand—”
“Detention,” Auren said calmly. “One week. Evening sessions with Instructor Nareen.”
“What?” Julian’s voice cracked. “But he hit me! I’m the victim here!”
“You’re also the one who grabbed a fellow student after she told you to let go,” Auren replied, eyes flicking meaningfully to Cassara’s wrist. “That’s grounds for disciplinary action.”
“This is ridiculous! My father will hear about this! You can’t—”
“Your father,” Auren cut in, “can take it up with the headmistress. If he has concerns about our discipline policy.”
Julian’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Around them, the other students watched with rapt attention, clearly enjoying the spectacle of Julian Tremaine being dressed down in front of everyone.
Auren turned to Gideon. “Delvanir. Same punishment. One week detention.”
Gideon shrugged, wiping blood from his knuckles with clinical detachment. “Worth it.”
The simple acceptance in his voice, the complete lack of regret, sent something warm and complicated spiraling through Cassara’s chest. She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.
Auren’s gaze lingered on Gideon for a moment before he turned to address the crowd.
“Show’s over,” he announced. “Return to your team selections.”
The students began to disperse, reluctantly, still buzzing with excitement over what they’d witnessed. Julian stood there for another moment, dabbing at his lip and shooting venomous looks at both Gideon and Cassara before stalking away to rejoin his team.
Gideon turned to go as well, but Cassara caught his sleeve.
“Why?” she asked quietly.
He looked down at her hand on his arm, then back to her face. For a moment, she thought he might answer and explain why he’d chosen her, why he’d defended her, why he’d been willing to take detention for the privilege of bloodying Julian’s nose.
Instead, he just pulled free of her grip and walked away.
But not before she caught the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
Cassara stood there, holding his crest in her palm, watching him go.
Tomorrow at nine, he’d said.
She wouldn’t be late.