Chapter 43
Chapter Forty Three
It was late evening and the halls were quiet save for the distant chimes marking the quarter hour. It was the kind of hush that settled over the academy once training concluded and mess tables began to fill.
Cassara moved slowly, each step a careful negotiation with muscles that screamed in protest. The edge of her coat brushed her legs, heavy wool catching on the gauze bandage wrapped around her left knee. Every breath pulled at ribs that hadn’t quite forgiven Julian’s fist.
She hadn’t planned to stay with Liri all day, but the girl’s determined brightness, joking through obvious pain—insisting her broken arm gave her “character”—had kept her from tending to her own obligations.
And truthfully, resting in that cushioned chair beside the hospital bed had been nicer than she’d ever admit.
The archway ahead opened toward the dining hall, warm light and voices spilling out like honey. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread made her stomach clench with hunger she hadn’t noticed until now. She angled to skirt past it, quiet, unnoticed, just another shadow in the evening routine.
“Cassara.”
She didn’t turn to see who had called to her, instead she kept walking. Maybe if she pretended not to hear he would get the point and leave her alone.
Wishful thinking at its finest.
The sound of Julian’s bootsteps trailed after her, a second set joining a moment later. Heavier, which meant Jonas. Finally a third, lighter but no less purposeful. Vash, she assumed. After a few seconds the steps tapered off and she chanced a glance over her shoulder.
There was no sign of them, no sign of anyone actually, but that did little to quell the feeling of unease that settled over her.
Rounding the corner, she stopped short when she caught sight of Julian leaning against the stone with studied nonchalance. Jonas stood to his left, massive arms crossed over a chest that could stop a charging beast.
Where was Vash?
She didn’t have to wonder long, sensing him as he came up behind her to block any chance of retreat.
“You’re limping,” Julian observed, pushing off from the wall and stepping towards her. “I came to check on you earlier, but you were nowhere to be found.”
She refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer.
“We all went a little hard in the arena.” He continued as if her silence was an invitation, his voice sliding into that careful lilt he used when trying to turn fault into flattery. “Emotions were high. The stakes… well, we both know what was riding on that match. I may have overreacted.”
She tried to move past him but he stepped with her, a dance they’d performed too many times before. But where once she might have found it charming, the focused attention and the refusal to be ignored, now it just made her sick.
“I’m trying to be decent here,” he added, and something harder crept into his tone. Like his generosity was a gift she was foolish to refuse. “I shouldn’t have hit you that hard. It was beneath me.”
Cassara’s gaze flicked up, meeting his for the first time. In the magelight, his eyes looked like chips of winter sky—beautiful and absolutely empty of warmth.
“You hit me because you were losing.”
Julian blinked, the mask cracking to show the danger underneath. “I was provoked.”
“Right, my mistake, it’s never your fault,” she snorted and stepped to the side again. He followed, persistent as a shadow.
“I’m being reasonable,” he said, and his voice had dropped to that dangerous register she knew too well. The tone that preceded broken things and bruised hearts. “More reasonable than you deserve, considering how you’ve been acting. You don’t want to make this worse, Cass.”
The nickname was deliberate. Possessive. A reminder of intimacies she’d rather forget.
He reached for her face, fingers gentle, like they hadn’t once curled into fists against her ribs, like they hadn’t gripped her wrist hard enough to leave marks. The gesture was so tender, so careful, it might have fooled someone who didn’t know better.
Cassara slapped his hand away.
The sound cracked through the corridor like a whip. For a moment, the only sound was her heightened breathing and the distant clatter of dishes from the dining hall.
Julian’s face went very still. Behind him, she caught Jonas shifting his weight, preparing.
For what, she wasn’t sure.
“That,” Julian said softly, “was a mistake.”
Jonas and Vash moved fast—faster than men their size should manage.
She’d half-turned to run when hands gripped her arms from behind, Jonas’s massive paw engulfing her right bicep while Vash’s fingers found pressure points with surgical precision.
Not hard enough to bruise, not yet, but enough to make it clear that struggling would change that quickly.
Her heart spiked so hard she felt it in her throat. Flicker stirred beneath her skin, heat building, but she forced him down. Not here. Not yet. Not when they were three on one and she was already injured.
Julian stepped closer.
His smile was a brittle thing, all edges and no warmth.
“You think you’re above me now?” he murmured, voice pitched for her ears alone. One hand came up, hovering near her face without quite touching. “Think that beast of yours makes you untouchable? That little display in the arena changed anything?”
She didn’t answer. Her silence wasn’t submission, it was the fuse burning short, the calm before lightning struck. She felt Flicker pacing, eager to show Julian exactly what her ‘little beast’ could do.
Julian leaned in closer, his breath warm against her cheek.
“You keep acting like this, like you’re not mine anymore, and I’ll remind you how quickly I can break what you care about.” His lips curved in something too sharp to be a smile. “Starting with the little cute one. What’s her name again?”
A pause. His eyes glittered with malicious delight.
“Liri, was it?”
Cassara’s blood turned molten. Every injury, every ache, every careful breath disappeared beneath the roar of protective fury.
Julian’s grin widened, sharp and gleaming as a blade.
“Cute thing like her wouldn’t last long if something unfortunate happened.
A fall down the stairs. Complications from that broken arm.
These healing potions can be so tricky… one wrong ingredient…
” He shrugged, elegant and casual. “And no one would question it.”
The threat hung between them like a physical thing. Not just words, but a promise. Julian had resources, connections, the kind of power that made accidents easy to arrange and they both knew it.
“At it again, Tremaine?”
Gideon’s voice came from behind them, cool and measured.
Jonas and Vash froze first, trained instincts recognizing danger. Julian’s grin didn’t falter, but his jaw ticked, a tell she’d learned to read years ago. Slowly, deliberately, making it clear this was his choice, he turned.
Gideon stood just beyond the archway’s curve. His stance was quiet command, feet planted and shoulders set, and his eyes—his eyes looked like slate about to crack.
“I’m starting to wonder if I’m just not hitting you hard enough,” Gideon continued, stepping forward, “I suggest you take your hands off her.”
For one breath, no one moved, all of them waiting to see which way the violence would tilt. Finally, Jonas let go. Just like that, the massive hand disappeared from her arm. Vash followed a heartbeat later, gaze flicking toward Julian for confirmation he didn’t give.
Cowards without orders. Just like always.
Cassara exhaled and stepped back. Her arms ached where they’d gripped her, phantom pressure that would become bruises by morning.
Julian’s eyes narrowed, but his smile remained. “Careful, Delvanir. You keep stepping in where you’re not wanted. Playing hero doesn’t suit you.”
“I don’t care what you want.” Gideon came to stand between them, cutting a clean line through the tension.
Not quite touching Cassara, but close enough that she felt the heat of him, the solid presence that made her bruised ribs ease their grip on her lungs.
“You make another threat like that? Especially to someone on my team? And I’ll make sure you never set foot in another ranked match again. ”
Julian laughed. “You think Headmistress Kalisandra would believe anything you say? A disgraced family’s last son, spreading lies about—”
“She won’t have to.” Gideon’s interruption was soft, which somehow made it worse. “You’ve been sloppy, Tremaine. Too many eyes. Too many ears. Even your allies are getting tired of you.”
Julian’s smile finally slipped.
“And if you ever lay hands on Cassara again,” Gideon added, stepping closer, voice dropping so low Julian had to lean in to hear it, “I won’t report you.”
Julian looked confused.
“I’ll handle it myself.”
For once, Julian Tremaine, master manipulator, silver-tongued prince of the upper ranks, had nothing clever to say. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. Behind him, Jonas took another step back.
Gideon didn’t wait for a response. He turned to Cassara, and the transformation was immediate. The ice in his eyes thawed to concern, gaze flicking over her in quick assessment, checking and confirming, all without a word.
“You alright?” he asked, softer now. Private. Just for her.
She nodded, not trusting her voice to adequately mask the emotions warring within her.
Behind them Julian was already walking away, but the silence he left in his wake wasn’t victory. It was a warning.
Cassara met Gideon’s gaze and straightened.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, the moment the hallway turned empty. Her heel twisted on the polished stone as she turned to face him, voice low but sharp, each word edged with something more complex than anger. “You didn’t have to step in like that.”
Gideon blinked, confusion replacing the protective fury that had carried him through the confrontation. A frown pulled at his mouth. “He had you cornered. Three on one, Cassara. Jonas had his hands on you. Was I supposed to just ignore it?”