Chapter 5 #2
The gear fit surprisingly well, sturdy black leather reinforced with dark stitching along the seams, not nearly as intricate as the nobles’ but far superior to the worn clothes we’d been wearing.
The pendant at my throat felt heavier now, a reminder that while I was wearing the uniform, my place among the riders was still uncertain.
By the time Cordelle exited the washroom, fully dressed and grinning, Tae motioned for us to follow.
The ring was exactly as it sounded—a fighting pit, designed for sparring, training, and breaking recruits into whatever form the army required of them. There was one for each squad, but ours had been recently painted.
Zander stood in the middle of it, arms crossed over his chest, waiting.
“Let’s see what we’re working with,” he announced, his cool gaze sweeping over us. “Who would like to go first?”
Naia smirked at me from across the ring, a glint of challenge in her eyes. “How about you and I have a go?”
I unzipped my jacket and passed it to Riven. “Why not?”
We stepped into the center, circling each other, testing the space.
Naia struck first. A quick, precise, low kick aimed at my legs. I dodged, the impact grazing my shin instead of taking my knee out from under me. I retaliated immediately, lunging forward and aiming a sharp jab at her ribs.
She blocked effortlessly and countered with a brutal hook, her fist colliding with my shoulder and sending a jolt of pain through my arm.
Naia wasn’t trying to kill me, but she was also not adverse to hurting me.
I gritted my teeth and pivoted, ducking low and sweeping my leg out, forcing her to step back or risk being taken down.
She recovered quickly, her movements fast and efficient, her experience obvious.
This wasn’t just a test.
She was gauging me.
I blocked the next few blows, dodging and weaving, but when she faked left and struck right, her knuckles cracked against my jaw.
I saw stars.
Pain flared, hot and immediate, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of stumbling. Instead, I used the momentary closeness to slam my palm into her sternum, forcing her back.
We separated, both of us breathing hard.
She smirked. “Not bad, Rebec.”
I wiped blood from my lip and grinned. “Not bad yourself.”
Zander, who had been watching with mild interest, finally spoke.
“Good. Next.”
I exhaled, rolling out my sore shoulder, and stepped out of the ring.
One by one, my squadmates took their turns in the ring. Each match varied in skill, intensity, and ruthlessness, but every fight served its purpose—testing us, pushing us, exposing weaknesses we hadn’t yet considered.
Riven took down Eilvin in under a minute, her movements sharp and efficient. Tae finally took down Ferrula, though it was a near-even match, both of them favoring brute strength over speed.
And then, there were only Jax and Cordelle left.
For the first time since coming to the castle, I felt true fear.
Jax was strong, fast, and experienced. Cordelle, for all his wit and poetic nature, was not a fighter.
I braced myself, ready to step in if it got out of hand.
But instead of pummeling our poet into the dirt, Jax patiently began instructing him.
“Keep your stance wider—no, wider than that,” Jax said, gesturing with his hands. Cordelle adjusted his footing, looking uncertain. “Alright, now throw a punch—not like you’re caressing a page, Cordelle, put some power into it.”
Cordelle hesitated, then threw a punch, which Jax deflected easily.
“You’re pulling back too much,” Jax said. “Again.”
Cordelle tried again. And again. And again.
The match wasn’t really a match—it was a lesson.
And Zander hated it.
I saw his expression darken, his patience snapping like brittle glass. Without warning, he stepped into the ring, cutting the session short.
“You are not doing him any favors, Prospect Barmon,” Zander said, his voice cold and clipped.
Jax turned to him, eyes blazing with defiance. For once, he wasn’t smiling. “He is just a kid,” Jax said, every word laced with disgust. “I’ll fight, but not a damn teenager that’s never held a weapon or been in a fight.”
Jax took a step toward Zander, his voice dripping with challenge. “How about you stop hiding behind your title and take his place?”
The air shifted.
I wasn’t the only one who noticed it.
Around the ring, other squads turned to watch. Conversations stilled. The sounds of sparring ceased, leaving only the quiet tension hanging in the air.
All eyes were on Zander and Jax.
Zander didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.
“Cadet Strome,” Zander’s voice rang out, cool and composed. “Please leave the ring. You have won your match with Prospect Barmon.”
Cordelle looked sick as he stepped back, his shoulders hunched, his face burning with humiliation.
Zander, however, was already moving.
He reached up, gripping the collar of his Flight jacket, and slid it off, revealing the snug, form-fitting combat gear beneath.
He didn’t look at me as he passed it to me, but he might as well have, because I was suddenly holding it with no real choice but to grip the expensive leather in my hands.
Damn him.
I tried not to notice how warm it was from his body heat.
Or that it smelled incredibly good—like crisp wind, leather, and something subtly sharp, something undeniably Zander.
But most of all, I tried not to notice the way he and Jax moved around one another, like two storms about to collide.
The air inside the ring was electric, thick with tension as Zander and Jax circled each other. Zander was cool, systematic, a blade waiting to be drawn. Jax, on the other hand, was coiled energy, his stance loose but deceptively sharp, ready to strike the second he saw an opening.
It was noble-born discipline versus street-honed instinct, and the entire training ground knew it.
Jax was the first to attack.
He feinted left, testing Zander’s reflexes, then lunged forward with a powerful right hook. Fast. Brutal. Direct.
Zander dodged, pivoting smoothly, as if he had been expecting the move. His body barely shifted, his footwork precise, and instead of counterattacking, he simply let Jax’s momentum carry him forward.
Jax caught himself at the last second, snapping around, and this time he didn’t hesitate.
He went in hard, throwing a flurry of punches—one, two, three.
Zander blocked every single one.
Not with brute force, not even with effort, but with complete, calculated ease.
The third strike, a mean uppercut aimed at his ribs, Zander finally caught. His gloved hand snatched Jax’s wrist in midair, twisting it just enough to stop the attack, but not so much as to break it.
A lesser fighter might have flinched. Might have hesitated.
Jax did neither.
He used the momentum against Zander, twisting his entire body and ramming his shoulder into the prince’s chest.
The impact was solid. A smart move.
But Zander barely moved.
The slight shift of his boots against the stone was the only indication he’d felt it at all.
Then, he struck back.
Not with wild punches or brute strength, but with surgical precision.
A single knee to Jax’s gut, enough to knock the wind out of him. A sharp elbow strike to the ribs, but as Jax tried to recover, Zander hooked his leg behind Jax’s ankle and took him down.
Hard.
Jax hit the ground with a sharp grunt, dust and sand kicking up around him.
It had taken Zander less than twenty seconds to end the fight.
Silence hung in the air, thick and heavy.
Jax coughed once, blinking up at the sky, stunned but not broken.
Zander, for all his ruthless efficiency, didn’t gloat. Didn’t smirk.
He simply stepped back, voice unreadable as he said, “You left too many openings.”
Jax let out a dry, breathless chuckle. “Yeah? Well, I landed a hit.”
Zander didn’t deny it. Didn’t argue.
Instead, he simply turned toward me, holding out a gloved hand.
For a second, I didn’t understand.
He wanted his jacket back.
I hesitated. Just a fraction of a second.
Then I tossed it to him, and he caught it effortlessly, sliding it back on with the same arrogance he did everything with.
Jax sat up, still catching his breath, but when I looked at him, he didn’t seem angry. Frustrated? Sure. But not angry.
“Alright,” Jax muttered, rubbing his ribs as he climbed to his feet. “Next time, I’m using a knife.”
I smirked. “I think he’d still win.”
Jax sighed dramatically. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”
Major Kaler approached us as Zander fastened his jacket. “It is time for the Trial by Fire.”