Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
T he air in the Ascension Grounds was sharp and heavy with tension.
I tried to ignore Remy standing with his squad—but it was hard.
No one wanted to stand too close to him, and I couldn’t blame them.
An assassin turned rider was one thing. But a man who’d been working for King Rayne? That was something else entirely.
I wondered if he understood what the Order would do when they found out he’d been working for the crown.
For King Rayne. Remy was dead—he had to know that.
And yet he stood there, as calm as ever, like he didn’t have a noose already tightening around his neck.
The thought twisted my insides in ways I hated to admit.
“In the ring!” Zander’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, snapping me back to the present. “Jax, Naia—you’re up.”
Jax smirked as he moved to the center of the ring. Naia grinned back at him, the gleam in her eyes pure mischief.
“This should be good,” Riven murmured beside me.
And it was.
The moment Zander barked Begin , Jax and Naia sprang at each other like a matched pair of wolves—all sharp precision and calculated strikes.
They didn’t just know how to fight; they knew how to fight each other .
Jax pivoted on the balls of his feet, deflecting Naia’s incoming strike with ease.
She anticipated his counter, ducking low before twisting and sweeping his leg.
But Jax twisted with her, rolling over his shoulder and coming back to his feet in one fluid motion.
“Damn,” Cordelle muttered. “They’re good.”
They were. There was a rhythm to it, almost like a dance. Each attack countered, every feint predicted. They knew each other’s tells—their strengths, their weaknesses.
And yet...
Naia overextended.
Her kick shot too far, leaving her ribs wide open. Jax saw the opportunity. I knew it, Naia knew it—hell, Zander knew it too.
But Jax didn’t take the shot. He hesitated just long enough for Naia to recover, spinning away and catching her breath.
“Stop!” Zander barked, stepping forward. “You two are done.”
Naia wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, shooting Jax a questioning look.
“Why?” Jax protested. “We were?—”
“I know what you were doing,” Zander snapped. “I don’t care how long you’ve known each other. When you’re in that ring, you take your opponent down. You hesitate in a real fight, you die. Period.”
“I wouldn’t let her get hurt,” Jax said, voice low but rigid.
“You won’t have a choice in the middle of a war,” Zander shot back. His gaze sharpened, flicking between them. “I need to know you can end a fight when the moment calls for it.”
Naia’s face flushed red, and she turned away, heading to the edge of the ring. Jax’s expression hardened as he followed.
Zander’s gaze flicked to me next. “Rebec. You’re up.”
I swallowed hard and stepped forward, ignoring the eyes that followed me—and especially the pair of stormy gray ones that burned into my back.
Perin sauntered over with the kind of arrogance that made my skin crawl. His grin was sharp and full of teeth as he addressed Zander.
“Lieutenant Rayne. I’ve been assigned to spar with your group.” His eyes flicked to me, the grin widening. “I guess I’m up next.”
Zander’s gaze shifted to Major Kaler, and his expression darkened. His face was cold, hard—like clouds before a storm. He didn’t say anything, but the tension between the two officers was enough to make my stomach tighten.
“I get to take on the winner,” Jax said, stepping forward. His voice was steady, but his eyes—those flashed with something much sharper.
Perin’s grin turned smug, and he winked at Jax like this was a game. “No problem.”
Jax’s face hardened, his hand flexing like he wanted to put it straight through Perin’s face. He wouldn’t, though. Not unless Perin gave him a reason.
“Begin,” Zander said, his voice clipped and low.
Perin moved fast. He lunged straight for me, throwing a quick jab toward my ribs. I twisted away, feeling his fist glance off my side. Not enough to do damage, but enough to sting.
I countered with a sharp strike to his shoulder, stepping back to reset my footing. Perin grinned like I’d just done him a favor.
“Not bad,” he sneered. “I’ll give you that.”
I didn’t answer. Words didn’t matter in the ring.
He lunged again—this time faster—and I dodged left, only for his knee to come up and slam into my ribs.
The air rushed out of me, and I stumbled.
He grabbed my arm, forcing it back, and I barely twisted free before he could lock me down.
My feet slipped against the ground as I spun back to face him.
“Getting tired already?” Perin taunted, his eyes gleaming with something... darker.
I kept my guard up, breathing through the ache in my ribs. He feinted right this time, and when I dodged, he was waiting. His elbow caught me just under my chin, and I hit the ground hard, stars sparking behind my eyes.
I blinked rapidly to clear my vision, dragging myself to my feet just as Perin’s sleeve slid back.
The tattoo. The one on his wrist. The same one I’d seen on the man who’d attacked me behind the dining hall.
“It was you,” I whispered.
Perin’s grin faltered—just for a second—then his face twisted into something ugly. Before I could react, his arm shot out, slamming against my throat and forcing me back down. His fingers closed tight, cutting off my air.
“Should’ve just stayed quiet,” he growled.
Panic surged through me. My vision blurred, my lungs screamed. I clawed at his arm, twisting my body beneath him. His grip tightened.
I reached down and drove my fingers into the soft spot beneath his wrist—a pressure point Solei had taught me years ago. Perin grunted, his grip faltering just enough. I twisted hard, wrenching free and rolling to my feet in one desperate motion.
Perin circled me like a vulture, smug and confident—and worse, patient. My ribs ached from his last strike, and I knew I was slowing down.
“Come on, little Thrall,” he sneered. “I thought you were supposed to be tough.”
I gritted my teeth. Don’t rise to it. Stay calm.
He lunged again, faster than I expected. I twisted, but his fist caught my ribs—the same bruised side—and I felt something sharp lance through my body. Pain flared, and I stumbled.
“Looks like I found a weak spot,” he sneered, grabbing my arm before I could recover.
I slammed my elbow into his side, but he was ready for it this time. He twisted my arm back so hard I thought my shoulder might tear free, and my knees buckled under the pain. My breath was ragged as he forced me down to the ground, his full weight pressing on my chest.
“You should’ve stayed quiet,” he hissed, his face too close to mine. “If you’re too stupid to spy for your father, then you’re just a liability.”
“Was it him?” I choked out, struggling to breathe. “Did Cyran send you?”
Perin chuckled, low and cold. “Even your family wants you dead, then?” He grinned wider. “Not that it matters. Seems plenty of people want you gone.”
My stomach twisted. Who else?
“Why?” I forced the word past my dry throat.
“Doesn’t matter.” His grin turned wolfish. “You won’t live long enough to find out.”
Something inside me snapped. Rage—cold and sharp—surged through my blood, a fury unlike anything I’d ever felt. My legs twisted beneath me, and I drove my knee up with everything I had.
I hit him square between the legs.
Perin let out a strangled sound, his grip loosening just enough for me to wrench free. I rolled hard to the side, gasping for air. My ribs screamed in protest, but I forced myself to my feet, my head spinning.
“You bitch,” Perin snarled, clutching himself as he staggered upright.
I swayed, one hand pressing my side. My body screamed to stop, but I locked my knees to keep from falling. The pain throbbed in sharp waves—hot and brutal—but I refused to show weakness.
“Next time,” Perin promised, his voice ragged, “I won’t hold back.”
“Neither will I,” I spat.
Remy strolled forward with the same lazy swagger he’d always carried, the kind that said he knew exactly how dangerous he was and didn’t give a damn who knew it.
The entire Warborn Squad paused their sparring to watch him.
Even Crownwatch shifted their attention toward the ring.
He’d been gone for three years, and with so many new faces, it was clear they were curious.
Curious to see if the infamous Lieutenant Saulter still lived up to his reputation.
“It’s my turn,” Remy said, his voice low and cold as he waved me out of the ring without so much as a glance in my direction.
I didn’t argue—I knew what was coming.
Perin’s grin spread wide as he flexed his shoulders, still smug despite the pain I’d left him with. “Why?” he sneered. “Are you going to kick me in the balls, too?”
“No,” Remy said in a flat, disinterested voice.
Perin’s grin faltered. The tension in the air sharpened, the kind that made your heart race for no reason except the knowledge that something brutal was about to happen.
The other squads stopped their matches entirely now, the clang of steel fading into silence as every eye shifted toward the ring.
“Begin,” Major Kaler barked, obviously making sure Zander knew who was in charge.
Perin lunged, but Remy moved like liquid shadow, easily twisting away from the strike. His foot barely kissed the ground before he pivoted and struck out with an open palm—not to hurt, just to mock. His hand tapped Perin’s cheek with insulting ease.
“That’s all you got?” Remy asked, his voice soft with contempt.
Perin growled and attacked again, faster this time. Remy dodged, sidestepped, and delivered another light slap to the back of Perin’s head. His movements were fluid, effortless. He didn’t bother blocking—he just wasn’t there when Perin swung.
“You’re slow,” Remy said, dodging another strike. “Sloppy.”
Perin’s face twisted with fury, and I knew what was coming before he reached for the dagger strapped to his back.