Chapter 22
Thou Shalt Not Cast Alone
Arwen
Itug my jacket tighter around me as Holly and I make our way back to our dorm, our shoes clacking off the concrete.
“You seem…” Holly tilts her head, smirking at me out of the corner of her eye. “Good. Steady. Or at least less likely to throw a chair across the dining hall in the past few days. Should I be worried?”
I laugh under my breath, shaking my head. “No chairs are in danger. I just…”
My words trail off because I can’t tell her about Maddox and his promise yet. That whole conversation is something I keep tucked away. I don’t know how to explain Maddox and I’s friendship, and Cleo’s trauma from her own families run in with the gangs of Gluttony still feels too fresh.
“I don’t know how to explain it. Something inside me feels… more settled.”
Holly arches a brow like she doesn’t buy it but lets it go, humming as we climb the steps to our floor.
I have felt more steady. Maddox’s promise, Ryker’s friendship… I feel like I have leashed the out-of-control bonds from a few weeks ago. I was able to exchange my book with Professor Gabriel. His fresh scent on it is helping me sleep at night.
Holly stops short and pulls me out of my thoughts. “Uh, Arwen?”
I follow her gaze. There’s a vase sitting right outside our door. Six roses, stems long and straight, petals a buttery yellow.
“What the hell—” I start, but Holly’s already scooping it up with all the delight of someone who lives for scandal. She plucks at the little white card tucked between the blooms.
“Ohhh,” she sings, her voice dripping with triumph. “They’re for you.”
My stomach flips. “What?”
She thrusts the vase into my hands, grinning like a cat who just caught a mouse. “Read it. Out loud.”
I sigh, but my curiosity wins. Sliding the card open, I clear my throat. “‘Princess—’”
Holly chokes on a laugh at the annoying nickname Ryker has forced upon me. Clapping a hand over her mouth with a guilty look, she urges me to go on.
I glare at her before continuing, "I hope you’ll meet me tomorrow at our spot. I’ve got an idea for a… friend’s date.–Ryker.”
By the time I finish, Holly looks like she’s about to explode from holding in squeals. I bury my face in my hands, groaning. “Oh, gods. Roses do not scream ‘friend date.’ They scream, ‘I’m trying to woo you in the most dramatic way possible.’”
“They’re yellow,” Holly counters, pointing at the bouquet like she’s presenting evidence in front of the council. “Yellow means friendship. Or maybe sunshine? Either way, not red. You’re safe.”
“Safe?” I peek at her between my fingers.
“Well,” she says with a shrug, “safe-ish. Because now I need to know everything. Like—what’s this ‘spot’ he’s talking about?”
I groan again, dragging the vase into the room with me as Holly trails behind like a detective on a fresh case. “It’s not a big deal. He just—he wanted to get away from people. We ended up at this little spot near a pond on our last outing. Fireflies. Quiet. Nothing… dramatic.”
“Fireflies?” Holly drops onto her bed, eyes wide with gleeful suspicion. “That’s a romantic backdrop handed to you by the universe. And now, roses?”
I plunk the vase down on my desk and point at her. “Don’t start planning a wedding. This is just Ryker.”
“Just Ryker,” Holly echoes, smirking. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, Princess.”
“What happened to ‘He’s dangerous’?” I ask Holly exasperated.
“Oh, I still think he’s dangerous. But all your bonds are dangerous too. And at least he’s not being an asshole and is treating you the way you deserve.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m still being cautious.”
***
I’m halfway to the casting grounds to meet with Ryker when the sharp clink, clink of steel against steel makes me slow. Two figures are fencing just off the main path, blades sparking under the late light.
The tug in my chest hits before my brain catches up. One of my bonds.
My steps falter, and as if sensing it, the taller fencer hesitates too—just for a second. It’s all the opening his opponent needs. Her blade slips past his guard, tapping his chest.
“Point!” she crows, breathless.
They both lift their helmets. Atticus’s blonde hair is stuck to his forehead, his expression unreadable—except for the quick way his eyes flick to me before he looks straight past, dismissing me like I’m nothing but background.
The girl grins at him, flushed from exertion. “That’s the first time I’ve been able to land one on you all day. What happened?” She giggles, the sound too light, too interested.
He smirks, lowering his blade.
“Maybe I let you win this round. Thought it might earn me a kiss.” He says a little louder than necessary.
Her laugh is softer this time, promising.
I don’t stick around to hear her answer. Rage prickles hot in my stomach, but I shove the sting down deep, bury it under the thousand other things I don’t have the luxury of feeling.
I duck past the edge of the match, grateful to escape the tail end of his flirting before it digs under my skin any further.
The fencing sparks fade behind me, and I force my attention forward. And there he is—Ryker, striding across the casting grounds like he owns the surrounding air.
If I had thought I was surprised before when I saw him carrying a perfectly packed picnic basket, nothing could have prepared me for what he now has in his hands.
“Fishing poles?” I squint at him, tone sharp with disbelief. “You’re kidding.”
“Not kidding,” he says, arching a brow. “What, Princess, too good for fishing?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No, but I never pegged the Councilor’s son—the richest man on the continent—to be a fisherman.”
He chuckles, that easy, infuriating grin spreading across his face.
“Exactly. I know what you think of me. And I didn’t get the chance to show off my manly outdoor skills last time when you took over my picnic basket.
Thought a little friendly fishing competition might show I’m more than a wallet with a pretty face. ”
I smile, rolling my eyes playfully. “Well, I hate to let you down, but I’ve never been fishing. Large bodies of water aren’t exactly common in the desert.”
His green eyes light up with genuine excitement. “This is great. Now not only do I get to show off my mad fishing skills, I get to teach you to fish.”
Before I can even react, he grabs my hand, strong but careful, and starts leading me down the same path as last time. My chest does that stupid little flip it’s been doing when he’s close, and I scold myself for it—he’s dangerous in ways I can’t quite name yet—and it’s way too thrilling.
We reach the pond, and he presses a fishing pole into my hands. It feels heavier than I expected, awkward in my grip.
I watch him fling his line out into the water next to me like it’s the easiest thing in the world. I’m already bracing myself to look like an idiot when Ryker fixes his pole upright to hold between some rocks and steps closer.
“First you need to cast your line into the water,” he says, voice low, easy. “Move your hands back and relax your grip.”
Before I can ask how, he’s behind me, sliding into my space like it’s the most natural thing in the world. My breath catches. His hands cover mine briefly, then trail down to my wrists, nudging them to where they need to be.
“You’re strangling it,” he teases, his breath brushing the shell of my ear.
Heat creeps up my neck, and I force a laugh. “Sorry, Wrath instincts. We strangle first, ask questions later.”
He chuckles, and then his palms find my hips—steady, sure—gently adjusting my stance. “Feet apart. Good. Now…” He leans closer, and I swear my knees almost buckle. “Pull the top of your rod up and back. Yeah, just like that.”
The fishing rod feels like nothing now, background noise compared to the sharp awareness zipping through my skin. His chest is warm against my back; his presence is overwhelming. I can’t decide is dangerous or thrilling.
“Now, we cast the line,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating through me. I relax my muscles and let him lead me through the motions.
As the bait hits the water and ripples the surface, I risk a glance at his reflection in the water—his expression caught somewhere between mischief and focus, like he’s enjoying every second of this far too much. And maybe, traitorously, I am too.
His breath brushes my ear as he whispers, “Keep your wrists loose. Watch the tension… feel the line.” His lips graze the edge of my ear, and I have to bite back a laugh, my face warming despite my best effort to stay cool.
“Like this?” I murmur.
He presses his chest lightly against my back, covering my hands with his as he helps me hold the rod. “Perfect,” he says, and his voice is soft now, almost intimate.
I huff out a laugh, more to cover the way my pulse stumbles. “You sound like you’ve taught this before.”
He smirks. “I told you, princess. I’m a man of many hidden talents.”
“Uh-huh. Hidden because no one’s ever seen them?” I shoot back, rolling my eyes.
Ryker chuckles, low and amused, and leans closer so his breath brushes my cheek.
“Careful. Keep talking like that and I might let you prove me right the hard way—by letting you catch nothing.”
I laugh, tilting my head toward him. “What, and let you win your little fishing contest? Not a chance.”
“Good.” His hands give my hips the faintest squeeze before slipping away, leaving the ghost of his touch burning hotter than the sun overhead. “Because I don’t plan on going easy on you.”
We settle onto the bank, waiting for a bite. After a few minutes of silence, I glance at him. “So… what happens now?”
He smirks, leaning back on his hands. “We wait.”
I wedge my fishing rod between rocks like he did and take a seat in the grass. The quiet feels different this time—lighter, safer somehow. I can’t resist teasing him. “You still haven’t caught a fish yet.”
He chides me, playful but precise. “Patience is important.”
I roll my eyes again, grinning, then ask, “How did you learn to fish?”
His smile falters. For a second, he’s quiet, almost lost in thought.
“My dad’s driver, Max… he used to take me along when I was younger.
My father was always busy—meetings, council business, important stuff.
One day Max just… asked if I wanted to tag along.
And I loved it. The quiet. The stillness.
It was one of the few times I didn’t have to rush.
It made me… calm, in the middle of all the chaos. ”
I notice a shadow cross his face. “Are you still close to him?”
He hesitates, and when he speaks, it’s guilty. “No… not really.”
He stares off into the pond, lost in his memories. “You see, my father demands perfection. Even as a kid…if I made a mistake, there were consequences…”
I stay silent, urging him to explain.
“One day we were called back from a fishing trip early. I was in such a rush, I knew Max had to hurry. Dad doesn’t like to wait…
I hopped in the car without realizing I left the lid loose on my juice.
It spilled in the back of Dad’s limo… I was terrified.
I didn’t want to get into trouble, so I said nothing.
I just hoped he wouldn’t notice. Max… must’ve realized what would happen to me if my dad found out.
He’s been around for enough time to see the punishments I went through for carelessness.
So he took responsibility and said that his son had caused the accident. My dad fired him the next day."
Ryker sighs as he looks up at the sky.
“I think about that a lot when I come here. Max gave me that inner peace in the crazy world of Greed… and I couldn’t even own my mistake. He had to cover for me. And he got fired.”
I reach over, touching his arm. “Ryker… that wasn’t your fault. You were a kid. Kids make mistakes.”
He brushes it off, the cocky mask snapping back into place. “Let’s not ruin the day, Princess.”
We swap stories about home and childhood, our laughs echoing across the water. Every so often, he nudges me with a teasing grin, and I fire back just as sharp. I glance at the pond. “So… are there actually any fish in here?”
His smirk curls, teasing, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe,” he says, shoulders tilting like he’s sharing some grand secret, “maybe not.”
Some time later, my line jerks.
“Ryker!” I yell, not sure what to do next. I grasp the rod and start spinning the handle, struggling to reel it in. He jumps up beside me, hands on the rod to guide me. The tension is thrilling as we both work to pull the fish free.
When I see it—smaller than my hand—I squeal in triumph. Ryker laughs, overjoyed, pride shining in his eyes.
“I win!” I yell as he laughs.
“I don’t know if that’s even big enough to qualify as an actual fish, but sure. You win.”
We release it back into the water, our laughter mingling.
Packing up, he teases, “We should get back before dark, or someone’s going to break a leg in the forest again.”
Halfway through the forest, just as the path opens onto the casting grounds, he stops and tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear.
“Arwen… wait,” he says, voice low but steady.
Eyes on me, serious. “I get it. Guard up, all of that. I’m fine with…
whatever. Friend dates, slow pace, whatever it takes.
” He swallows, like the words are heavier than he planned.
“But—before we… go back out there… can I?”
He leans closer, and my chest flips before my brain can even think.
I nod, trying not to sound as breathless as I feel.
His lips brush mine—light at first, teasing—but then deepening, pulling air out of my lungs.
His hands frame my face, warm and solid, and I let myself melt just enough to forget the world for a heartbeat that stretches on forever as his lips softly touch mine.
Pulling back, he smirks, playful again. “Good night, Arwen.”
Walking toward the Wrath dorms, my smile impossible to hide. But inside, my bonds stir. I don’t know if they’re upset by the kiss, or if they can sense something shifting in me—but it can’t stop the grin on my face.