Chapter Fourteen
The Citadel courtyard hums with tension, boots scuff over stone, cadets packed shoulder to shoulder as they cluster into groups for this morning's training assignment. Shadowing officers on their patrols.
A jolting pull runs down my arm as I swing my pack over one shoulder.
Still a bit sore, but whatever ointment Ezzy had in her kit worked like a charm—the burn from last week’s Demonstration with Ryven is almost gone.
I added more this morning just in case. It smells sharp—herby and bitter—but it fades under the crisp scent of fresh-pressed uniforms and cold winter air as I scan around for Rowan and our group.
There are five of us in total. Me, Rowan, a girl called Beth—who, according to Finn over breakfast, is the kind of girl you definitely think about in the shower, at which point Ezzy called him a pig and stormed off. And then there’s a guy called Elijah, and yeah. Ryven.
So fucking typical he’s in my group. Although he hasn’t made a move since that class, I still feel him. Like he’s just waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
Usually, my Threads would be flaring like crazy by this point, just seeing his name posted next to mine, but I put my ego aside and I have Ezzy’s duck with me at all times now.
Rowan spots me across the courtyard and gives a quick nod. He’s leaning against a pillar, half in shadow, already positioning himself away from the group—like he’s not interested in getting dragged into anyone’s mess. Can’t blame him, I need to do the same.
Stay low, stay in control. Don’t give Ryven anything. No fear, no weakness, no excuse to come for me. Just get through the goddamn assignment and rip off this symbolic piece of shit they call a patrol uniform before it strangles the last thread of dignity out of me.
It’s almost identical in every way to our combat blacks, same cut, same fabric, except it’s in white.
The Citadel’s favourite lie, change the colour, change the story. That way, we’re not soldiers anymore. We’re symbols, harmless, noble, like we’re here to help.
I tug at the stiff collar and try not to choke on the hypocrisy.
Three weeks left. Just three more fucking weeks.
But at least there’s one thing to be grateful for this morning. No sign of the Nightrose. Instead, the two officers I've been assigned to are Lucien Thornviel and Nyrek Strannt. Thank fuck. Talen’s already invaded enough of my nights—uninvited, unwanted.
Last night I woke up furious, humiliated and drenched in shame. Because the sickest part? It’s not even him doing it, it’s me. My own twisted mind, letting him touch me. Him, who stands for everything I hate. Power without mercy. Control without consent. But still I can’t stop them coming.
A shiver rolls down my spine; could be the winter chill, could be the echo of last night’s dream. Either way, I pull my sleeves down and keep walking.
Near the edge, the crowd thins to a small knot of cadets and officers, my group for today.
At first, nothing jumps out. They’re spaced just far enough apart to make things uneasy, not talking, not relaxed.
Rowan stands at the fringe, quiet and unreadable, eyes fixed somewhere past the horizon.
No sign of Ryven. Good. Let’s keep it that way.
But as I get closer, details start to land—two male officers, one short, one tall, and a brunette female cadet. Familiar shapes, familiar posture and not the welcome kind. Talen’s crew. Shit.
The taller officer—broad-shouldered, dark flawless skin, handsome in that polished, self-aware kind of way—is the same officer who whispered something to Talen about me on my first day in the courtyard.
He’s dressed in Citadel whites, but wears a rope necklace strung with a single dull stone.
It’s half-tucked under his jacket, just visible enough to catch the light if you're looking close enough. Which most of the girls here are. He watches them back, eyeing every female that passes like he’s picking from a menu.
One of the girls walking by flashes him a quick, flirtatious smile. The shorter officer tries to jump in, throws her a wink back, but her smile drops, face twisting as she looks away fast.
Beside them, the brunette just stares, arms crossed, unimpressed. Lethal cheekbones, a resting bitch face straight out of a textbook. Flawless in every way, except for the thin scar slicing from her right brow to the corner of her eye.
Yeah. That’s gotta be Beth.
I admit, I can see why Finn thinks about her in the shower, why Ezzy would be so jealous, and also why Talen couldn’t stop staring at her.
She catches me looking and flashes a glare pointed enough to skin a rabbit. Great. Can't wait to spend the rest of the day with her.
“Not exactly thrilled about this group either.” Rowan says, suddenly at my side.
I jump but he pretends not to notice as he nods towards them.
“Too much ego. Too much magic. And they all act like they have something to prove. Not the safest combination… So, I’m actually glad to see you here.
” He smiles. I raise a brow. “Levels the playing field a bit.”
I can’t tell if he’s being serious or joking, but before I can reply, a piercing whistle cuts through the noise—
“Group Eight! You lucky bastards.” The booming voice belongs to the taller officer—the one built like a wall, dark flawless skin, and a grin that dares you to challenge it.
“You just got assigned the best officer this place has to offer. You’re welcome.
” He turns to face us, the rough-cut stone on his rope necklace catching the light.
“I’m Officer Lucien Thornviel,” he calls. “And this is Officer Nyrek Strannt.”
Strannt steps forward like he’s been waiting for the spotlight all morning, twitchy, with the eager stiffness of someone trying too hard to look important.
Dry skin, short hair that’s either brown or just dirty enough to look like it.
He’s got that weaselly vibe, like the kind of guy who’d sell you out before you finish blinking.
“You will probably meet his father,” Lucien continues. “Professor Strannt, for Non-Magical Combat training later this week. Now circle up. Let’s see what kind of mess I’ve been handed.”
Surprisingly, Rowan moves first. The other two cadets shift with him and I fall in at the tail, keeping my eyes on everyone’s backs.
Still no sign of Ryven. Maybe, if I’m lucky, he won’t show, and I’ll get through this day in one piece.
But that hope doesn’t last long as the other cadet—the one I’m pretty sure is Elijah—keeps looking at me like he’s picturing something he’d enjoy.
Something that definitely wouldn’t end well for me. ..
“Right,” Lucien says, tone shifting into something more official.
“First Innerland training assignment. You’ll follow our routine patrol, observe treaty enforcement and any disturbances that come up.
Watch, learn, and keep your mouth fucking shut unless ordered otherwise.
” His gaze cuts to me, and my spine straightens before I even register the shift.
“And don’t think your actions today will go unnoticed,” he adds, smirk spreading.
“I’ve read your files and today you will be assessed from start to finish.
Every step. Every mistake. And if you mess up. Punishment will be immediate.”
My gut tightens. Shit, does he know? Would Talen have told him about finding me in the tunnels? About the truce?
Lucien doesn’t blink, just keeps looking and then Beth turns too, like his attention gave her permission. Her gaze lands on mine, fierce, and my chest tightens on instinct. Fuck, she’s beautiful. Even the scar that slices from brow to eye doesn’t ruin it. If anything, it makes her sexier.
There’s a small protective flicker from my Threads, but it’s nothing compared to usual, still without thinking, my eyes dart to Rowan. I don’t even know what I’m looking for—backup? A buffer? But if I lean on him now, I’ll look exposed, weak. So I hold my ground and turn back to Beth.
Then—
Boots scuff behind us, lazy and uneven as Ryven barrels in, flushed and rumpled like he just rolled out of bed and sprinted the whole way here.
Collar skewed, shirt half-buttoned, toothpick in his mouth.
His eyes are down, shoulders tight, the picture of someone bracing for a tongue-lashing—until they lift and catch on me, and light up—too fast, too bright.
Heat crawls up my neck before I can stop it, fingers curl. Shit. He’s here. Of course he is, I knew it was coming, but seeing him makes it real.
I should keep my head down, don’t react, don’t give him a reason to come for me. Just get through the day. Quiet, controlled, invisible. But I can’t look weak. Not in front of him, not in front of them—Talen’s crew, already watching.
So when his eyes lock on mine and he turns to starts closing the distance, I don’t look away. I hold it. Even though every instinct says run.
“Really?” Lucien snaps towards him. “Late, dishevelled, and you think I won’t notice?”
Ryven freezes mid-step, caught halfway toward me. His mouth opens like he might speak, might still risk it, but then clamps shut. Hard.
Lucien steps in fast, five precise strides that land like a warning, the stone at his neck swinging with the force of it, catching light as it thuds back against his chest.
“You think this is optional?” He bellows. “That you can stroll in, half-dressed and half-aware, and I won’t make an example out of you?”
Ryven’s head jerks in a quick shake, too quick.
Lucien doesn’t blink. Doesn’t back off. “Since you’re so eager to start the day on the wrong foot, you’ll spend it glued to Officer Strannt side.
Every step. Every task. Every command.” Then he turns, flicks a mocking grin toward the short, weaselly officer beside him.
“Strannt, congrats. You just got a new girlfriend for the day.”