CHAPTER 2 - TOO HOT TO HANDLE

  Academy grounds were large. It was not especially difficult for Casian to find a small courtyard sufficiently out of the way to practice his magic in. He would have asked the staff for permission, but it was possible they would have told him no, which would chance making everything needlessly much harder for him.

  No, he just trained. They would realize that the duels weren't going to be stopping anytime soon and he imagined that their pity for him would make it far easier to beg for forgiveness than permission. Better to act ignorant of it entirely. Everyone expected him to be a mindless brute with only a mind for magic anyways.

  Casian took a moment to wipe sweat from his brow, chest heaving as he caught his breath. His muscles burned- not from exertion, he hadn't done his physical workout yet- but the constant strain of bouncing between Disciplines. Speed enhancement demanded bursts of energy, stone shaping demanded control and patience. Regeneration was truly the thread that made most of it possible- he imagined his body would've broken down from the stress if he wasn't constantly performing minor tune-ups. But teleportation- that was the keystone of his fighting style.

  He pulled the stone helmet back on, and instead of leaving a visor, closed it off entirely. He opened his third eye and focused on the surrounding space- the courtyard was uneven, likely the work of later years absconding here for a secret duel or tryst or somesuch. It wasn't hard to cause property damage with magic, even if he went out of his way to avoid it.

  He focused on his stoneshaping- He made a dice in his hands out of stone, and began to change its sides, shifting each value- and in the same instant teleported thrice, a pace backwards each, ending three paces backwards.

  The teleportation was smooth, clean. When he had just begun learning it- it would often feel like he was being pulled through a needle, like he was yanking himself along a fishing-line to another point. Now, it felt less like he moved at all, and more like he moved the world around him. A seamless transition, unnoticeable. It needed to be perfect. Hesitation wouldn't be afforded to him- in a real duel, he wouldn't have the luxury of correcting his movement.

  Not that he had any real opponents to practice against.

  Casian felt himself click his tongue in the privacy of the abandoned courtyard, shifting his feet and correcting his stance. He'd long since resigned himself to training alone, but it was a definitive and undeniable disadvantage. It irked him. Even just having someone there to help him practice in unorthodox ways could be helpful- but the only person he really talked to was Rosalinde. He imagined if he trained with her present that someone would magically happen upon them, either a mindless fop or one of Rosalinde's poorly hidden trysts, and then he would end up back with the same problem he typically had.

  Trust, or lack thereof.

  Maybe he could find a trustworthy servant to assist him? He exhaled through his nose. No- he couldn't put the pressure of keeping his secrets on one when a princeling might potentially come demanding them. If they denied a prince their answers, their career would be over and they would be disbanded from the academy. If they gave them, they would likely receive the same treatment for failing to maintain his secrecy, although likely far less severe- a demotion, of some sort.

  Unfortunate. For all that the help really was helpful, the butlers tended to always know. More importantly, other people knew that.

  He tensed and shifted his feet, beginning to ready himself for another drill.

  "Sir Everstead!" a woman's voice called out, breathy. "Sir- Sir Everstead!"

  He sighed in the hot, dark confines of his hard-helm. Of course. He let the helm melt away, but didn't bother dismissing the armor.

  He turned to the junior staff member, looking particularly winded, no doubt having run around looking for him on orders to retrieve him. He didn't frown, because this woman was just doing her job and he truthfully felt bad for making her do the extra work, but he wanted to.

  "Yes, miss..?" Casian inclined his head.

  She startled. "A-Ah, I'm Eloise, Sir Everstead." She gave a small bow.

  He felt his eye twitch. He never liked people calling him by his last name. He'd need to meet the same servant multiple times before they would ever acquiesce to not doing it, though. Telling them to dispense with formalities soon after meeting could send the wrong sorts of messages. Instead, he simply ignored the bow entirely, not acknowledging it or treating it as necessary.

  Frustrating. It didn't mean he had to be formal in response, though. Small mercies.

  "Eloise," he said, the same flat tone he reserved for essentially every social interaction. "What is it?"

  Eloise hesitated for half a second, clearly put-off by the unexpected reception. He imagined that his demeanour would stop eliciting surprise sooner or later- people loved to gossip. She did quickly reassert herself before pressing forward.

  "You're being summoned for a duel, Sir Everstead," she said. "Your presence is requested at the main training grounds immediately."

  Casian exhaled through his nose. He really should've known. He had hoped for at least another day before the next one came knocking– but really, given that this was the beginning of the first semester, it was likely that this was going to be the busiest time for duels for him. He'd already done two more duels yesterday, and the day before that was the third prince's duel. Thankfully, those two were the sort that got discouraged after the first failure.

  Casian could respect it when people knew when to quit. Well, that was maybe inaccurate, he could admit. He respected when people knew to quit against him. It made his life less bothersome.

  Wait. Casian paused, before looking back to Eloise, who had been waiting for his response while he was stuck in thought.

  "...We have a training grounds?"

  Eloise blinked. "Er… yes?"

  Casian narrowed his eyes, half-processing the confirmation as he turned the thought over in his head. He'd spent the last several days training in whatever different small, quiet corners he could find, assuming it was the best he was going to get. Had he really just never bothered to look?

  He clicked his tongue. It didn't matter. If it was a communal space, it wasn't like he'd use it regardless.

  "I see." He rolled his armor, stone shifting like mercury. "Who is it this time?"

  Eloise hesitated, shifting her weight slightly. "I… I wasn't told, Sir Everstead. Only that they're already waiting for you."

  Of course. Another fop with too much confidence and not enough sense. Probably someone who thought you could play chess as a replacement for strategy, or maybe this time it would be someone who would regale Rosalinde with a poem before the duel started. Casian turned his head until he felt tension pop loose with a crack. He didn't bother asking if he was allowed to decline. If he could, and did it without good reason, it'd give Rosalinde's suitors a boldness that they didn't deserve.

  "Fine." he said, already stepping past Eloise. "Lead the way, then."

  Eloise startled slightly before quickly stepping forwards ahead of him, being careful to be ahead of him because of his request to lead him but always trying to avoid going so fast as to be accused of forcing him to rush. Smart. She seemed like she wanted to say something, but instead kept it to herself, which Casian appreciated.

  The walk was silent save for the soft pattering of Eloise's feet on the academy's flooring, and his stone creating a muted thud with every footfall. The Academy grounds were vast- far more than they really ever needed to be, an almost paradoxical amount of space- a maze of hallways and courtyards and interior buildings. Casian wondered how much of it was simply a display of wealth and prestige and how much of it was practical- surely, there was a benefit to having replacement classrooms and buildings constantly on standby when adequate magicians could easily cause property damage. Eloise seemed to grow more comfortable the longer they walked in silence together.

  Casian had really only paid the minimal amount of attention to it, so far. It hadn't even been a full week yet. He mostly just memorized the routes that saw the least foot-traffic and let him avoid people.

  Eloise slowed down, just the slightest. "Sir, if I may?"

  Casian grunted. Thankfully, she understood.

  "While I haven't been told who it is, I can make assumptions, if you would like to hear it?"

  …Why did the servant feel inclined to spill that sort of information? Should he give her money discreetly later? He hated the unspoken games behind a lot of nobility. He really, truly did. He grunted again. He would let them assume. Make no agreements.

  Eloise continued. "I suspect that it's Lord Dante Alarie."

  Casian stopped walking.

  Eloise nearly kept going without him before she realized. She turned, watching his face with a pensive, calculative attention while he ran the name over in his head, expression unreadable.

  Dante Alarie. Golden boy of one of the kingdom's most influential noble houses. Well-bred, well-connected, and unfortunately well-liked. If there was any single person who embodied every single trait Casian found endlessly exhausting about nobles and their games, it was him.

  Women swooned over him and vied for the attention of the 'rebellious' golden boy. Men wanted to be him. Casian- to his best judgement- thought from what he had heard that the boy, removing other's positive bias', was likely a raging narcissist. He viewed the world and those in it like a personal audience.

  It figured that someone like that would eventually set their sights on Rosalinde.

  Casian exhaled sharply through his nose and continued walking. He considered saying a great many things.

  "Alright."

  Eloise just looked relieved she wouldn't have to push to keep him moving.

  As they walked, Casian strategized, plotted, schemed. Whatever one would like to call it.

  Dante had a clear obsession with appearance. Nobody could manage to straddle the line of rebellious and popular while being the leading heir of the Alarie family without doing it with clear intent. That meant that he thought he had an advantage, real or imagined, significant enough to warrant that he thought he could put on a good showing.

  Casian reconfigured his expectations- no, Dante expected to win. A showing would be a reasonable expectation against him- Dante was unreasonable. Of course he would, the golden boy beating the undefeatable Casian. Humiliating the third prince and obtaining the girl. Maybe he was actually skilled- maybe he thought Casian would cave to social pressure. Maybe he thought charm, bravado or intimidation would be enough.

  Dante was also a well-renowned fire mage. He, unfortunately, didn't know many details, given his lack of propensity for other's small-talk and gossip.

  It was profoundly unlucky for Dante that he was an individual who made Casian's blood pressure rise with his mere presence.

  Casian could practically predict what he was going to arrive to.

  Dante would be waiting in the training grounds– likely with an entourage of sycophants. He needed to turn every duel, every showing, into a performance. There'd be a crowd- but it wouldn't be a genuine one, it would be a last-minute assembly of carefully curated people who worshipped him or to whom it would benefit him for them to see his battle-prowess. He would try to make a spectacle of the challenge- make it a grand event.

  It wasn't just about Rosalinde. Not really.

  Somehow, that made it worse. At least most of the suitors were pure in their intent.

  It was a game for Dante Alarie. An opportunity to prove his dominance, Casian was meant to be a stepping stone. A statement. If Dante lost, he'd likely attempt to twist the narrative, or to downplay the loss by emphasizing a difference in priorities. The golden boy had to come out on top, one way or another.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  He would be correct about the difference in priorities, however. Casian didn't waste time with people. It was why he never lost.

  He clicked his tongue.

  The halls finally gave way to an open corridor leading out to the academy training grounds. Casian hadn't been here before, but it was immediately clear it was a space designed to impress.

  A large field, lined with white stone meant to withstand magical combat. Tiered seating wrapped around the perimeter– though it was clearly meant for observers, not just students.

  A crowd had already gathered.

  His gaze flicked across the assembled students before landing on the figure in the center of it all. Eloise broke off from him to steer clear of this entirely and stand to the side for when they declared the duel would begin. Again, smart.

  Dante Alarie was exactly as Casian remembered from the few times he had very briefly crossed paths with him in the past, at the few formal events he was required to attend. He was somehow more insufferable than usual. Or maybe it was because Casian knew he couldn't just steer wildly clear of him, this time.

  He stood with his weight shifted lazily to one side, a hand resting on an ornate saber, the other raking through tousled deep, dark blue hair. His academy uniform was tailored just slightly too well to be standard issue, his white jacket deliberately left open in a way that certainly violated dress code but was left excused because it was him doing it.

  Dante turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, and the moment he laid eyes on Casian, a slow and knowing smirk spread across his face.

  "Everstead," he drawled, his voice carrying easily over the murmur of his onlookers. "You actually showed up. I was starting to wonder if I'd needed to fetch you on my own."

  Casian met Dante's gaze with an unimpressed stare, continuing at the same pace. The lack of reaction just made Dante's smirk widen, tilting his head just-so, like this was a scripted play and Casian had just said the right lines.

  "You must be so busy these days," He continued, making no effort to mask the mockery in his tone. "Rosalinde's devoted little gatekeeper, standing watch day and night. It must be exhausting, keeping every hopeful suitor at bay."

  Ah. It'd spread around that Casian tended to walk away from people when they tried to talk to him. That's good, he supposed. He didn't bother responding to Dante, though. He wasn't having a conversation. This was him blowing hot air to himself.

  Dante took a few casual steps forward, closing the distance just enough to establish dominance but not enough to be an outright violation of his personal space. Casian considered how he could ram well over two thirds of his arsenal into his chest hard enough to crack a few ribs. He thought about trying a new trick for this fight, maybe even going blind- but he hadn't discussed it with Rosalinde, so he decided against it.

  "I have to admit, I was looking forward to this. There are so many rumors about you." He gestured loosely with one hand, as if listing them off. "That you're ruthless. That you fight like a golem- a soulless automata. That you've never lost a duel, even once."

  Casian catalogued it in his head. Subtle jab at his nonexistent social life. Jab towards his attention to Rosalinde- he could've been more severe, but it would reflect poorly on her, so he kept it light. Emphasis on rumors in an attempt to distract him by worrying about other people's perceptions. Implicating he has something functionally wrong with him- calling him indirectly soulless.

  Dante's smirk sharpened. "But personally? I think you've just never faced the right opponent."

  Casian exhaled through his nose. His self-importance was suffocating. Dante wasn't the first arrogant noble to challenge him, but he was certainly one of the worst.

  Admittedly, there were distinguishing features that separated him from the typical opponent's motivations and goals. Most suitors came to the duels with an expectation that their study- their talent, their training, was enough to win. That there was an inherent amount of fairness to the world, that they should best him in one-on-one combat, a fair duel. A straightforward contest.

  Dante's type- didn't care about fairness. He cared about the appearance of fairness, the illusion of it, perhaps. But he really just cared about winning. Being on top of the dogheap. Pulling down whoever he needed to stay on top.

  Casian didn't doubt he'd use whatever little tricks he could come up with. He'd grandstand, provoke, manipulate others' perception. Try to force Casian into a situation with poor social reception to make him hesitate.

  Casian didn't care what anybody thought of him.

  "Are we doing this," Casian said flatly, "or are you just going to keep talking?"

  Dante let out a laugh, bright and easy, like it was a good joke shared between close friends. Not like he had just accused him of being full of it. He flourished his saber, polished steel catching the sunlight as he gestured towards the center of the training ground.

  Casian noted with some small amusement that he had picked the time of day and positioned himself so that Casian would be forced to look into the sun to see him.

  He opened his third eye, and began the process of activating all of his remaining disciplines. He locked on to his silhouette. The ache felt like home.

  "By all means, Everstead," he said, voice dripping with amusement. "Let's begin."

  Eloise signaled for them to start.

  Dante smouldered, for a moment. Embers coiling off him, ash and smoke trailing from his hair and jacket.

  "Try not to burn too easily."

  Dante exploded. Blue flames erupted from him all over, a blast from his feet sent him forwards and the flames hugged his saber like a close friend.

  Casian had already moved.

  The instant Eloise's hand dropped, he teleported- to the side, ten-thousand crickets chirping, out of the weapon's expected attack path, out of the way of the trailing flames that launched off of it. You didn't need to dodge something that never got close to hitting.

  Dante's blade burst through where he had been a second ago, blue fire licking empty air like a hungry dog. His momentum carried him forward, but in an admittedly- and frustratingly- impressive maneuver, he curled a foot and in something that seemed more fitting on an acrobat than a noble, pivoted himself cleanly in the air with another blast of fire towards Casian. A haze built up around him.

  Flashy, and well-practiced.

  Casian didn't wait for him to reach him, this time. He closed the distance with a teleport, air popping, hands forming into rough gauntlets, landing inside his guard. He twisted his foot against the dirt and launched himself forward for a strike at Dante's ribs. A clean, decisive hit.

  Or, it would have been, if Dante hadn't immediately ignited another blast, recoiling himself backwards. Casian could feel his gauntlets skim his ribs. The impact of Dante's own flames sent his own boots scraping against the training ground floor.

  Casian didn't let up. He chased the retreat with another teleport, another crackling, appearing just behind him–

  The air shimmered. The haze intensified.

  Casian could ever so faintly feel the way space contracted- the way heat affected the air through his third eye. The temperature spiked, a flashfire exploding in all directions. Dante had been preparing from the moment he'd started with his opener- he'd never expected to land the hit.

  Casian disappeared before the heat could linger, discreetly beginning to shift open vents for air to flow through the stone-armor, smoke wafting off of him.

  Dante straightened, insufferable smirk still on his face. "Oh?" He began to twirl his saber lazily. "Not ba-"

  Casian interrupted him with a teleport and a punch to the solar plexus. Stupid, he thought, Don't talk while I can close the distance– and I can always close the distance.

  Dante's breath came out in a strangled gasp, his body folding around the impact. The saber wavered in his grip, the flames wreathing it guttering out for a second-

  A second that Casian took advantage of.

  He pivoted on his heel, other fist rising, aiming for Dante's jaw. Quick, Brutal. If he landed a good hit on his head it would rattle the inside of his skull, he would be knocked unconscious for a few seconds and-

  A blast of fire erupted before the hit could connect.

  Casian clicked his tongue. Instincts snapped him back with a quick teleport, the popping closer to habit than effort. The force of it sent Dante skidding further away, granting him distance. The second he needed.

  Casian's head hurt.

  That was the second time he'd done that trick. He wasn't being as reckless as he wanted to seem– he was performing constant, calculated retreats, using flames like a personal eject button to maintain distance from him.

  Casian straightened and flexed his fingers. The heat lingered against his skin. It was tolerable. He ignored it.

  He could end this, now. No more tricks. None that would be enough. He began shifting stone, moving more of it down towards his hands.

  Dante coughed, then straightened, his smile returning– a bit weaker at the edges, but still annoyingly present. Casian brought his hands closer together- like they were about to hold a long stick.

  "That," he said, voice just slightly strained, "was rude."

  Or that's what Casian supposed he was about to say.

  Casian teleported with howling crickets as he was in the middle of saying he was rude. Dante immediately exploded with fire away from him.

  Casian caught him with the side of a swiftly formed stone lance and launched him into the floor. Before he could touch the ground, he was teleporting again, above him, announced by endless popping- stone shifting-

  Casian landed and straddled Dante, putting a stone dagger to his throat.

  "Yield." His voice was flat, inflectionless. An unenthusiastic, mediocre actor in a bad play. Show's over.

  For a moment, the only sound was Dante's ragged breathing, flickering of stray embers floating in the air. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling, debating one last final trick–

  Casian pressed the dagger closer. Not enough to cut. He wasn't playing these games. Duel over. Let me leave.

  Dante sighed disappointedly, theatrically, tilting his head back against the ground. The last embers of fire flickered out around him.

  "...I yield."

  Casian wondered if he had heard those two words in sequence more than any other phrase he had ever heard in his life. The crowd erupted into noise.

  Casian barely listened. He began the process of ceasing every discipline but his stoneshaping and regeneration to abate his headache.

  He stood, the stone dagger pulling back into fluid stone along his body. He'd need to go put the stone back, soon. His head still hurt, ache from his magic pressing on him. He ignored it.

  Dante remained on the ground a moment longer, lifting a hand to run through his hair, coming away with ash and soot.

  "Well." he huffed, laced with eternal amusement. Like this was a game. "That certainly could've gone better."

  Casian stared at him.

  Dante grinned at him.

  Casian got up, turned, and left.

  Eloise and Roslinde chattered quietly and intensely away from the crowd, having slipped away with one another. Eloise was blushing, a full-face heat that had nothing to do with the fire magic that had been on display. Rosalinde, as always, was effortlessly composed, a teasing, joyful smile on her face, a hint of amusement in her eyes as she leaned closer, murmuring something to the servant that made her flush deepen.

  Casian flashed his third eye open lightning quick, doing his best to pause for a moment and judge where everyone was looking. He was briefly glad that his tendency towards acting with a purpose made others maintain attention on him when he was present. Making sure Rosalinde wasn't going to be caught. Luckily- nobody was looking.

  He exhaled through his nose. He couldn't just let her openly flirt. She could probably play it off, but she wasn't paying enough attention to where she was. This wasn't the time or place. Dangerous.

  Casian adjusted his stride, angling himself toward them without hesitation. He moved like he had a purpose– because he did.

  As he got closer, Rosalinde caught sight of him, her expression shifting slightly. Not guilt or concern, just acknowledgement. He didn't have to speak to her for her to know why he was here.

  Eloise, on the other hand, immediately stiffened like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Her eyes darted away, her hands fidgeted at the hem of her dress. If Casian had been a different kind of person, he might have felt bad for it.

  He stopped just beside them, turning slightly so his back faced the majority of the crowd. Blocking them from view, just in case. His voice was low, quiet enough that only Rosalinde- and maybe Eloise- would catch it.

  "Later," he said.

  One word with plenty of meaning. Be more careful. Pay attention. Don't get caught.

  Rosalinde tilted her head at him, the picture of innocence, like she hadn't been muttering things that had a servant look like she was ready to melt on the spot. She offered him a slightly reproached, and thankful smile, and took a deliberate step away from Eloise.

  "Of course," she murmured. "Shall we go?"

  Casian didn't wait for an answer. He just turned and began walking away. Behind him, he heard Rosaline whisper something to the servant.

  He didn't catch all of it, but he caught enough.

  "Don't worry," Rosalinde rumbled, low and warm, promising. "I'll make it up to you."

  Eloise let out a sharp inhale, barely contained. Casian didn't need to turn around to know that Eloise was probably red up to the ears.

  He kept walking, trusting Rosalinde to follow. Sure enough, after a moment, she caught up, steps light and unhurried.

  "You're no fun," she sighed, but amusement did color her voice.

  Casian flicked a glance her way. "And you don't take things seriously enough."

  "I trust you to handle that for me," she said breezily.

  "That's not how that works."

  She let out a laugh, pretty and light like chimes dancing in the wind. "It's worked so far."

  Casian exhaled- and in a moment, opened his third eye and saw they were properly alone- and allowed himself to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I'm not going to be your shield forever."

  Rosalinde just smiled. "I know."

  That, somehow, made it worse.

  "Then act like it."

  Rosalinde tilted her head, expression unreadable for a moment, before shifting back into one of her practiced, easy smiles. "You worry too much."

  "And you don't worry enough."

  She hummed. Not going either way on if she agreed with that. They walked in silence, the sound of the crowd discussing the just-now finished duel in the background, the sound of Dante faintly looking for Rosalinde- whom he would not find. Casian would bet she would say that he grabbed her to talk as he left. She wouldn't be wrong. She rarely actually lied.

  "...You fought well."

  Casian scoffed. "Obviously."

  Rosalinde probably couldn't tell if he fought terribly or amazingly. He wouldn't be surprised if she used the moment that Dante turned his attention away from her to begin shamelessly flirting with Eloise.

  At least, he thought, she is never wrong at judging when another woman is both a lesbian and receptive. As well as being capable of keeping a secret.

  That alone had likely curtailed countless disasters. He didn't mind her trysts at this point– it had been endlessly stressful at first, but at this point it was clear Rosalinde could be relied on to accomplish the task of selecting her seduction targets with an excellency that bordered on supranatural. If only she could figure out how to get men to stop seeing her as one, too.

  She huffed out another laugh. "Dante looked like he was having fun."

  Casian clicked his tongue, gaze forward. "Dante would look like he's having fun if he got hit by a carriage."

  Rosalinde smiled at that and let out a small, and brief laugh, before rescinding into silence again. Casian continued walking towards where he last remembered his stashed away courtyard to be. Rosalinde's smile twisted, ever so slightly.

  Casian slowed down and tilted his head towards Rosalinde.

  "What is it?"

  Rosalinde sputtered. "What do you mean 'what is it'?"

  "You only look like that when something is in your way."

  "Wh- I do not get a look when something is 'in my way'. I'm allowed to be bothered by things! Maybe my feet hurt."

  Casian stared at her.

  Silence dominated the conversation for a beat. Then two.

  Rosalinde pouted.

  She exhaled sharply, crossing her arms. "It's Montclair."

  Casian blinked. "Who?"

  Rosalinde scoffed, shooting him an incredulous look. "Lady Montclair. Tall, dark hair, higher nobility. Looks like she's just walked out a portrait–gorgeous, infuriatingly so, in an icy, untouchable way– but constantly acting like she just put her foot in something foul."

  Casian frowned, thinking. The name did sound vaguely familiar– probably somebody from their year?-- but no one who had ever been close to mattering to him. Although perhaps he was a biased selection.

  Most of his conversations were with his sister or people he was about to beat into helplessness.

  Rosalinde rolled her eyes at his silence. "Oh, come on Casian. Third Prince's betrothed? She's up and decided that I'm the root of all that's ill in the world."

  Casian's frown deepened. "This is the first I've heard of it."

  "Well, I don't exactly try to make a habit of whining about every noble brat that gives me a mean look across the ballroom, now do I?" Rosalinde muttered.

  That was true. Casian stopped walking, and she nearly ran into him before catching herself. He turned to face her fully. "Explain."

  Rosalinde sighed, rubbing her temple like this conversation had already exhausted her. "It's not complicated. She's been acting like I've personally ruined her life since the Third Prince challenged you to a duel over me. Apparently, I'm a seductress who has taken advantage of his loveable innocence."

  Casian ignored the part where Rosalinde was actually a seductress, as it did not apply in this situation. A harassment campaign would explain why Rosalinde was bothered- she must've had more eyes on her than usual. Harder for her to sneak off with somebody. Also the potential cause for her flirting in what was more-or-less broad daylight. He exhaled out of his nose.

  "Honestly, not like I could have just agreed to a date had I been interested in him. Me stonewalling one of the country's major political powers with an undefeated duelist is somehow the height of romance. No, clearly, he had no interest in me before I 'snagged him in my web'." She scoffed.

  Casian chose to ignore how you could honestly make a fair argument for that being the case. They had once tried breaking Rosalinde's nose and getting her dirty before a ball in an attempt to reduce the amount of suitors she attracted- but it didn't make any significant difference. He would be more frustrated with her if it weren't for the fact that a lot of their attraction did seem genuinely inexplicable, from the times he had seen it spontaneously develop. Rosalinde always seemed to say the right words to charm a vast majority of people, intended or not, unless she was going so far as to be consistently and outwardly antagonistic, or the other was outwardly antagonistic towards her to begin with.

  The attraction people showed to her was almost inexplicable. Like some obscene, lustful force of nature. Contemplating it was always mildly disturbing, and brought into question how much agency any of them had. Oftentimes Rosalinde would truly be responsible in some manner, or you could at least see how that would be the case- but… a few instances had seemed truly unbelievable. Casian dismissed the thought. Ruminating on this would do nothing. It was what it was. He couldn't change it, he could only fight against it.

  Casian narrowed his eyes. "She blames you for that?"

  "She needs to blame somebody," she muttered. "And it certainly isn't going to be him, so I'm the next best thing."

  Casian studied her for a moment. "What has she done?"

  Rosalinde clicked her tongue. "Nothing serious."

  "Rosalinde."

  She let out an annoyed, exaggerative breath. "It's just things. Little things. Words, mostly. Comments about our family, our upbringing. 'Accidents' happening to disrupt my schoolwork. Dumped pencil shavings, spilled ink, the likes. A whisper campaign, too, obviously. Truly lovely rumors about how I have secret ambitions for the throne." She finished with a grimace.

  Casian's frown deepened. "That's idiotic." and a potential accusation of treason, he left unsaid. The idea made his skin crawl.

  "Well, yes," Rosalinde drawled. "But the idiotic rumors have the most staying power, so long as they're fun to listen to. Like how you're an 'unstoppable automaton'-- really one of my favorites."

  Casian chose to be the bigger person and ignore the second comment. Before going quiet for a long moment, considering.

  He exhaled, turning forward again. "I'll handle it."

  Rosalinde blinked, then immediately shook her head with urgency. "No- No, no. Absolutely not."

  "I'm not going to challenge her to a duel," Casian murmured. "I'll just make sure she knows that if she keeps this up, she'll regret it."

  Rosalinde groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. "That's why I don't want you to step in. It will make it worse."

  Casian didn't respond immediately. He wasn't entirely sure he agreed. But this also wasn't his battle to fight. It wasn't one she ultimately needed him for, unless Montclair managed to catch on to Rosalinde's proclivities.

  If that was the case, Casian would be stepping in.

  "Fine," he said at last. "For now."

  Rosalinde shot him a look, but he had already continued walking- leaving her behind. She hurried for a moment to catch up, sighing.

  "You're unbelievable."

  "You're trouble."

  "Touché."