Casian was not someone prone to idleness. He was a person who did not sit well with the idea of wasted time, or frivolous pursuits. He had clear objectives and the ways that he sought to fulfill them.

  He was aware, in an intellectual sense, that he was an imbalanced person, someone who had dedicated themselves entirely to certain things at the inevitable cost of others. It was not often that this actually presented any sort of problem for him, however.

  This, he mused, was one of those times it caused problems.

  Casian walked down the seemingly endless hallways of the academy, periodically opening his third eye. When he found silhouettes out and about, he would go to them, and check to see if he recognized them. He started two days ago. He estimated the academy would take him six days at his current pace to comb through in its entirety, excepting the women’s dorms, as even if he went there under the pretense of visiting Rosalinde, he would not be able to meaningfully tell if his target was there by silhouette alone.

  …He was dedicated, but he was not willing to stoop so low as to wait for women to leave their rooms. Rosalinde had made very clear to him how women could be concerned by attention directed their way, circumstances depending. That was also disregarding the active, meaningful choice to violate a number of young women’s privacy, which sat even more ill at ease with him.

  He, perhaps, could have sped up his search by asking around, or by having companions who would help him identify people who would fit the described criteria and telling him their schedules as to speed up his search.

  That would require him to talk to people.

  Casian kept walking, and opened his third eye. Taking in the space around him. Why in the gods' names was the academy so needlessly large? Two silhouettes a floor above him in a study, closely entangled, faces next to one another and–

  Casian closed his third eye, continuing his walk. Not what he was looking for, he would assume. Even if they were there, he did not think he could get away with barging into a couple that had set themselves into an unused study room.

  Casian had long since resigned himself to the fact that would not be a simple search. It wasn’t that the academy was especially difficult to layout– it was just an exceptionally large, fairly simple grid. But sheer size, combined with the potential unpredictability of an individual's schedule made his self-assigned task frustratingly inefficient.

  He continued his methodical sweep, moving between corridors, third eye flashing open in brief intervals. He found clustered students having hushed conversations, faculty members moving with purpose between offices, and the occasional lone scholar nose-deep in their work.

  No sign of her.

  Casian checked the library next, navigating past shelves stacked high with tomes of various ages. It was a reasonable place to start his search– but ultimately, he had thought it would be better to start from one end of campus and move towards the other. He could change his start location and methodology each week to improve his odds of catching her when her schedule would align with his search. If she was academically inclined– she would likely spend time here, but it was later in the day at this point, so that was fairly moot.

  Each private space with someone studying in it was occupied by the wrong people. A pair of students whispering over a shared book. A young man slumped forward in exhausted sleep, hair white and–

  That was the second prince. He grimaced, and made sure to step lightly.

  –then finally a noblewoman hid away, practicing drawing shapes out of an odorless smoke that dissipated into nothing. None of them her.

  The greenhouse was next. Not widely used for study, it was secluded enough that someone looking to avoid crowds might take refuge there. Casian walked past rows of carefully cultivated magical flora, air thick with the scent of damp earth and crushed leaves. There were a handful of students lingering near the entrance in a group, admiring plants and slowly working their way through the structure while taking notes. She was nowhere in the greenhouse.

  He adjusted his route, circling towards the lesser-used sections of the academy at this hour– old lecture halls that sat empty for most hours of the day, abandoned reading rooms tucked between wings of the building, side corridors leading to forgotten nooks, he flashed open his third eye and-

  -What? Why did this hallway literally go nowhere? It had a staircase to the second floor at the end of it, with another hallway connected to a single classroom, and no other connection to the second floor? What was wrong with the people who designed the academy?-

  Shook his head as he kept walking as he also identified a silhouette in an empty chamber. Two days already, and he was beginning to truly acknowledge how little he had to go off besides a single conversation. Likely to be scholastically focused- while she must have been at least mildly affluent to believe he would know her name without assistance, she was too sharp to be one of the women who did nothing but gossip all day, or he would like to believe that little. He was thorough, he was patient. He would find her eventually, but her not giving him her name had been rather inconvenient.

  He went up a set of stairs, finding a route to the door of the empty lecture hall, abandoned now in after hours, finding–

  Oh, that was her.

  Casian stopped just short of opening the doorway, his pulse not quickening, but shifting slightly in rhythm, adjusting to the sudden success of the search. He had quite frankly, entirely expected to spend another four days combing through the academy before devising a different approach. Instead, there she was, seated at one of the long wooden tables, a stack of books beside her, gaze flicking between the pages of an open tome and notes that she was meticulously jotting down.

  He took a moment to do his best to memorize her silhouette. It would not match the familiarity gained by experience and presence that individuals like his family and Rosalinde had, but it would mean his odds of finding her again like this would be much better, and his ability to catch her in a crowd if he was actively looking for her would go from near impossible to achievable.

  She was alone. That was… partially ideal. He did not want an audience, and did not want to potentially interact with any more people than he definitely had to, but he also did not want to cause worry by being a man barging in on a woman studying towards the later hours of the day. It would have been best if he had found her in somewhere like the greenhouses during more peak hours of the day, easily visible, a wide open space in which sound would travel quickly, yet still empty enough for meaningful privacy.

  Still, he had gone through the trouble of tracking her down. He wasn’t going to leave without speaking to her, at the very least.

  Casian exhaled slowly, adjusting his stance. No need to loom in the doorway like he was some sort of specter. He stepped forward and pressed the door open, it– thankfully– opening with a groaning creak. He stepped forward, boots making a soft but noticeable sound against the wooden flooring. He examined the space, and stepped down two levels of the tiered auditorium, before stopping a few paces away.

  He left an open path to the exit that didn’t pass by him, or grabbing distance of him. Rosalinde had given him a very stern talking to about that sort of behavior. It didn’t matter that he was always a single teleport away from committing violence upon anyone’s person– he had to make them feel like they could escape. It was something to do with personal comfort, she said.

  “You left quite the impression,” he said evenly. “It took some effort to find you.”

  She didn’t startle. Instead, she slowly continued working on her notes, finishing the line she was working on, before setting down her quill with deliberate care, and only then raising her gaze to meet his.

  Ah. She had emerald eyes. How had he forgotten?

  He took the opportunity to study her more closely. Her expression was unreadable, save for a flicker of something– mild interest? Calculation? It was difficult to tell. He was better at breaking down a person by habits– unthinking reactions, the way they moved and thought. Not by discerning someone’s expressions.

  “...You were looking for me?” she asked, arching a brow.

  Casian inclined his head, slightly. “You never gave me your name.”

  “True,” she admitted, seemingly tasting the word in her mouth. “And yet, you went looking for me. One would think that refusing to give your name would mean that you ought not to go looking for that person again.”

  Casian inclined his head. That was a consideration. Still, that had been an engaging conversation, and he would have liked the opportunity to continue speaking with her.

  He didn’t say anything– if she wanted him gone, she could tell him to leave. Or leave herself, really. He wouldn’t stop her.

  She considered him for a long moment, fingers drumming against the table’s surface. Not in a hurry, or hesitant. Deliberate and in-control.

  “That’d be the sensible thing to do, wouldn’t it?” she mused. “You spent effort finding me, but something tells me you’d leave if I asked.”

  Casian didn’t shift, or waver. “I do my best to not impose where I am unwanted.”

  Her lips quirked– not quite a smile, but something like it. “Yet, you don’t ask if you’re wanted. Only if you’re unwanted.”

  He inclined his head at that. That was true. It was a habit born of– what he viewed as– necessity; if he asked if he was wanted, people would lie. They told him what they thought they wanted him to hear, or what was polite, or what would best maintain social balance. If he asked only if they wanted him gone, it forced a different kind of answer.

  People typically saw Casian as an imposition between them and his sister anyways. Also, if he was rude when he asked the question, they told him he could go more often.

  She didn’t take her eyes off him. She was weighing something– he could almost see the process unfold behind her gaze.

  Eventually, she exhaled and leaned back into her chair. “You’re already here.” She gestured to the rows of empty chairs nearby. “Might as well make use of it.”

  A quiet permission, not quite an invitation. Better than a dismissal.

  Casian stepped forward, closing a fraction of the distance, and sat on the table of the tier beneath her, rather than claiming a seat at the same table as her. Not too far, not too close. An obstruction between him and her– the illusion of safety. He would see if she engaged in the self-deception.

  He met her gaze. “Then, if you would, tell me your name.”

  She considered him again in totality, eyes raking over his form. Then she gave a quiet, amused hum.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”

  Casian grunted. He was not sure of any method to force someone to answer a question that would not involve violence. Untouched territory.

  Instead, he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. He changed tactics. Maybe leaning on social order? “A shame. I’d hoped to be able to address you properly.”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  She let out a soft breath– too amused to be a scoff, too sharp to be a sigh. “Address me however you like, then.”

  “Unlikely,” Casian said, dry. “I do not need to give you a name when you already have one.” That was, of course, excepting the fair number of people who Casian already did that with, but nobody but Rosalinde knew that.

  She tapped her fingers against the tabletop, thoughtful. “Then I suppose you’ll have to make do with something else.”

  Casian waited. He had no need to press.

  After a pause, she tilted her head in a near-mockery of him and said, “Mercy.”

  Casian raised a brow. “Mercy?”

  “Because I have none,” she said smoothly, and there– that was a smirk, not the ghost of one.

  Casian stared, blank, a little disbelieving.

  She shot him an offended look. Oh, gods, she was serious?

  “How…” Casian desperately searched for a set of words to politely express that he found the implication of this woman being somehow dangerous and merciless to be the funniest thing he had heard this week. He fought to keep his tone neutral, but the sheer absurdity made it difficult. He settled for an arched brow and a deliberate pause, picking his words with exceptional care. Only the barest hints of incredulity leaked through “How unexpected.”

  “Unexpected?” She echoed, narrowing her eyes.

  Casian gestured vaguely at her– her pristine uniform, the ink staining her fingertips, the neat arrangement of her notes and books. “You are studying alone in an abandoned lecture hall.”

  She crossed her arms. “And?”

  He tilted his head. “I would expect something more imposing.”

  She inhaled sharply, eyes flashing. “I–” she started, then cut herself off, deflating slightly.

  Casian observed with interest as she straightened, schooling her features into something resembling composure, though her fingers twitched slightly where they rested against her notes.

  “You mock me,” she accused, tilting her chin up.

  “Never,” he said, his tone a perfect mimicry of sincerity. He had always been better at lying than Rosalinde. “I am simply adjusting my expectations accordingly.”

  She huffed, crossing her arms, but her eyes held the faintest spark of amusement that tempered the indignation there. “Perhaps,” she began. “I had been too hasty in presenting a name. I will endeavour to provide you with something better.”

  “No.” Casian cut in. “The first name will do fine.” her face twitched and he saw her hands seize in place. They were small, nails cut short. Dainty.

  She inhaled, slow and measured, as if weighing the consequences of escalating the subject. Then, with great dignity, she lifted her chin. “If you insist.”

  Casian inclined his head. “I do.”

  She tapped a finger against her notes, “Then I suppose I must learn to endure it.”

  “Good,” Casian said easily, still distant.

  She exhaled sharply between her teeth, a sound not quite amusement or frustration, but balanced between the two. “I am beginning to suspect you enjoy being insufferable.”

  Casian blinked. “Beginning?”

  She gave him a long, slow look. “Hnn.”

  He stared.

  Arms still crossed, she began again. “If you are adjusting your expectations, then please, allow me to adjust mine.”

  He nodded, as if giving her the floor, despite the fact that he was sitting beneath her and looking up towards her. “By all means.”

  She studied him for a long moment, gaze sharp with consideration. Then, as if coming to some conclusion, she leaned forward and rested her hands on the table.

  “You,” she said, voice almost accusing. “Are not at all what I expected, either.”

  Casian met her eyes, curious. “And what did you expect?”

  Her lips curled, a victorious smile. “Someone who was polite.”

  Casian gave a thoughtful hum. “I am polite.”

  “No,” she corrected him, rapping a finger against the table as he made her point. “You are careful. They are not the same thing.”

  That was– accurate. It was not something many people noticed very quickly, if at all.

  He nodded. “That is true,” as if he had not just lied blatantly to her face less than thirty seconds before.

  Her face broke into self-satisfaction for a moment.

  She, he noted, did not send him away after confirming he was not a gentleman.

  “You are careful, I presume,” she continued. “Because you dislike additional social troubles being foisted upon you?”

  “Yes. I do not like needless trouble.” It was a question he could answer in quite a number of ways, none of them entirely truthful.

  She snorted. “I am more than familiar with the need to use politeness as a social shield against fools, yes.”

  “But,” she continued. “Here you are.”

  Casian tilted his head, uncomprehending. Like the hawks they would sometimes work with back at home.

  “...You tracked me down over a conversation in a tea shop.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “I did do that.” Casian then stopped speaking.

  She gave him a long, considering look that was near incredulous, then huffed, shaking her head. “And here I thought you disliked unnecessary trouble.”

  Casian exhaled through his nose, the expression feeling less bloodcurdling than usual and more mildly amused. “As I said– unnecessary trouble.”

  Her lips quirked slightly. “And you consider this necessary, do you?”

  He shrugged, plain and simple. “I find you interesting.”

  Her fingers stilled against the table. She regarded him carefully, weighing the words in her mind before she spoke again. “You, I believe, are the first person to tell me as such without intending insult.”

  Casian regarded her impassively. “Others mean it as an insult, then?”

  She gave him a sardonic smile, almost mocking herself as she answered a question he didn’t ask. “I have opinions.”

  Casian responded with a blank stare.

  “Indeed,” she drawled, as if he responded with something that wasn’t resounding silence. “A woman with thoughts of her own. Having differing political opinions makes you a terror to polite society, I’m told.”

  Casian made a thoughtful sound in his throat. He suspected that her standards for terror were differing from his. “If you say so.” Mimicking the other person’s opinion was typically a sound choice in the moment. If anyone tried to call him out on it later, he could always just shrug and ignore them.

  She huffed, emerald eyes bright with something more than irritation. “I do say so.”

  He shrugged.

  She sighed, though it was a put-on expression rather than any genuine expression of weariness. “I am beginning to regret allowing you to speak to me.”

  He had been speaking to her? Could have fooled him.

  She hummed, gaze narrowing in a way that suggested she was scrutinizing him deeply. “You are quite different from my expectations.”

  “So you’ve said, yes.”

  “And yet,” she continued, ignoring his interjection entirely. “I cannot quite determine what it is you want.”

  Casian considered that for a moment, idly adjusting his sleeve cuff. “Does there always need to be an ulterior motive?”

  “There always is one.” She stated. “Even if it is merely curiosity. But I don’t believe you to be curious, and you have admitted that you are not one to be prone to trouble for the sake of it.”

  “True.” He said.

  “I don’t suppose that you will be so kind as to tell me?” She queried, likely already aware of the answer.

  “I see no need for it.” Casian stated.

  He did not say that it was because he was unsure of the reason, himself. Ultimately– he felt no need to be so restrained around Mercy. She was cutting, scathing. Outwardly judgemental and possessing high standards.

  It almost reminded him of himself.

  “That would’ve ruined the fun anyways,” she continued.

  Casian raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s a curious stance.”

  She sent him a sharp look. “It’s the stance of someone who does not often fail. I’ll find out what you’re looking for.”

  Casian smiled. “You are welcome to try.”

  She sent him a look that was delightfully baffled.

  “I–” she scoffed, a deep, low and throaty sound. “You make no sense.”

  Ah, she was gearing up to begin ranting again. Building steam.

  Casian felt himself lean forward, almost eager. “Go on, then.” he encouraged.

  “I don’t even know where to start.” She huffed and ran a hand through her long, flat black hair in exasperation. “You’re insufferably detached, and constantly tense. I have literally had more relaxed interactions with the royal guard– who are, despite all pretenses, men and women molded to be killers above all else.”

  Casian had interacted with the Royal Guard before, technically, experiencing some of them through his uncle, and his father, but ultimately he was aware that his father and uncle had been considered intense and unusual even by their standards. They were the only members he had ever met. It was interesting in an intellectual sense to know he took after the trend.

  It was possible that he was more dangerous than members of the Royal Guard. Something about the thought was almost upsetting, and he wasn’t sure why.

  She hadn’t noticed his contemplation, it seemed.

  “I was almost entirely rude to you, I purposefully disregarded most social norms to violate your space and time for that conversation-”

  “You were being rude?” Casian couldn’t help but ask. He knew, objectively, she had pushed the borders of what was proper in the conversation, but to his understanding it was more to do with volume. Some of it was unkind, but it did not break any sort of hard rules to noble society he knew of.

  Mercy paused, before rallying. Her composure was, obviously, not entirely lost, but she was clearly focused on other things than propriety. “That. Exactly that. Your expected treatment from others seems to begin somewhere at ‘sudden violence towards me’ and consider anything else a victory! It’s absurd. That’s not how speaking with people works.”

  Casian tilted his head slightly, considering her words. “Ah. And here I thought we were getting along rather well.”

  Mercy let out a sharp, short laugh– more disbelief than any amount of amusement. “Getting along? You say that as if this is normal.”

  “Is it not?” Casian asked, only somewhat genuinely curious.

  “No! It isn’t!” she exclaimed, gesturing empathetically at him. “You sit there, calmly dissecting everything I say, like I’m a uniquely interesting problem, and when I point out how ridiculous you’re being you take it like some sort of compliment!”

  Casian sent her a strange look. “That does not sound like my problem.”

  Mercy narrowed her eyes, near venomous in tone. “You just enjoy being difficult, don’t you?”

  “All I am is consistent.”.

  “You are– Agh! I mean–” She gestured at him, at a loss for words. She seemed to pause before she found her second wind.

  She snapped at him. “You’re Rosalinde’s brother. The one who fends off her suitors like a particularly overqualified bodyguard. That alone made you a topic of interest. And then, when I finally speak to you I find–” Her hands raked through her hair.

  “Ugh!”

  “You act like it’s all unimportant but you’re wound tighter than a loaded spring. You clearly think too much, because even the humorous comments you make feel like you picked them with a purpose that borders on being ludicrous. You have made me think more in this conversation than any of the ladies I’ve spoken with have in the past week!”

  Her fingers seemed to twitch in and out of being tense. She looked a little like she wanted to strangle him.

  “I walked into that conversation at the tea shop thinking you were some ridiculous, duty-bound fool who only cared about his sister’s honor and the opinions of the nobility. Instead, I find out that you’re practically fending off death near daily! It’s– It’s–”

  Casian simply watched her with mild interest.

  She seemed to snap out of it. “It’s absurd. What you experience is something that makes a farce of proper noble behavior. How many people failed tremendously for this to even happen?”

  Casian almost opened his mouth. It wasn’t really a farce on other people’s parts, lethal force was more or less the only level of force that would function against him. He was impossible to pin down, and capable of achieving combat readiness so long as he was conscious. It was an entirely purposeful decision on his part. It made duels more dangerous for him, but unless the suitors were exceptionally good– princes and high standing nobles, they would never stand a chance. The barrier of entry to consider having a meaningful fight with him was the ability to break through stone armor and kill him instantaneously, before he could react. Not that he suspected many suitors realized such, given the many failures.

  “No! Don’t tell me. Gods above knows your answer will somehow make me angrier.”

  She paused, and visibly took a moment to gather herself. She seemed to lose most of her energy, drained. Her next words sounded near exhausted. “How- how do you keep going? I assumed you were some holier-than-thou expert duelist, not some wretched survivalist. You have more in common with a war veteran than a nobleman.”

  Casian watched her grapple with her own frustration, leaning back slightly, giving her space. “You make it sound like a choice.” He noted. “Survival is often just instinct.”

  “Instinct or not– it must weigh on you.” She shook her head, a mixture of disbelief and concern blatantly clear. “How can you remain composed when faced with constant threat?”

  “It’s a matter of perspective.” He hated how that answer felt like a cop-out. “Every danger is an opportunity to improve.”

  “I–” She began, hesitant. “Is it really?”

  No.

  “It has to be.”

  Silence ruled, for a moment.

  “That’s… an incredibly grim outlook,” Mercy said. “You should be enjoying your life, enjoying your youth. Not– trapped in some endless cycle of danger and caution, trying to make some life of it all.”

  Casian shrugged. “You don’t particularly seem like you’re enjoying your own life, either.”

  She looked at him, a poleaxed expression on her face. Disbelieving. She brought a hand to her temple. Her voice seemed to have a weary quality to it. “You– you are one of the most exhausting people I have ever met, and you have barely spoken this conversation.” She continued. “I’m going to go and go to bed, and not think about any of your madness.”

  She stood up, Casian watched her, silently. He ignored the small pang of something deep in his chest at the sight of her readying herself to leave. She looked at him closely.

  A sharp breath of air shot out of her teeth as she turned and began collecting her things, not meeting his eyes.

  “...I spend most of my weekdays after classes on the second floor of the library.”

  She didn’t invite him, but she didn’t invite him to this conversation, either.

  “That’s almost an invitation,” he mused aloud.

  She didn’t look back, but he swore he saw her pace quicken.