Cassian’s expression darkened. His voice came low and clipped, carrying a warning. “You do not know what you seek. The dungeons are no place to nurse fears or soothe regrets. They are not a playground. If you wish to grow strong, there are other paths. Hunting artifacts is not training. It is gambling with your life, and such shortcuts lead only to an early grave.”

“What? Then what about Your Highness? You are keeping all the artifacts for yourself, aren’t you? How is that fair? Isn’t that hypocritical of you?” Seraphine blinked at him, then let out a short, incredulous laugh. The surge of anger that followed pushed her earlier fear aside, if only for a heartbeat.

“How childish,” Cassian growled, irritation sharpening his features. He tapped a finger on the table, a small, habitual motion that seemed to keep his temper in check.

Seraphine noticed the gesture and was struck by the memory of someone close to her who did the same to stay calm.

“You speak as if those artifacts are toys to be shared. I have even less desire to let a foolish girl like you meddle with them. They are powerful, and they are mine to protect. You have no idea what chaos would follow if they fell into the wrong hands.” His voice stayed even, but the tautness beneath it made each word land like a warning.

“That is just selfish! Shouldn’t knowledge be shared if those artifacts are to be inspected and used? It sounds as if you trust no one.” Seraphine’s voice trembled despite her effort to keep it steady. She clenched her hands in her lap, forcing herself to meet his gaze. She needed access to those artifacts, to find clues, scraps of knowledge that might help her. Perhaps a page torn from an ancient tome, a summoning circle etched into stone, anything that could bridge the worlds.

–Anything to bring her here.

Her thoughts faltered. Was it selfish to want to bring her lover into this world?

–No.

She shook her head slightly at that thought. Her partner would love it here, a place of magic and adventure, free from work and chores. The du Fane family would see to their every comfort. Here they could live as the wealthy did. Her love would miss technology, the media, and all the conveniences of the modern world, but it felt like a fair trade. The thought almost steadied her, though only for a moment.

Seraphine’s fingers knotted together in her lap until her knuckles ached. Her breaths came shallow and quick, mostly because she had forgotten to breathe at all. She stared ahead, eyes widening as the thought struck her like cold water splashed across her face.

–Oh no. How did I not think of that?

Her stomach dipped. A faint tremor ran through her shoulders, not quite panic, but close enough to sting.

–What if time moved differently between the worlds?

An hour here, a day there. A day here, a week there. Her heart stumbled in her chest. What if years had already passed? The idea made her stomach twist. If she could not bring her lover here, then she had to return home before too much was lost. Before everything she cared about had already changed. She clung to the fragile hope that time had not raced ahead there, that perhaps nothing had changed at all.

Cassian’s crimson gaze shifted to Edmund, cold and disappointed. The air in the room seemed to tighten with the weight of that look. “His Grace ought to have educated you on the laws and about the royal mage tower. All artifacts are to be handed to the royal guards and screened at the checkpoints.”

His tone hardened as his eyes returned to Seraphine. “I will not permit you to touch them. It is clear you are not fit to handle such power, and anyone who attempts otherwise will be held to account under royal law.”

Seraphine stood so abruptly that the chair scraped against the floor. Her voice rose, bright and raw. Offended by his insults and blatant refusal for her to even get near those artifacts. “Fine. If you will not allow me to go with you, then I will go without you.”

Her hands flew as she spoke, an irritated, almost mocking wave that made the servants gasp. “It was my father who suggested I tag along, not you. I do not need you. I will be the first to find those artifacts, before you do.” She laughed, but the sound cut sharp as a blade. “Those dungeons are not yours to own. They are what my house protects. You cannot forbid me from doing my duty.”

Her grin turned sharp, almost mischievous, her eyes sparking with defiance. She waved her hands like a performer on a stage, exaggerating each motion. “Oh, but do not worry, Your Royal Highness. This foolish girl knows how to obey the law.” Her voice dripped with mock sweetness, yet every word carried the spark of rebellion.

“I will hand over every artifact, of course. But first…” She put her hand on her chest, chin lifted, eyes blazing. “I will inspect them myself in the dungeons. Make sure they are all in order before I grace Your Royal Highness with them.” She tilted her head, her tone turning light and edged with poison. A small, sweet smile curved her lips, but the sweetness rang hollow, its edge unmistakably mocking. “I will be a good girl. Am I not generous?”

A silence settled over the room, heavy as a held breath. Edmund’s brows shot up, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Isolde stared at Seraphine in wide-eyed disbelief. Lucien’s mouth quirked, almost impressed, as though he had just discovered his student had a reckless streak he rather admired.

Cassian’s eyes, however, had gone flat and hard. He did not move, but the air between them seemed to grow colder. His stare pinned her like a blade point.

Seraphine felt her own heartbeat thundering against her ribs. Heat crawled up her neck. She cursed herself for her short temper. This was not how she had planned to win any ground. But there was no way she would wilt and apologize in front of all of them. She might be rude, but she was even more stubborn and prideful. She was too offended and annoyed by his insults for her to back down now.

She gathered the trailing edge of her overskirt, dipped in a curtsey that was polite only in form, and kept her voice smooth and steady. “Well, since you consider me so weak, I suppose I had better go back to training. I trust you won’t mind my leaving so abruptly. If you would excuse me.”

The chair scraped softly as she stepped back and put the chair neatly back.

Cassian’s lips curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. A short laugh escaped him, dry and edged, more disbelief than humor. “Hah.”

He rose, slow and deliberate. The faint sound of leather sliding against leather as he pulled on his black gloves made the hairs on Seraphine’s arms stand up. When he looked at her again, there was a gleam in his crimson eyes that made her spine tighten.

“It seems you still do not know your place. You take dangers lightly.” His voice had dropped a note lower. “Very well. If you underestimate what you should fear, I will show you myself. Consider it an honor.”

A chill slid down her back at the way he said honor, but she raised her chin and summoned a bright, brittle smile. “I never thought Your Royal Highness would condescend to teach a weak girl like me. Thank you so much. Truly… an honor.”

Their gazes locked, her forced smile against his sharp smirk. The air between them felt as if it might spark.

For a heartbeat she wondered how she had ever let his good looks charm her. His beauty had fooled her. The man behind it was insufferable. She already disliked him.

Cassian’s stare lingered a moment longer, then he turned on his heel. “Outside,” he said. “We will settle this properly.”

The group moved to the training yard behind the mansion. The evening light slanted across the packed dirt and the wooden racks lined with practice weapons.

Cassian did not slow his stride. Edmund hurried to catch up, concern clear in his voice. “Your Highness, surely this is unnecessary. She only started training yesterday, and she has been unwell for weeks.”

Cassian’s crimson eyes flicked to Edmund, hard and unreadable. “Duke Edmund Wilmore du Fane, stay out of this.” The command left no room for argument. He reached for a practice blade from the rack, fingers brushing the hilt with slow, deliberate calm. A faint, cold smile curved his lips. “Besides, I will use this.” His voice was casual, almost meant to soothe, and Edmund’s shoulders loosened a fraction as if the wooden sword had taken the edge off his fear.

Cassian’s smile did not reach his eyes. He lifted the wooden blade once, testing the weight, then let it rest lightly on his shoulder. The motion was casual and practiced, yet the taut leather over his fingers betrayed the force he could wield. A wooden sword would not kill, not often, but a strike from someone who knew how to use a weapon could still break bones and end careers. Edmund’s brief relief vanished as quickly as it had come. The look Cassian gave Seraphine made it clear this would be no cautious lesson.

His gaze shifted slightly, narrowing on Seraphine. “She seems lively enough now to accept my challenge,” he said, voice cool and short, dismissing Edmund’s excuses about her illness. His tone was firm, a clear message that weakness and past ailments would not earn her any leniency here.

Isolde’s hand darted out, catching Seraphine’s sleeve with a firm, almost desperate grip. Her voice trembled as she whispered, “Seraphine, please. Apologize. This is madness. You’ll get hurt. You’re not ready.”

Seraphine felt the tension in Isolde’s hold, the quick, shallow breaths that made the woman’s worry palpable. Her mother’s eyes were wide, darting toward Cassian and back to her, as if scanning for any hint of danger. The worry in her voice was sharp, urgent, like every word carried a fear that Seraphine might be injured.

Seraphine shook her head, forcing her pulse to steady despite the warnings in her chest. She tried to keep her voice light, teasing even, though a spark of tension ran through it. “I’ll be fine,” she said, tilting her head just enough to meet Isolde’s gaze, letting her words ring clear. She raised her voice slightly, loud enough for Cassian to hear. “The crown prince surely has enough… decency not to kill or cripple a friend’s daughter.”

Isolde’s lips parted in a silent gasp, and her hands tightened briefly on Seraphine’s sleeve. Her voice dropped again, a whispered, almost pleading sound. “Seraphine… don’t…”

The wooden sword in Cassian’s hand splintered with a deafening crack that reverberated across the yard, sending a shiver through the air. Tiny shards of wood leapt outward, bouncing off the stone and grass with sharp, stinging taps. Seraphine’s heart jumped into her throat, and she instinctively took a step back, the sound ringing in her ears. Edmund flinched, and Isolde’s gasp choked off, her hands tightening nervously on Seraphine’s sleeve.

Cassian’s crimson eyes flicked to the ruined hilt, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as if the destruction had been expected. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for another practice blade, the motion calm but every fiber of his posture taut with restrained force. “My apologies,” he said with an insincere bow. “This one will do.”

Lucien stepped up beside Seraphine, his usual relaxed smile tinged with concern, a shadow crossing his features. “Remember what I taught you. If it gets truly dangerous, I will step in.”

Seraphine gripped the practice sword he handed her, feeling the wood press into her sweaty palms. Her heart thudded, but she squared her shoulders and met his gaze. “No. This is between us. If I cannot face him alone, how could I ever hope to face a monster? I have to prove to him that I am not a coward.”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he wanted to argue, to urge caution, but he gave her a brief nod instead. He could only watch, aware that Seraphine’s stubborn streak would not let her back down.

Cassian heard her words. A faint flicker of amusement crossed his otherwise unreadable face, like a spark in cold steel. He adjusted his grip on the new wooden sword, twirling it lightly in one gloved hand before letting it rest comfortably across his shoulder, the motion deceptively casual.

They stepped into the sparring ring. The tension was almost tangible, hanging in the air like a storm about to break. Edmund and Isolde watched from the sidelines, their breaths caught in their chests, eyes flicking nervously between Seraphine and Cassian. The air seemed sharper, heavier, as though the shattered wood and Cassian’s barely restrained temper had left a charge in the space around them.

Seraphine lifted her sword, forcing her shoulders to relax despite the thrum of adrenaline racing through her veins. Her fingers tightened on the hilt, the faint scrape of leather gloves against wood reminding her of the reality of what she was about to face. Across the ring, Cassian twirled his blade once, the movement smooth and measured, then froze. His crimson gaze locked on hers, intense and unyielding.

They faced each other, the polite, almost courtly smiles stretched across their faces masking the tension coiling beneath like a drawn bowstring. Every breath, every shift of weight was charged with anticipation.

“Ready when you are,” Cassian said, his tone light, almost teasing, but with a razor-thin edge that made Seraphine’s pulse quicken.

Seraphine returned his smile, sharp and deliberate. “Don’t hold back, Your Highness. I would hate to think you went easy on a weak girl.”

Her words hung in the air. Cassian’s gaze was a predator’s, sharp and unyielding. She had stepped straight into a lion’s den. Every instinct screamed caution, but she stood firm. This was no friendly duel.