The training yard buzzed with the sounds of clashing steel and labored breaths. The scent of sweat and dust lingered in the warm air as Cassian and Julian stood across from each other, wooden swords in hand. A circle of onlookers—guards, trainers, and a few household members—watched with interest.
Julian, Cassian's older stepbrother, smirked. "You've improved, little brother. But you're still not good enough."
Cassian said nothing. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his practice sword, eyes locked on Julian's stance. He had spent years studying combat, not just with his body but with his mind. Julian was stronger, but Cassian was faster. More precise.
The instructor raised a hand. "Begin!"
Julian lunged first, swinging his sword in a powerful downward strike. Cassian sidestepped with ease, letting the blow crash into the dirt. Before Julian could recover, Cassian struck—his sword cracked against his stepbrother's ribs. Julian grunted, stumbling back.
A murmur ran through the crowd.
Julian's face darkened. "Lucky hit."
He advanced again, this time more controlled, aiming for Cassian's legs. But Cassian was already moving. He weaved around the attack and delivered a sharp jab to Julian's exposed shoulder.
The older boy growled in frustration and swung wildly. Cassian ducked low, swept Julian's legs from under him, and pressed the tip of his wooden sword against his chest.
The training yard fell silent.
"Yield," Cassian said, voice steady.
Julian's face twisted with anger, but he had no choice. He let out a sharp breath. "I yield."
The instructor nodded approvingly. "Well fought, both of you."
Cassian stepped back, offering Julian a hand. His stepbrother ignored it, pushing himself up with a glare before storming off.
Cassian exhaled. He had won—but he knew this was just the beginning.
_________
Cassian sat at the grand dining table, his grip tightening around the silver goblet in his hand. The taste of spiced wine lingered on his tongue, but his mind was elsewhere—still replaying the sparring match from earlier. He could see the fury in Julian's eyes as he struggled to keep up, the growing frustration that turned to outright humiliation when he was bested. Cassian had expected it; Julian's pride was as fragile as glass, and shattering it had been almost too easy.
Livia's voice was a shrill annoyance in the background, her complaints weaving through the air like the venom of a viper. "It was disgraceful," she snapped, her narrowed eyes darting between Seraphina and Dorian. "Cassian was brutal. Julian is his elder, yet he showed no restraint. It was unbecoming of a noble boy."
Cassian barely withheld a scoff. Unbecoming? He had fought with precision, with skill. It was not his fault that Julian lacked both. Restraint had no place in a duel. He had spent the past two years sharpening himself into something formidable, refusing to remain vulnerable to the whims of others. Strength was his shield, his assurance that no one would ever strip him of his place again.
His mother remained composed, sipping delicately from her cup before setting it down with quiet grace. "A spar is a test of skill," Seraphina said, her tone even but firm. "If Julian was bested, then perhaps he should train harder rather than rely on Cassian's mercy."
Julian bristled, his hands curling into fists beneath the table. His humiliation festered into something ugly, and Cassian could feel the weight of his brother's resentment pressing against him like a storm cloud ready to burst.
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Julian's POV:
Julian's hands trembled slightly as he stabbed his fork into his roasted meat, forcing himself to chew slowly. His jaw ached from where Cassian's training blade had struck him, and the sting of embarrassment was even worse than the physical pain. He had been humiliated—in front of the household guards, in front of their father. And worst of all, in front of Cassian himself.
He hated the way Cassian looked at him, with that cold, measured gaze. There was no gloating, no arrogance—just the silent, infuriating confidence of someone who knew they were better. It made Julian's blood boil.
His mother's voice was his only solace, her sharp words lashing out like a whip on his behalf. But even that wasn't enough. His father had barely acknowledged the duel, and Seraphina's dismissal of the matter only stoked the fire in his chest. Train harder? As if Cassian hadn't been given the best instructors, the best weapons, the best of everything. It wasn't fair.
One day, Julian swore, he would wipe that look off Cassian's face. One day, he would make him regret ever thinking he was superior.