The next hour blurred into a haze of grueling movement. He pushed her to her limits and beyond, his commands unrelenting, his critiques cutting. Every time she faltered, his voice was there, sharp and steady, demanding more.
Her arms burned as she swung the blade again and again, her legs trembling from holding the stances he insisted on. Her breath came in ragged gasps, sweat dripping down her temples despite the cold.
"You're too slow," Caius said, dodging her latest attempt with maddening ease. "Faster."
"I'm trying!" she snapped, the dagger trembling in her hand.
"Not hard enough," he said, his tone devoid of sympathy. "If this were a real fight, you'd be dead ten times over."
Her frustration boiled over. "Maybe I wouldn't have to fight if someone didn't drag me into this nightmare!"
Caius stopped suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. The weight of his gaze pinned her in place, silencing her protest.
"And what happens," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "when I'm not there to protect you? What happens when the wolves come, and you're all that stands between them and your life?"
Eira swallowed hard, her heart pounding. She hated the way his words struck a chord, hated the way he made her feel small and exposed. But beneath the anger was something else—something she refused to name.
"Again," he said, stepping back, his expression unreadable.
By the time they stopped, Eira's body felt like it was made of lead. She collapsed against the courtyard wall, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. Her hands throbbed from gripping the dagger, her arms trembling from the effort of keeping up with him.
Caius stood a few paces away, watching her with an intensity that made her stomach twist.
"You're stronger than you look," he said quietly.
Eira snorted, brushing damp hair from her face. "That's almost a compliment." She glanced at him, exhaustion and frustration simmering just below the surface. "Why are you doing this, really?"
He stepped closer, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight. For a moment, the mask slipped, and she saw something raw beneath it—something fragile and sharp.
"Because I want you safe," he said softly.
Caius walked beside her in silence as they made their way through the darkened halls of the castle. The faint glow of distant torches cast flickering shadows on the stone walls, the cold seeping into her skin with every step. The rhythmic echo of their footsteps filled the void between them, heavy and unrelenting.
Each step felt like wading through wet sand, her muscles trembling from the strain. Her palms throbbed where the dagger's hilt had pressed into her skin, the faint sting a reminder of how tightly she'd gripped it. Every step sent a dull throb through her body, but she kept her head high, refusing to show weakness—not now, not in front of him.
She stole a glance at Caius from the corner of her eye. He moved with his usual calm precision, his posture unyielding, his expression unreadable. Not a single strand of his dark hair was out of place, and the faint sheen of sweat on his skin only seemed to sharpen his edges, making him look even more untouchable.
The silence between them was suffocating, yet neither of them broke it.
Does he always have to be so damn perfect? Eira thought bitterly, shifting her gaze forward. Her own hair clung damply to her neck, and her shirt was plastered to her back, clinging uncomfortably to her overheated skin. She could still feel the ghost of his hands on her arms, his voice slicing through her defenses as easily as a blade.
The ache in her chest wasn't just from the training.
When they reached her door, she hesitated, her fingers hovering over the cold brass handle. She turned to face him, bracing herself for another sharp critique or dismissive remark.
But instead, Caius stopped and looked at her. For a long moment, he said nothing, his golden eyes sweeping over her face, searching for something she couldn't name.
"You did well," he said finally, his voice low and even.
Eira blinked, startled. The words were so unexpected, so at odds with the man who had just pushed her to the brink, that they landed like a sharp jolt to her chest. She didn't know what unsettled her more—the fact that Caius had complimented her, or the faint warmth that came with it. For a moment, she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly.
The faintest trace of a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth—so faint she almost missed it. But there it was, softening his sharp features in a way that made her chest tighten.
Her breath caught. "Was that… a compliment?" she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.
And just like that, he was gone—his warmth vanishing as if it had never been there at all. The door slammed shut between them, leaving Eira feeling small and raw, as though she'd imagined the entire thing.
"Don't let it go to your head," he said, stepping back.
Eira's jaw tightened, the ache in her legs forgotten for a moment. She wanted to snap back, to needle him the way she always did. But the words wouldn't come.
He turned slightly but paused, his shoulders tensing as if he were waging a silent battle with himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, less certain. "Rest. You'll need your strength tomorrow."
Eira swallowed hard, her throat dry. "Of course I will," she said, the sarcasm falling flat as the weight of the evening pressed down on her.
Caius gave a small nod, then turned and strode away, his footsteps fading into the shadows.
Eira watched him go, her heart a confusing knot of exhaustion, anger, and something she didn't want to name. The silence of the hallway closed in around her, amplifying the distant hum of the torches.
She leaned back against the door, her body sagging as the tension drained from her. She didn't understand him—how he could be so cold one moment and then let something slip, something that hinted at a depth she couldn't reach.
The words had dug under her skin. They were a sharp contrast to his earlier indifference. She should have been annoyed, dismissed it as nothing—but the faint warmth in his voice lingered, soft and maddeningly unshakable.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She hated the way he unsettled her, the way his approval lingered in her mind like a whispered promise.
And yet, when she closed her eyes, it wasn't his coldness she remembered—it was the softness in his voice when he told her she'd done well. That was what stayed with her, long after the shadows swallowed him whole.
She exhaled sharply, pushing herself off the door. She wouldn't let his words linger.
She wouldn't let him linger.
But when she lay down that night, her mind betrayed her, replaying the softness in his voice with every beat of her pulse.