The clang of steel echoed through the Illyrian training grounds, the air sharp with the scent of sweat and cold mountain wind. You hadn’t been back here in years, hadn’t expected to ever come back. Yet here you were, standing in the ring again, instructing a young warrior on his stance, your hand resting on his arm to adjust his grip.

Once, this place had been home. Once, Cassian had been too. You and he had been inseparable... fire and wind, laughter and war, love that burned too bright for either of you to contain. But love and pride had collided one too many times. Harsh words. A door slammed. You’d left the Night Court the next morning and never looked back.

Cassian saw you the second he stepped onto the field. He hadn’t known you were back. The sight hit him like a punch to the ribs, the same defiant tilt of your chin, the faint smile you gave another male. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t move. Then jealousy burned hot and merciless in his chest.

The other warriors noticed the shift in the air. Conversations stilled. Cassian’s wings flared slightly as he stalked toward you, every inch the Commander again, broad, dangerous, radiating barely contained fury. He stopped just short of the ring, voice rough and low enough that only you heard it.

“Touch him again, sweetheart… and I’ll break his arm.”