Page 19 of A Court of Thralls and Thorns

Pain flared, hot and immediate, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of stumbling. Instead, I used the momentary closeness to slam my palm into her sternum, forcing her back.

We separated, both of us breathing hard.

She smirked. “Not bad, Rebec.”

I wiped blood from my lip and grinned. “Not bad yourself.”

Zander, who had been watching with mild interest, finally spoke.

“Good. Next.”

I exhaled, rolling out my sore shoulder, and stepped out of the ring.

One by one, my squadmates took their turns in the ring. Each match varied in skill, intensity, and ruthlessness, but every fight served its purpose—testing us, pushing us, exposing weaknesses we hadn’t yet considered.

Riven took down Eilvin in under a minute, her movements sharp and efficient. Tae finally took down Ferrula, though it wasa near-even match, both of them favoring brute strength over speed.

And then, there were only Jax and Cordelle left.

For the first time since coming to the castle, I felt true fear.

Jax was strong, fast, and experienced. Cordelle, for all his wit and poetic nature, was not a fighter.

I braced myself, ready to step in if it got out of hand.

But instead of pummeling our poet into the dirt, Jax patiently began instructing him.

“Keep your stance wider—no, wider than that,” Jax said, gesturing with his hands. Cordelle adjusted his footing, looking uncertain. “Alright, now throw a punch—not like you’re caressing a page, Cordelle, put some power into it.”

Cordelle hesitated, then threw a punch, which Jax deflected easily.

“You’re pulling back too much,” Jax said. “Again.”

Cordelle tried again. And again. And again.

The match wasn’t really a match—it was a lesson.

And Zander hated it.

I saw his expression darken, his patience snapping like brittle glass. Without warning, he stepped into the ring, cutting the session short.

“You are not doing him any favors, Prospect Barmon,” Zander said, his voice cold and clipped.

Jax turned to him, eyes blazing with defiance. For once, he wasn’t smiling. “He is just a kid,” Jax said, every word laced with disgust. “I’ll fight, but not a damn teenager that’s never held a weapon or been in a fight.”

Jax took a step toward Zander, his voice dripping with challenge. “How about you stop hiding behind your title and take his place?”

The air shifted.

I wasn’t the only one who noticed it.

Around the ring, other squads turned to watch. Conversations stilled. The sounds of sparring ceased, leaving only the quiet tension hanging in the air.

All eyes were on Zander and Jax.

Zander didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

“Cadet Strome,” Zander’s voice rang out, cool and composed. “Please leave the ring. You have won your match with Prospect Barmon.”