Page 41

T he tension in the corridor hangs thick as smoke after Hayes’ threat, a sour miasma of aggression and wounded pride cloying the air. Arius stands rigid, back ramrod straight yet shoulders slumped in a subtle admission of defeat as he avoids our gazes. For several fraught heartbeats, nobody moves—we’re all locked in this brittle stand-off, waiting for the next spark to reignite the tinder.

It doesn’t come.

With a sigh that almost sounds like defeat misting the space before him, Arius breaks the stalemate first. He pivots on one heel and stalks away without a backwards glance, the measured cadence of his gait clipping out a sullen staccato against the flagstones.

Frowning, I hug the battered old tome tighter against my chest, tracking Arius’ retreat until his figure disappears around the far corner. Only then do I tear my focus back to the two gawping imbeciles beside me—Hayes, practically radiating vindicated smugness, while Jace sports that lopsided grin dancing with mischief.

“Don’t either of you wankers have better shite to occupy your time than antagonising our tortured aristocrat?” I rasp out, quirking one eyebrow in a pointed look.

Jace simply shrugs, the picture of unrepentant nonchalance. “Wouldn’t be half as fun, mate. You know how much I bloody well adore taking pompous pricks down a peg or three. Arius has been on one for weeks now.”

A derisive snort gusts past my lips as I shake my head. “Yes, and we’re all painfully aware how you compensate for your own tragic shortcomings. I’ll see you idiots in the training yard. Stay out of trouble.”

I don’t wait for their inevitable rejoinders, simply spin on my heel and set off after Arius at a brisk clip. It doesn’t take long to catch up with him—the wanker seems to have adopted an aimless, rambling trajectory without any obvious destination in mind. A few deft strides brings me abreast to his towering figure, but I refrain from uttering a single word.

No need to push the brooding bastard. Not yet, anyway. Arius will either open up about the turmoil clearly plaguing him, or he won’t. No sense hounding him and risk driving that solitary figure further into introspective retreat.

For several long minutes, an uneasy quiet stretches between us as we amble along, our measured footfalls providing the only discernible rhythm against the muffled ambiance of this tucked-away wing. But then, as the monotony drags onward, a pattern begins to register through the fog of my idle musings.

My brow furrows as I realise our trajectory is carrying us toward Briar’s class. Darting a sidelong glance at Arius’ impassive profile, I clear my throat and wet my lips, choosing each word with exaggerated care.

“Seems a rather brazen move, even for you, old cock. Paying the wee lass an impromptu visit.” His only reaction is a muscle twitching erratically along that chiselled jawline as his nostrils flare with each measured inhalation. “Planning on telling her about the Hunt?”

Those piercing pale irises find mine at last—and the sight robs the breath from my lungs. Glacial planes boring into me, hollowed out and utterly devoid of even a flicker of warmth or emotion. They’re the blank visages of a statue, unseeing and empty.

“No,” Arius murmurs in a toneless rasp, “Maybe. Fuck, I don’t know, . The least I can do is try to make Briar more comfortable, show her that at least one of us fucking cares. That we aren’t just—”

He cuts off with a self-recriminating scoff so abruptly that it startles me, throat bobbing convulsively. When those haunted irises latch onto me once more, it’s like he’s looking straight through the veneer of flesh and bone consuming my silhouette—peering directly into whatever untapped wellspring lurks within. Unblinking. Merciless.

I find myself swallowing hard, the sound overly loud and wet in the stifling silence blanketing us. “Does remaining passive in the face of it seem any wiser?” I counter, startled by how hushed my voice emerges. “Surely attempting to alter the parameters, no matter how insignificant—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter!” The vehement outburst rends the hush, jagged shards of savagery and naked pain lancing through those words. Arius jerks to a halt, palming his face as a protracted sigh whistles out between splayed fingers. “None of it matters,” he adds in a murmur now, sounding unnervingly resigned. “We’re simply… pieces. To be manoeuvred at another’s whims, our choices already laid out for us.”

For a handful of heartbeats, neither of us stirs. I simply study the proud curve of those shoulders, the obstinate set of a jawline designed to cut glass with its aristocratic lines. My gut clenches, chest constricting as if I’m drowning without ever breaching the surface.

Because I recognize that tone, those mannerisms—have witnessed their corrosive spread blighting others from the inside-out.

It’s the sound of a soul suffocating in bitterness and despair.

“Ari…” My voice emerges husky, little more than a throaty rasp snagged behind the tightness binding my windpipe. A dozen more sentiments bubble up, queries and platitudes all desperate to burst forth in a torrent.

But something stills the words before they manifest as anything more than strained silence.

Perhaps it’s the defeated slump of those shoulders or the utter bleakness blanketing him like a funeral shroud—manifestations of this new, brittle brokenness encroaching on our friend. My eyes track the motion as he rakes a hand back through already dishevelled locks in a gesture of pure exhaustion, then nods toward a nearby bench. With molasses slowness, Arius lumbers over and slumps down, spine curving into an uncharacteristic slouch as he hunches over himself. Head in hands, elbows braced on splayed knees—reposed like a broken fucking doll, discarded and left to sag into decrepitude.

I watch him for several long moments, until the wordless tableau grows too oppressive to bear any longer. Cradling the battered tome against my chest, I settle onto the bench beside him. Close enough for contact if he seeks it… but maintaining a respectful distance all the same if he requires space instead.

“Talk to me, Ari,” I murmur at length into the hush. It’s a gentle prompt, an open invitation rather than an overt prying. “You’re not alone in this. You have all of us, even if Jace and Hayes seem to gang up sometimes—you know that, yeah?”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just sits there hunched over himself, face buried in his hands like a man trapped in a never-ending migraine. His chest rises and falls in a ragged, jerking cadence indicative of the cracks spreading through that stolid foundation.

Until, finally, he stirs.

Arius inhales a shuddering lungful, slumping back against the wooden bench as he exhales in a protracted gust. His hands slip free to hang between parted thighs, head lolling forward until that proud jawline forms a hard angle jutting out over his sternum.

“I can’t do this, .” The words emerge guttural and wrecked, lacking even a shred of his customary assurance. “This entire… situation. Involving Briar the way Hansley intends? It’s beyond the pale, far past anything I’m capable of stomaching.”

I watch in silence, offering no rejoinder as his fingers flex convulsively into fists, muscles corded with strain. When Arius finally finds my gaze again, the stare is utterly hollow—robbed of any semblance of defiance or fire. Just an infinite stretch of emptiness yawning behind those eerie irises.

“There are… lines. Boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed, no matter the justification or cost.” His brow creases, teeth worrying over that plush lower lip in an unusually telling display of vulnerability. “Using an innocent—ensnaring her in manipulations she can’t possibly comprehend? Exploiting her trust and… and degrading her, all for some grander fucking stratagem?” Arius swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing against the stark column of his throat. “It’s depraved, mate. Goes beyond moral depravity into something I can’t… I won’t fucking engage in. Not when I know the endgame…”

Only after he trails off do I realise my fingers have gone bloodless from clutching the old tome in a white-knuckled death grip, my jaw so tightly clenched it aches. I force myself to unclench, to breathe in a slow, calming cadence until the roaring torrent of outrage ebbing through my veins eases to a dull simmer.

But before I can formulate an adequate response, Arius lurches upright and staggers away from the bench, moving until he’s several strides away with his back to me. Palms plant against the wall, shoulders curving inward as if to shield himself from some unseen threat.

“I really can’t—shouldn’t—say anything more,” he rasps out, the words little more than a haggard croak over one shoulder. “Hansley’s forbidden me from elaborating on this particular scenario to any of you. If I disobey, if I attempt to alter plans in any fashion…”

Another protracted pause, punctuated by him scraping a palm over his drawn features. When he turns and his gaze finds me again, the harrowed anguish roiling in those depthless orbs steals my breath anew.

“Christ, I can’t even fucking hint at the ramifications for attempting to sabotage this, . Just know that I’m…” His jaw works silently, thumb rubbing against the faint stubble shadowing the hollow of one cheek. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

The admission seems to sap what little reserves of conviction remained, leaving Arius haggard and diminished. He slides down the wall until he collapses into a forlorn crouch. Only then does he make eye contact again, and the plea woven into that desolate stare sucker-punches me right in the fucking sternum.

“I’ve defied the Order before, made my own choices more times than I can count. But this… Christ.” A bitter, humourless scoff rattles between his lips as he shakes his head. “I—Fuck …”

Trailing off, Arius pins me with one final haunting look—the gaze of a man already resigned to his execution. My throat feels parched, tongue leaden and useless behind clenched teeth. All I can manage is a tight nod in acknowledgement as Arius straightens with visible effort, posture rigid once more. Though his eyes remain downcast, refusing to clash with my own gaze head-on.

A muscle twitches erratically along his stubbled jawline. “You wouldn’t understand, even if I tried. Makes all of us sound like fucking monsters,” he mutters at length, the cadence subdued and utterly lacking its usual commanding timbre.

Instantly, indignation flares within me—a caustic rebuke already coalescing on the tip of my tongue. But years of ingrained discipline kick in, allowing me to bite back the reflexive retort. Instead, I arch one brow in a pointed look. “Out of the sorry lot, I suspect I’d grasp the nuances better than most, you wanker.”

Arius flinches almost imperceptibly, chewing over his lower lip as that jaw works in a series of minute clenches and releases. When he finally meets my stare again, the raw vulnerability bleeding through those glacial irises punches the breath from my lungs. Beneath the gruff bravado and aristocratic arrogance, there’s a glimpse of the haunted boy I first encountered all those years ago in France.

I hold Arius’ gaze without flinching, unwavering in the face of whatever inner tempest rages behind that facade. Several beats stretch between us, the turgid silence thickening until it threatens to smother. Only when I sense his resolve wavering beneath the weight of that accusatory quiet do I give an encouraging dip of my chin.

It’s the barest of motions, but enough to trigger a crumbling of sorts. Arius’ spine hunches inward as if the weight has grown too immense to bear any longer. Hands raking through his hair, he emits a choked sound like he’s being throttled—an entrapped creature rebelling against its captivity.

“Christ, it’s all one massive fucking test,” he finally wheezes, the words little more than a grating rasp torn from his throat. When those piercing pales finally latch onto me again, they’ve gone beyond haunted—ravaged by wounds left to fester unseen. “But not for Briar. For me.”

My brow furrows as the implications of that eroded confession filter through, stomach swooping low as if I’ve tumbled from a great height.

“What, like… a long game mark?” I can’t fully disguise the frisson of unease slithering down my spine, fingers flexing spasmodically around the tome still cradled against my chest. As nonchalant as the words sound, they’re laced with sinister undercurrents any of us recognize all-too-well.

And yet… surely that can’t be the actual case here? The implication that Briar is to serve as some prospective assassination target to ensure Arius’ loyalty? But why, for bloody fuck’s sake? The notion that she’s intended to serve as his eventual Matriarch, a partner once initiated fully into the Order, has been telegraphed since her arrival. That aspect at least seemed a certainty, even after this latest clusterfuck—

Unless…

My chest expands with a shuddering inhalation, brows drawing even further inward as the bitter realisation crests. “Wait, that can’t actually be the intent though?” I manage in what I hope is a level tone, holding Arius’ gaze unblinkingly. “I thought she was meant to be integrated with our houses eventually. To wed you after completing the Trials.”

At last, Arius’ eyes slide away. The motion is almost imperceptible, an infinitesimal shirking back from my pointed scrutiny. But it’s enough to set every nerve ending in my body screaming with the urge to bolt.

“It’s not…” His words trail off in a gust of resignation, jaw tightening anew. Throat working convulsively, he stares down at those pristine Oxfords with an intensity that suggests he’s seconds from scorching holes straight through the polished Italian leather with the heat of his intensity. “It’s not the Council, . It’s just…”

I wait him out, almost holding my breath despite the scream of my lungs as tension congeals around us once more. The only sounds are Arius’ laboured exhalations until finally, he breaks—shoulders slumping in utter defeat.

“It’s an order direct from Hansley,” he mutters, the syllables leaden and hollow. “One final fucking trial to prove my… my convictions align with the Order’s before Ascension. No matter the cost. Keeps reassuring me that there’s another woman at the end of this sick joke, better pedigree, someone worthy of my name but… this? Grooming Briar just to… just to kill her? I… I can't do it, .”

Without warning, the breath rushes from my lungs in a gale, staggering me back a half-step. An icy chill spreads over my face as it drains of all colour, my skull pounding with every thunderous heartbeat suddenly audible in my ears. I stare at Arius uncomprehendingly, chest constricting and vision blurring at the peripheries.