Page 27 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius (Awakened From the Ice #3)
Chapter Twenty-Seven
C assius
The dining room is quieter than usual tonight. Instead of the typical boisterous laughter and loud conversations, people’s spirits are subdued as everyone focuses on their board and card games.
I sit at a table, staring at the chessboard in front of me, but my mind is far from the game. Every sound, every movement around me, seems to heighten my irritation, each one building upon the last.
Rurik’s laugh, though softer than usual, still makes me wince. “By Jupiter’s beard,” I mutter under my breath, “can the man not control himself?”
Diana, sitting across from me, raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay?” she asks, her voice filled with concern.
I force a smile, but it’s insincere. “Of course,” I lie, moving a pawn forward without much thought. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it drop, returning her attention to the game. I watch her, concerned by the sight of her furrowed brow as she contemplates her next move. Diana is the only comfort I have these days, the only person who can quiet the storm raging inside me. But even that comfort is beginning to feel as though it hangs by a string.
I catch the flicker of disappointment in her eyes when I snap at Quintus for spilling his drink. I see the way she flinches when I dismiss Flavius’s suggestion for improving our training regimen. She’s pulling away, I can feel it, and the thought spikes panic through me. But I don’t know how to stop it, how to be the man I was when we met. Because I’m not that Cassius anymore.
Who am I? The question plagues me constantly. Am I the skilled gladiator who can wield a trident with deadly precision? Or am I the patrician who grew up in luxury, hunted lions for sport, and was educated in the arts of politics and manipulation? The blood of warriors and rulers runs through my veins—both the patrician commander and the unstoppable gladiator. Each piece of my past feels equally real, equally true, equally confusing.
This morning, I took Atlas for a gallop, pushing him to his limits as I sought the thrill of speed and freedom. But even as the wind whipped through my hair and my heart raced with exhilaration, a part of me scoffed at the crude beast beneath me. I remembered a finer steed, a horse of impeccable breeding and training. I remembered servants waiting at the end of my ride with cool water, fragrant oils, and sweet wine.
The contrast leaves me feeling hollow, caught between two worlds, belonging to neither.
“Cassius?” Diana’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “It’s your move.”
I blink, refocusing on the chessboard. Without much consideration, I move my knight, capturing her bishop. Diana frowns, and I realize too late that I’ve left my queen exposed. With a small smile, she takes it, her fingers lingering on the piece for a moment.
“You seem distracted,” she says softly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
Before I can answer, Thrax’s voice cuts through the general noise of the room. He’s sitting with Skye, his woman, explaining something about ancient Rome. My ears prick up, drawn to the familiar subject.
“So, in ancient Rome,” Thrax is saying, his Latin rough and unpolished, “the gladiators were like big celebrities, yeah? People would go crazy for them, like modern sports stars.”
My jaw clenches, irritation bubbling up inside me. His pronunciation is atrocious, each word mangled by his low-class accent. And the way he’s simplifying our history, reducing it to such base comparisons—it’s almost insulting.
Skye nods enthusiastically. “That’s fascinating! So, I wonder, when I’m working on the translation program, if I should try to include some of that cultural context.”
That’s it. I can’t take it anymore. The frustration that’s been building all evening finally boils over. I stand abruptly, my chair scraping loudly against the floor.
“By all the gods,” I snarl, my voice cutting through the room like the crack of a whip. “Is this truly how you intend to preserve our language and culture? With this… this vulgar butchery of our noble tongue?”
The room falls silent, all eyes wide and focused on me. Diana reaches for my arm, but I shake her off, stalking toward Thrax and Skye.
“You,” I point at Thrax, my voice dripping with disdain, “you claim to represent Rome, to speak for our history? Your Latin is an offense to the very gods themselves. Each word that falls from your lips is like a barbarian’s attempt at civilized speech.”
Thrax’s eyes widen, shock and hurt warring on his face. But I’ve slipped too deep into the pit of anger to care.
“And you,” I turn to Skye, who shrinks back in her chair. “You’re creating a program that will teach our language to future generations? Based on this… this travesty? Do you have any idea of the damage you’ll do, perpetuating such low-class pronunciation?”
“Cassius!” Diana’s voice cuts through my tirade. She’s standing now, her face a mask of shock and disappointment. “That’s enough!”
But I can’t stop. The words pour out of me, fueled by frustration and confusion and a desperate need to assert some control over my fractured self.
“No, it’s not enough,” I snap back at her. “These stulti are massacring our heritage. They’re taking the noble language of Cicero, of Virgil, and reducing it to… to this plebeian drivel.”
I turn back to Thrax and Skye. “If you’re going to create a program to preserve our language, at least have the decency to do it properly. Use the patrician pronunciation, the speech of the educated and the elite. Not this… gutter Latin.”
The silence that follows is deafening. I stand here, chest heaving, glaring at Thrax and Skye. Thrax looks as if I’ve physically struck him, while Skye’s eyes are wide with hurt and confusion as her gaze avoids mine.
It’s Quintus who finally breaks the silence. “Cassius,” he says quietly, “what are you talking about? Yes, there were differences in how patricians and plebeians spoke, but that was two thousand years ago. And most of us here… we weren’t exactly from noble families. So who, exactly, are we preserving our language for?”
His words are like a bucket of cold water, dousing the fire of my anger and leaving me feeling hollow and confused. I look around the room, at the shocked and hurt faces of my friends—my new family. What have I done?
“I… I don’t…” I stammer, suddenly unsure. The memories that felt so real just moments ago—of a life of privilege and education—begin to fade, leaving me unmoored once again.
Diana approaches me slowly, her mouth pinched in disappointment. “Cassius,” she says, her voice tight with barely contained emotion, “that’s enough. You need to calm down.”
Her words, meant to soothe, instead ignite a new wave of irritation within me. “Calm down?” I snap, rounding on her. “You don’t understand, Diana. None of you do. You can’t possibly comprehend what it’s like to have your entire identity ripped apart and reassembled incorrectly.”
Diana’s eyes widen, hurt flashing across her features. “Cassius, please. We’re all trying to help you. You don’t have t—”
“To what?” I interrupt, my voice rising. “To remember who I am? To try to make sense of these jumbled memories? To figure out why I feel so out of place in this world, in this time?”
The room is full of awkward silence, all eyes fixed on us. I barely notice, too caught up in my own turmoil.
“You claim to want to help,” I continue, the words pouring out of me like poison, “but how can someone who hides from her own reflection possibly guide me? You can barely look people in the eye because of your scars, yet you presume to understand my struggle with identity? At least my parents didn’t throw me away like garbage.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve gone too far. Diana recoils as if I’ve struck her, pain etched across her face as she covers her mouth with her hand. Fuck! I’ve wounded her so deeply she’s hiding herself from me even though I thought we’d gotten past that the first night we laid together.
“Hide from my reflection?” Diana repeats, her voice barely above a whisper. “ Garbage?” She shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. She turns as if to leave, then completes the circles to stare at me. Gone is her surprise and disappointment of moments ago. Now, she’s fully enraged.
“Cassius, I don’t know who you are, but I know one thing. I fucking hate you.”
She takes a step back, then another. “I guess I’ve been fooling myself all along.”
“Diana, I—” I start, the anger draining away as quickly as it came, leaving pure regret in its wake.
But she holds up a hand, stopping me. “No. I don’t recognize you anymore. This isn’t just a bad moment or a phase. Every day I watch you slip further into cruelty. I can’t stand by and watch you destroy everything we’ve built. I can’t keep walking on eggshells, waiting for the next outburst. I can’t keep making excuses for your behavior.”
She turns to leave, pausing at the door to look back at me one last time. “I think it’s best if we take some time apart.”
With that, she’s gone, the door closing behind her with a soft click that feels as final as a tomb being sealed.
I stand there, frozen, the full weight of what I’ve done crashing down on me. The room remains silent, the air thick with tension and disappointment.
“Well done, Cassius,” Sulla’s voice cuts through the silence, dripping with sarcasm. “Truly a lesson in how to alienate the only person who’s stood by you through all of this.”
His words break the spell. Shame and regret wash over me in waves. Without a word to anyone, I turn and flee the room, desperate to escape the accusing stares and my own crushing guilt.
As I stumble out into the cool night air, Diana is nowhere to be seen. The enormity of my mistake hits me in full force. I’ve pushed away the one person who made me feel whole, the one person who saw the best in me even when I couldn’t see it myself.
I sink to my knees in the grass, my head in my hands. “What have I done?” I whisper to the uncaring night. But there’s no answer, only the quiet chirping of crickets and the weight of my own foolishness pressing down on me.