Caeden blinked once.
Then twice.
"…Okay," he muttered under his breath, "that was a little edgy."
Elayne didn't reply. But the shift of her brows—subtle, almost imperceptible—spoke volumes. Disapproval. Not sharp. Not loud. Just... noted.
Lucavion laughed.
It wasn't the smooth, careless sound he used in the dining halls or the sparring ring when mocking nobility. This one had a grain to it. Dry. Knowing. A little too self-aware.
"Well," he said, stretching slightly, flame still curling faintly along his blade's edge, "those words'll get meaning soon enough."
He spun the sword once, idly, letting it hum as the black fire retracted into nothing.
"Though I assume you've already forgotten yesterday."
The moment he said it—yesterday—a quiet weight dropped into the space between them.
Because they hadn't forgotten.
No one at the Academy had.
He'd insulted the Crown Prince.
Blatantly. Publicly.
