She stopped herself just in time.
She was the one in control here. She set this in motion when she agreed to his stupid proposition of ’talking’. She would be the one steering it. She would use him, watch him, and discard him when he was no longer a threat or a source of information. It was simple. It was clean.
Her body, however, did not seem interested in agreeing with her.
A residual warmth still lingered low in her stomach, a traitorous echo of the thoughts she’d just fought off. She stood, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. She crossed the small room in three long strides, threw herself face-down onto her bed, and screamed directly into the pillow. The sound was muffled, furious, and utterly useless.
Why did this have to be so complicated?
Second period was a lost cause. Cane spent the entire lecture on historical trade disputes replaying the last twenty minutes in his head. The memory was a perfect, crystalline loop, the way Raven’s uniform blouse had pulled away, the shocking pale curve of one perfect breast, the tight point of her nipple. It had been a flash, barely a second, but his brain had captured it in high definition. He was already drafting three or four increasingly optimistic scenarios for how he might secure a second look, purely for research purposes. Obviously.
He was so deep in his tactical analysis that he almost walked right past the figure waiting for him outside the classroom door.
Aria Vale. Her arms were crossed tight over a chest that put the academy’s uniform designers to shame, the fabric straining heroically. One foot tapped an impatient rhythm against the polished stone floor, and she wore the specific kind of pout that meant she’d been standing there stewing for a while.
He approached with an easy warmth that felt entirely unearned. "Fancy seeing you here. Come to walk a lowly sinner to his next class?"
She didn’t return the smile. Her eyes, usually a warm, inviting brown, were sharp chips of stone. "Where did you go? And what were you doing with her?"
The heat behind the question was a pleasant surprise. He raised an eyebrow, letting a slow, deliberate grin spread across his face. "Raven Harbringer? We were just... catching up. You know how it is. Old friends."
"You are not old friends," she snapped, her voice sharper than the accusation warranted. "You can’t just skip class like that. Without a word to anyone."
He leaned against the wall, his shoulder brushing hers. The faint scent of her perfume, something sweet and floral, hit him. "You sound an awful lot like someone who’s been keeping close tabs on me, Lady Aria."
A hot blush exploded across her cheeks. She took a half-step back, creating a sliver of distance he immediately wanted to close again. "I have not! I just... I don’t like being stood up. We were going to walk together."
They fell into the rhythm so easily it was almost practiced.
"Stood up?" He clutched his chest, his face a mask of wounded sincerity. "My lady, you wound me. I would never stand you up. I was merely... unavoidably detained. By a woman who clearly has a thing for me."
Aria fired back, her pout deepening into a full-blown scowl, though her eyes had a sparkle of amusement she couldn’t quite hide. "Your ego probably takes up more space than your actual skill set."
"My skill set," he countered, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive purr, "is far more impressive than you’ve had the chance to find out. Yet. But I could show you exactly how skilled I am. Maybe you’d like to skip this upcoming class as well?"
She rolled her eyes, a gesture that was quickly becoming her signature response to him.
She didn’t answer directly, but the corner of her mouth twitched into a smile she couldn’t suppress. The quick, light exchange was a game, and even as she refused to give him the satisfaction of admitting it, it was clear she enjoyed playing just as much as he did.
They walked into the classroom together, still mid-argument. The first face Cane clocked belonged to Vincent, already seated near the front, looking every bit the stoic hero. Beside him sat someone new. Her hair was the colour of pale gold, spun into an elaborate style too formal for a regular class day. Her eyes, the same warm, gilded shade, were fixed on Vincent with an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration. It was the kind of look you saw in illustrated children’s books about knights and princesses.
Cane didn’t need his borrowed memories to place her. The regal bearing, the flawless posture, the sheer expense of her perfectly tailored uniform—it all screamed royalty. Princess Seraphina Bellona, heir to the throne, slumming it at Hale Academy for reasons only kings and novelists understood.
She was watching Vincent like he’d stepped right out of one of those fairytales she was clearly raised on, a walking cliché of knightly virtue that must have seemed incredibly rare to her sheltered eyes.
He glanced sideways at Aria, half-expecting to see a flicker of jealousy.
He found none.
If anything, her attention was still on him, a thoughtful, calculating look that had less to do with their banter and more to do with the ongoing project of figuring him out. He couldn’t tell if it was interest in him or just fascination with the mystery he presented. Either way, attention was attention.
They headed down the tiered steps toward a pair of open seats. Vincent turned at the sound of their approach, his expression darkening for a split second before smoothing over into something polite and diplomatic.
"Valerian." He nodded stiffly, clearly assuming Cane was just dropping Aria off. "Thanks for walking her to class." He reached out, his hand open, ready to take over, to guide Aria to her seat himself as if she were his property.
Cane didn’t let go.
Instead, his hand shot out and grabbed Aria’s hip, a firm, deliberate grip that pulled her a half-step closer, tucking her into his side.
As he did this, he looked directly into Vinny’s eyes, a smirk on his face.