"That flier did a real number on you," he said quietly, and you felt the warmth of his hand settle on your cheek, before the cool bite against the wound.

"Those challenges are bullshit," you ground out.

There was a heavy sigh, and then the touch lightened. You opened your eyes to see he had moved his hand away, setting the rag down. "I think you need to see a mender."

You shook your head. "It's a scratch. Put an adhesive on it."

"There's a lot of swelling," he said, waves of concern radiating off of him. "What if there's a fracture?"

"I will heal," you snap.

You watch as his eyes flare with surprise, and he quickly masks the hurt. You sigh, shoulders slouching.

"I'm sorry." You wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling him closer. "I'll be okay, Bo. Seriously."

"Let me go get Brennan," he said gently. "Just to check—"

"I really don't want you to," you said, pleaded, and he seemed to relent. "None of us can have preferential treatment."

"It's not preferential treatment if you need it," he whispered, gingerly placing a bandage across your cheekbone.

"It was an ill-timed punch," you said. "I'll live."

You met his gaze as he pulled back, and he seemed to search you, looking for something you couldn't name. He sighed, looking down.

“Your hands?”

Your head snapped up, and you quickly tucked your hands away, forcing yourself to stop picking at the peeling skin. Wrapping them for sparring always made it a little bit worse.

“It’s fine.”

He only sighed and pulled your wrists gently, tugging them until he could see the splitting on your palms, between your fingers. He reached for the extra salve you kept next to his bedside, and gently began to message it into the skin there, taking extra care where it had split and where it was the thinnest. "Not all fliers are so bad. Syrena is really nice, if you ever get the chance to meet her."

"I like Maren," you supplied, studying the lines of his face. The delicate hook of his nose, the arch of his upper lip, the slope of his cheekbones. "Her best friend is a real piece of work, though."

Bodhi laughed at that, exchanging out your hands. "Yeah, Catriona is... a lot."

"That's one way to say it," you mumbled. You sucked in a deep breath—and wince. A hand went to your ribs.

Bodhi’s head snapped up, a furrow between his strong brows, and he abandoned his task, instead cradling your side with one hand and your face in another. Concern laced in his features. "You didn't say your ribs were hurting."

"I didn't realize they were," you answered. "Got me better than I thought, I guess."

He shook his head. "Let me—"

"No." You cut him a glare, but there wasn’t much menace behind it. "I'll be okay. I just need... sleep, probably."

"Let's get in bed."

You screwed up your nose. "We still have half a day of classes."

"Fuck that," he said sincerely. "My girl is hurt."

You arched a brow. "Your girl?"

He flashed a sheepish smile, ducking his head as his curls fell over his temple. "Sorry, I just... liked the way it sounded."

You sucked in a breath. Suddenly, there was too little space between you. "You still have half a day of classes."

"There is literally nothing I care about less," he said earnestly. "Let me lay down with you. Please."

You glanced at the bed, the black blanket covering it looking like the most inviting thing you'd ever seen. You sighed. "I'm fine. We should go."

"Baby," he said, and you liked the way it sounded. You always liked the way it sounded.

“We probably shouldn’t walk back together,” you said, reaching for your flight jacket. You winced as you tried to pull it over yourself.

A hand on your shoulder stopped you, and Bodhi gently spun you around to face him. “This is about the ‘my girl’ comment,” he said, and pinned you with a look that made all the fight leave your body.

“No,” you said, and it wasn’t a lie. You weren’t sure if it was the truth. You sighed. “I just don’t want people to get any ideas.”

He stepped back. “You don’t wanna be seen with me?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you said quickly. “You’re talented, and you’re in leadership, and I’m a year below you. With everything between us and the fliers now, someone’s gonna get the wrong idea.”

His shoulders slumped. “You don’t want someone saying you slept your way to safety.”

You nodded, looking down, because it was suddenly impossible to meet his eye. Your cheeks heated. "I can fend for myself."

“Okay,” he said, taking a step closer. He hooked a finger under your chin and lifted your gaze until you were forced to look at him. You expected sadness, hurt, disappointment even, but all you found was mirth. “Sure. I like a good secret anyways. Makes it more fun.”

You couldn’t have even tried to fight the smile as he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was delicate at first, gently exploring, sensing what you would give him. But you had learned a long time ago that there wasn’t a lot you wouldn’t do for the boy in front of you.

Your hands found the nape of your neck, twisting into the curls there, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling your body flush against his.

He broke the kiss only for a moment. “Can it still stay a secret, and we stay in bed for the rest of the day?”

“Someone’s gonna notice we’re both missing,” you say, barely more than a whisper against his cheek.

He brushed his nose against yours. “My cousin owns the place. I think we can get away with it.”

You giggled, nodding as he pulled you back. He sat on the edge of the bed, gingerly framing you between his thighs and looked up at you reverently. His lips were glossy from your kiss, eyes half lidded, and you breath caught in your throat at the sight of him gazing up at you. He smiled lazily.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, and you couldn’t help but think the same about him.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

You had to stop finding yourself in these situations.

The same flier that had challenged you was in front of you and spitting mad. You weren’t even sure what it was about this time, but his shouting had drawn a crowd. Your cheek hadn’t even fully healed yet, and now you had another split lip. Courtesy of this asshole.

You couldn’t even remember his name if you tried. Something with an A? Ash, maybe? It didn’t really matter, once he started swinging. He was a first year, and unused to the fighting style of riders, but by Dunne if he wasn’t giving you a run for your money.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw Violet and Sawyer come up behind you, thankful for the back up. Sawyer immediately tried to shove him off you, but was quickly gifted a darkening bruise around his eye.

“What the hell is your problem?” That voice belonged to Ridoc, and you weren’t even sure when he had gotten there. More people pushed around you, until you were surrounded by what looked like your entire section.

Including Bodhi.

“I thought you riders lived and died by your stupid Codex!” the flier spat.

“Our stupid codex says also says I can kill you if I feel like it, so maybe watch where you put your hands,” you snapped, and you feel someone brush at your shoulder.

But not before the flier’s fist landed square in your jaw.

Damn, he must have remembered where he hit you the first time, because the pain is blinding for a moment. The edges of your vision darkened, and you stumbled into a strong, familiar chest. An arm wrapped around you, and you’re shoved to the side. You felt the vibrato of his words in his chest, as if the anger was a palpable thing.

“Touch my girl again and you’ll lose the fucking hand—”

“Bodhi!” you snapped, turning to him with blazing eyes, because now he’d really done it.

Fuck, you practically felt the surprise radiating off of half of the people surrounding you—and there were a lot of people gathered for the show.

The anger in your morphed into something else—something new, something more volatile. Now, you were pissed at this flier, and ready to throttle Bodhi. Gods, you just had this fucking conversation. What did he think he was doing saying shit like that—

“Getting out of a fight because you’re warming leadership’s bed is a lot blow, even for a rider,” the flier said, and you saw red.

More shouting erupted. Bodhi nor anyone remaining soul had even a hope of catching you before you threw the next punch at the flier. It made its mark, landing so hard he stumbled back. Blood immediately sprayed from his nose, and you were too pissed off to care. You shoved the hands grabbing you off, ready to lay into the kid again, but a familiar figure pushed through. Rhiannon got in between the three of you, holding a hand up and sending Bodhi one of the nastiest glares you thought you’d ever seen her produce.

“Am I seriously breaking up fights between other cadets and my Section Leader?” Rhiannon hissed, and Bodhi faltered for a moment, looking to her, then to you, then back to the flier. “This is ridiculous. Go find something else to do with your spare time. Asper, you’re a first year. Pick on someone your own size if you want a chance to win the fight.”

“That’s—”

“I’m not finished.” She turned to you and Bodhi, opening her mouth to say something before shaking her head. “You two… I’m just disappointed. A second year and a Section Leader? Get yourselves under control before you embarrass me any further.” She looked back to Asper, who was still seething at you and Bodhi. “Go find something more productive to do with your time before I find something for you. You won’t like my pick, I promise.”

The flier scoffed. “You’re not even my squad leader.”

Another flier in brown leathers with a mop of brunette hair piled on top of her head appeared behind him. She wore a frown and looked utterly annoyed. “No, but I am.” She grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and shoved him away from your trio, but not before Asper managed to send a parting glare over his shoulder.

Rhiannon shipped to the two of you, eyes blazing. “Seriously?” she asked, and there was no part of you that wanted to respond. “He’s a first year.”

“He started it!” you protested, and immediately shrunk back. Wrong move.

Rhiannon shot Bodhi a glare. “You’re a Section Leader. You should have been the one to finish it.”

She marched away without a second glance, leaving the last part unsaid. That if you were any other second year, in any other situation, it wouldn’t have escalated the way it did.

A snort came from behind you. You turned and shot Ridoc a glare, but it didn’t deter him from opening his mouth.

“Didn’t know you guys were public like that.”

Four pairs of eyes turned on him.

“Was that the wrong thing to say?”

｡･:*˚:✧｡

You were pissed, and everyone around you knew it. Including, no other than the object of your chagrin.

"I just don't understand why you're mad at him," Saywer said for what felt like the millionth time, and you groaned at the history book in front of you.

"I do get it," Ridoc supplied from where he was seated next to Sawyer, the pair of them across from you at the study table you had snagged in the library. You were supposed to be working on assignments. The boys in front of you had, however, taken it upon themselves to lecture you your love life. Ridoc hadn't even opened the book in front of him. "I just think you're over-reacting."

"Bad choice of words," you warn, shooting him a scalding glare. He remained unperturbed.

"Sure," he continued. "But you know what I mean. Things are different now. Aretia isn't Basgiath. The rules are looser—"

"Hold on," Sawyer interjected.

"I mean, just look at Riorson and Vi," Ridoc continued. "Everyone knows they're together. And he's a lieutenant."

"We are not Xaden and Violet," you said, exasperated. "The point is that I didn't want to shout it from the roof tops. Because look what happens when you do!"

"The fliers hate us," Saywer supplied helpfully. "Your relationship status really has nothing to do with that. They would have chosen one thing or another to be picking fights about anyway."

"Besides, with Violet here, you and Durran are the least of their problems," Ridoc finished.

"You're still missing the point," you said, shaking your head.

"Explain it to me like I'm five, then," Ridoc said, attention focused on you. He had his arms crossed over his textbook. This study session was a damn lost cause.

"She's been doing that," Sawyer mumbled. He looked up to you, then behind you, and his eyes went wide. Ridoc glanced behind you as well, and you almost turned to look—you assumed it was Jesinia. Sawyer had been downright smitten lately, but there was the audible smack of Ridoc hitting his friend under the table. He shook his head.

"Ignore him," Ridoc said, attention turned back to you. "Continue."

You sighed, resigning yourself to the torture of having to explain this bullshit out loud. You had to admit, though. Having people to talk about it all with helped, even if it made you feel more and more like an idiot.

"Yeah, there's the fact that anyone who knows about..." You cringed. "…our situation is going to assume I'm sleeping with him for safety. Or power. Or whatever the hell they think. And that's annoying, because it's a mark on my character. But it also degrades what we have. And so we had that conversation, and I set a boundary, and then the second things get hairy, he crosses it. He makes both of us look like an ass. Makes me look like I can't protect myself without him there. If it had gotten out some other way, I couldn't have handled it. I've never been afraid of the gossip mill. But saying we're together and him overstepping and trying to fight my battles or me are two completely different things."

Ridoc nodded sagely. Sawyer just glanced behind you with wide eyes.

"Baby," and, oh, you know that voice.

You spun around, standing quickly as your pulse skyrocketed. Bodhi was behind you, looking for all the world like you had just kicked his puppy. Or maybe he was the kicked puppy. You sucked in a sharp breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You whipped back to Ridoc. The bastard had a shit-easting grin on his face.

"You did that on purpose," you accused.

He just shrugged. "Wanted to make this all easier on you."

Sawyer smacked him upside his head.

You turned back to Bodhi, ready to say something, but all you could was shake your head.

"I didn't know," he said, and he took a step towards you. You took one back.

His face crumbled, and it was the sort of things a playwright put in a tragedy. Your chest nearly caved in at the sight of his fallen expression, and something broke inside you. Cracked right in two, and you knew then and there that the only glue capable of putting it together again was him.

"You just assumed," you said softly.

He sucked in a sharp breath, nodding. He was no longer looking at you. "Can we talk? Please?"

You grabbed your book from the table, sending Ridoc one last parting glare. You shook your head as you stepped towards him. "I'll see you tonight."

You made for the exit of the library, and when you rounded the corner, you had assumed he had let you go. That you'd made it all the way out.

"Wait, please."

You slowly spun around to see him there.

"I don't like watching my girl walk away upset," he said, low, quiet, and intimate. Private, just for you.

You sucked in a shaky breath. You held out a hand to the library door, as if you could motion at all of your thoughts and feelings and emotions like they were tangible things. "You heard what I said, I guess."

Bodhi nodded, and this time, when he stepped towards you, you didn't step away. "I'm sorry. Gods, I am so, so—"

"Can we talk about this later?" you asked, voice thick.

Bodhi's brow had a deep burrow, and it was clear he wanted to object, but he didn't. He instead shut his mouth, and nodded.

"I'll see you tonight," you said.

And like a fool, you walked away from him.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

There’s not much time for relaxing anymore. No more weekends, no more free time, and certainly no more parties. Leaning to fight venin is hard work.

But every once in a while, someone makes it happen. Leave it to a bunch of bored, pent-up twenty-somethings to find a stash and have a party. The alcohol wasn’t good, by any means, but it was making your head foggy, and you had nothing to do until, like, noon the next day. You were practically free.

It was the best you had felt in a long while. Everything was a little hazy around the edges, and you had trouble staying perfectly still now. There was a makeshift bar at the dais of the room where everyone took meals, and you had ventured up to get yourself a drink. And one for… Shit. You were not supposed to return empty handed. You just weren’t sure how many not empty handed you should be returning with.

When you stumble, there are strong hands on your hips, steadying you. Strong hands that settled much too low to be casual, but you are much too far gone to have reprimanded him. Or, noticed, or cared that much.

“Careful,” Bodhi said, and it was low in your ear, a little more sensual than it should have been.

But then he stood a respectable distance away from you. And through your alcohol-induced haze, he looked so good. You knew, distantly, that you were still pretty annoyed with him. But his leathers were casually undone at the top, just enough to be a tease. His hair was mussed, black curls that fell in a way that should be messy but instead just drove you insane. Like, this should be against the codex. Just looking at him made you want to leave. Made you want to be back in his room, showing your appreciation, giving him your own apology with your mouth.

“I think Violet’s drunk,” Bodhi said, and his gaze was somewhere beyond you.

You frowned. “We’re all drunk.”

Bodhi cocked his head. “I think she’s a little more drunk.”

You nodded sagely. Fair enough.

“I’m gonna go make sure she’s okay,” he said. “Or, at least, makes it to Xaden okay.”

You nodded again, and he departed with a smile that made you giggle like a damn school girl. He was so aware of the effect he had on you. He just chose not to care.

Or maybe, he was finally respecting the line in the sand you had drawn.

“All alone in a room full of people who could kill you? Where's your body guard?” a voice asked.

You turn, and it’s Asper. The fuck ass flier that beat you up, like, twice now. What the hell—

“What do you want?” You tried for venom, but it came out a bit more slurred than you would have liked. Too round about the edges, too loose.

“I know we settled our differences,” Asper said, and he held up a hand. “That’s not what I’m here for.”

“Then what do you want?” you repeated, and it was a little whiny this time. Fuck. Great.

“You know you’re gorgeous, right?” It was the last thing you had expected to have come out of his stupid mouth.

No way this fucker was hitting on you.

“What?” you snapped. Wisely.

“You’re smart. Clearly good in combat,” Asper said. Like that was an answer. “And you’re beautiful.” He leaned in, like the two of you were sharing a secret. “You could do so much better than the dragon feed around here.”

You were picked by a dragon through.

“He’s flirting,” said a voice. Your dragon. Thank you. As if that wasn’t painfully obvious enough. You go to say that down the bond, but you can’t find the right channel. Shocair grumbled. “I heard it.”

“Whatever you’re trying to do,” you said, “I’m not interested.”

“I think you are,” Asper said. He stepped closer. He put his hand on yours.

“My boy’s gonna get real angry if you keep fucking trying your luck,” you snapped.

“Your boy?” he asked, and he was laughing. The asshole was laughing.

You yanked your hand back, and reveled at the look on his face. Anything to wipe that smug grin off his face. “Yeah. My boy.”

Asper rolled his eyes, and for a moment, you had a vision of punching him. Of clocking him square in the jaw, sending blood flying. Your words were a lot steadier than you felt. As soon as you stood up, the world spun. But then there was a hand at your waist, and everything straightened out. Gods, you knew him by touch alone, knew him even through the haze of alcohol. You could be deprived of every sense you have, and still know his presence by memory. He was ingrained in you.

“You heard her,” Bodhi said, low and dangerous and angry and—fuck, really really hot. “She’s not interested. And she shouldn’t need to threaten you with senior leadership to get you to fuck off, Asper.”

The flier scoffed. “I don’t think she’s talking about her section leader.”

Bodhi stepped around you, and shoved him. Hard. “It doesn’t matter if I’m a section leader or her fucking husband. When a woman says no, she means it.”

Asper held his hands up in surrender, turning a deep shade of red and finally walking away. But not before throwing glare back to Bodhi.

When he turned around to you, finally, your cheeks were hot, your breathing choppy. You stared at him, unsure of what to say. Fuck, you hadn’t realized he would over hear you. Hadn’t realized what kind of effect his words would have on you.

Possessive Bodhi was one thing. When he would leave bruises all over your chest and neck, knowing when you stripped your leathers for sparring, they would be visible. When he keeps his hand in the small of your back for a little too long in formation. When he cleans your wounds and punches fliers and calls you his girl.

But protective Bodhi? You were fighting to stay upright.

He knew you knew how to fight your own fights. You were a decent fighter and could fly circles around rider and flier alike. If someone had an issue, or someone started something, you were good on the follow through. That first fight, or the second when he interfered weren’t about anything other than making it known to everyone else that you were together.

When the end factor was nothing less than a name in front of yours, of his girl tacked onto everything, you were chagrined. When the end factor was keeping you safe, was making sure you had arms to fall into at night? All bets were off.

“Are you okay?” Bodhi asked, a deep furrow finding home between his brow.

You couldn’t catch your breath. Gods above, the way he was looking at you—

“I didn’t know you were there,” you answered.

"I didn't mean to overstep," he said quickly, averting his gaze.

"You didn't," you replied, and suddenly, your eyes were watering. You swallowed around the knot in your throat. "I'm being an asshole."

His head snapped up, and you weren't sure if it was your words or the emotion in your voice that brought the panicked look to the set of his brow, the line of his lips. "No, baby, no—"

"I got overwhelmed," you barrel on. "I got scared, and worried, and I I feel like I'm punishing you for it."

Bodhi shook his head frantically, carefully stepping towards you like you were a scared animal he was trying to approach. "You set a boundary," he said. "I could never fault you for that."

You tried to nod, but instead the tears started to slip out. God, this had to be the alcohol. You were not a crier.

Gingerly, Bodhi's hands were on the sides of your face, thumbs brushing away the escaped tears. "Is this okay?" he whispered.

"All of it is okay," you said meekly. "I was holding onto an idolized version of what I wanted in my head. But people know now, and the world isn't ending."

He laughed, pulling you into him. Your head rested on his chest, right at the perfect angle for him to tuck you under his chin. You wrapped your arms around his waist, and it felt like coming home.

"I never meant to push your boundaries, and I'm so sorry I ever did," he said into your hair. "I know exactly what you're capable of. I don't want you to ever think I'm going to willfully underestimate you."

"I know," you whisper into the fabric of his shirt, and the it occurred to you just how many people were around you. You had just made about a big fuss about the levels of PDA you were willing to accept. And now, here you were. You pulled back. "Can we go back to your room?"

He nodded firmly, eyes raking down your body. "Yes," he said. But he didn't move. "How much have you had to drink?"

You considered for a moment, tilting your head. "Not too much to have not been able to coherently have this conversation, but enough to want to ask you for a kiss right now."

He smirked. Damn infuriating smirk. Gods above, he was beautiful. "A kiss? What, just to tide you over?

"Yeah," you replied, not even bothering to hide how desperate you well and truly were. Your entire body had started to hum.

He leaned in, his head tilted to fit against you. He stopped, his lips a breath away from yours. "In front of all these people?"

"Everyone knows by now. Gossip mill in this place is honestly rather impressive," you said. "Besides, if anyone says anything, I'll just send you after them." You pouted. "I don't even like sparring. I'm no good at it."

He'd leaned in even closer, practically speaking into your mouth. "I can teach you."

"Every time you try to teach me to spar better, I end up pinned underneath you and we end up rushing back to your room. You have absolutely no pure intentions when it comes to sparring. Will you kiss me now?"

He didn't say anything else. Just pressed a smile against your lips. It sent sparks down your spine, and you couldn't help the way you sucked in a breath. It was entirely involuntary, the way your body bowed into him, like you're magnetized in your very core to his.

The kiss was gentle at first, just the press of his lips against yours, but then you opened your mouth, pushing back into him, and his tongue ran along your bottom lip. Your knees nearly gave out.

"Your room," you said, and it was a plea down to its very roots.

Bodhi practically dragged you out of the hall. The trip back to the residential wing was a blur. He kept stopping to kiss you, to run his hands along your waist, up the nape of your neck just to watch you shiver. Finally, and with great effort, the pair of you made it up the corridor and to his room.

He shoved open the door, and snaked an arm around your waist, pressing you into the wall next to it, just inside his room. His lips trailed up your neck, and you nearly whimpered at the contact.

When he pulled away to look at you, his eyes were heavy and lidded, low and dark. So full of adoration and yearning that your chest felt weird. Like it was rearranging so that if you wanted to slot Bodhi's beating heart in next to your own, you could.

"Your boy, huh?" he asked, voice husky.

You smiled, carding your fingers through his hair. "My boy."

"Name?"

"Baby," you say, and Bodhi blinks. "Marho."

Garrick is downright gawking at you. "Baby?"

Something that sounds much more like a name and not what an infant is called slips out on a laugh, and Bodhi can't help but trace the lean lines of your neck. Holy shit. If he thought you were pretty before, it was dwarfed to the sound of your laugh. The sun had to fight for space when you smiled.

"Sorry. Childhood nickname, I forget I have another one sometimes."

"Did your parents nickname you after a hooker?" Garrick asks, jotting your name--the true one--on the roll.

"Did yours raise you to be a dick?" you ask, not missing a beat, and the boy's gaze snaps up to you. If Bodhi had been looking anywhere else, his would have too, but he hadn't taken his eyes off of you since the moment you stepped foot onto the parapet. He felt his brow shoot up, lips parting on a huff.

He bursts out laughing.

You don't move. Don't take your eyes from Garrick, from staring him down, until he tips his head in inclination and gives something that sounds like an apology. It's Bodhi's turn to be the subject of your scrutiny now, and as your eyes trace his shape, shifting with the weight of your gaze and his laugh, he senses more than sees the moment you note his rebellion relic. Your face doesn't shift, but it's as if a proverbial file is created and tucked away into the archive of your mind.

You didn't say anything else as you walk away from the two boys, but Bodhi tracks you as you go. Tracks your movements, as you weave through the crowd with a practiced grace, how your hair moves as you take the stairs down and out of his sight.

He's almost sorry to see you go. But he's determined to see you again.

Bodhi snatches the roll sheet from Garrick as parapet comes to an end, scanning to make sure he has the name correct. He marches up to Xaden, and only pausing for a moment to consider how stupid this is--he literally doesn't know a single thing about you--before throwing your name into the space between them.

"I want her in my section."

"Don't you have better things to do than flirt with children?" Xaden asks impassively.

"She's not a literal baby."

"I'm aware of that," he responds, sounding exasperated. "You're an Executive Officer, Bodhi. Do what you want."

Except Dain Aetos has other plans.

You made friends. You stand with the Sorrengail girl and another he didn't recognize, tucking loose strands of hair back into her coronet braid. What type of person fixed the hair of someone they'd just met? You, apparently.

You're in Second Wing. With Aetos and Sorrengial and the other girl. This is fine. Something about you didn't scream "secret rebel" the way wanted it too.

And then Xaden transfers your squad to Fourth Wing. He had sent Bodhi a glance as he put the squad in Flame section--not Tail--and Bodhi could see there was some sort of ulterior motive behind the decision. It did also mean you weren't under his direct chain of command. He couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing

Fraternization is frowned upon, not forbidden, after all.

Not that you would be fraternizing. After all.

But, challenging you would be a terrible idea. Terribly adverse, fatally cataclysmic, and ill-fated.

And all of those words mean the same thing.

He would stay clear, watch you from afar, and maybe, maybe work up the courage to talk to you outside of parapet. Possibly.

His confidence needed some serious shaping. Since when was he afraid to talk to someone? A pretty someone, to say the least. He was a gods damned dragon rider. He wasn't afraid to talk to you. He was just... hesitant.

Yeah. That. And he did not need a challenge to break the ice.

Emetterio has other ideas.

He calls your name, then Bodhi's, and Bodhi is pretty sure his heart stops in his chest.

You don't look frazzled or scared, just curious as you study him from head to toe. He guards himself as if you were an intruder in his mind, an Inntinnsic slipping in to spill all his secrets. Except you're an unbounded first year that hasn't even developed a signet, and instead that's just you. He's building up walls just to look at you. You and those bright, keen eyes.

Emetterio calls it, and you're off. Except neither of you move. You pace around, and it's a stand off. You cock your head, and Bodhi tries every trick in the book: the fakes out, glances quickly off to the side, purposefully stumbles--and you're unfazed. Completely and utterly unfazed.

He can't make the first move. He can't hit you--

Suddenly, his feet are out from under him, and he's staring at the ceiling, and you lunge, reaching to pin him to the floor. He reaches out and catches the elbow you throw, but before he can even make contact, you twist, sliding underneath him, and suddenly you're behind him.

You're fast. Really fucking fast. And suddenly, Bodhi has his work cut out for him.

You kick out again, going to the back of his knees, and he recognizes the move, thrusting his body forward to keep control and twisting before he lands, kipping up so you're eye-level again.

Your first catches his nose, and blood goes flying. He makes the mistake of bringing his hands up to cup his nose and it leaves his core exposed. You take the opportunity to land a knee in his gut, probably bruising a few ribs in there, and he doubles over, the wind having been knocked from him. Holy shit, he needs to get at least one hit in. This was getting embarrassing.

He swings blindly, and you dodge--but you don't grab his fist. And you had the perfect opportunity to. You were fast, and your reflexes were quick, but you didn't know how to end this. The realization crashes into him as you swing again. A lot of force, but no follow-though, giving him the perfect opportunity to deflect, pushing your fist and forcing the follow-through until you were swinging behind him with his hand around your wrist and then he was bringing you to him, one of his arms gripping one of yours across your neck, and the other twisting your other behind your back. Like this, your body was flush against his.

You struggle, kicking out, but it was all too easy for him to get your feet out from under you. You weren't small by any means, but Bodhi was bigger, and had a year of training over you. Your feet kicked out, and all he had to do was lean back to incapacitate you. You gave a frustrated grunt that so heavily affected him that he almost dropped you to make sure you were okay before he realized where he was and what he was doing.

"Finish her without making a fool of yourself, please," Cuir chimes in, probably sensing his hesitation and near-miss, and Bodhi sends an eye roll he hopes he can feel, since he doesn't have the brain space to say anything back, with your body pressed against his and the current task at hand.

He twists and take you both to the ground, pinning both your hands above your head, and taking a leg beneath his foot, balancing on a knee. You let out a sharp huff, and he's mesmerized by the way your nose scrunches up in determination. Your free leg goes to knee him, and he takes the hit, leaning into it before transferring your hands so they're both pinned between one of his, sliding one hand down your hip and to your thigh, holding it to the gourd before you can knee him again. He has a free knee to hold him up, but not without giving leverage to one of your legs. So he's pressed against you, hip to hip, face to face.

"Yield," he says, begs, because he can't hold this for long, and because if you figure out just how much you affect him, you'd win this thing in a matter of heartbeats.

"No," you grind out, thrashing. He's spread thin: his wingspan practically encompassing your body, giving you leverage to wear against him. He worries for a moment, a flash of the bruise he could leave on your thigh going through his mind, and two thoughts overtake him at once.

One, that he doesn't want to hurt you. And that while it may be inevitable with where you two stood, he wanted to try and eliminate the possibility as best he could.

Two, that he would leave bruises all up and down your thighs if he ever got the chance to get between them.

And the combination of the two of those thoughts loosened his grip on you, giving you the opportunity to roll away.

"I did not choose someone this negligent," Cuir snaps, and Bodhi panicks, and now you're pinned underneath him again, his front pressed to your backside, and it's a true plea when he breathes, "Yield."

"No!" You squirm, and fuck stop doing that--

"Get yourself together!" Cuir snaps, and Bodhi sucks in a sharp breath.

"That's enough," Emetterio says, pinning you with a look Bodhi would pick dragon fire over. "Know when to quit, Cadet Marho."

"No!" you yelp. "If this were a real fight, no one is calling the shots--"

"If this was a real fight, you'd be dead. I called it. Get off the mat," Emetterio snaps, and Bodhi scrambles off of you.

He offered you a hand that you send a pointed look at, and he can tell you're considering telling him where to shove it, but you take it anyway, and he walks you off the mat with a hand on your shoulder.

"Good match," Bodhi says, genuinely trying.

You open your mouth to respond, looking like you yourself could spit fire for a second, and Bodhi pities the dragon you end up bonded to for a moment.

"You're fast," he continues, before you can. "Quick reflexes, and you're strong."

"I had you," you throw at him, fiery and determined, and your gaze slips to his rebellion relic.

Oh. So, that's what this is about.

Bodhi shakes his head, and the grin that had been blooming falters. "I can help," he says. "If you're struggling with sparring, I can help."

You suck in a breath.

"Or Imogen. Or Xaden. Or--" he stops, because, fuck, obviously you don't want to be near Marked ones--

"Thank you," you say, and the ghost of the smile he saw after the parapet makes a reappearance. "Thank you."

And with that, you turn and leave, heading back to your squad. Rhiannon is shaking her head at you, and Violet mumbles something that makes you laugh. Bodhi would bottle that sound if he could. What the hell was a countering signet for? His signet should be used for bottling the sound of your laugh--

"Do not finish that thought," Cuir chides. "Get a grip."

Bodhi grins, his hair falling over his temple as Garrick comes up and slaps him on the back, congratulations on a challenge well fought. He watches you take a swig from the water canteen, traces the lines of your jaw down to your shoulder until you hand it back, then traces the length of your wrist as you hand it--

"Pathetic." Cuir. "You haven't spoken."

"We kind of did," Bodhi says mentally. "I offered. I... tried."

"If you like her, try harder," he chides, and Bodhi sighs.

He doesn't like you, he barely knows you.

Squad leaders and Wingleaders, captain and generals, kings and queens and viscounts. People in power were under a burden, a visible, tangible one with nasty effects. Good leaders wore the burden on their chest, and bad leaders put it in their back pocket, trying to hide it away and ignore it. Often, the weight of power is mixed with the confidence it bestows. Assurance in stride and worry in raised shoulders. Perfect posture and a scrunched brow. Easy confidence accompanied by tapping fingers. There was no way of knowing what was going on in someone else’s mind—the Navarrian law made sure of that—but it wasn’t hard to decipher someone, if you knew where to look.

For example, it was easy to compare one Wingleader to another. Dain Aetos wore power with less grace than Xaden Riorson. He felt the weight like a strung bow, carrying it on his shoulder with a soft heart. Whereas his predecessor favored a mask of cool indifference. He wore the weight in the tick of his jaw, and in his grasp of control.

Or, one could compare the Commanding Generals of Basgiath. General Sorrengail wielded her power like a dagger, sharp and succinct, and carried it with perfect posture and a broken heart. General Aetos wielded his power like a battle ax, and carried it with a menacing stride and blackened soul.

Royalty tended to carry power differently than Leadership. The quiet acceptance of a bloodline bestowed upon a person, versus the fight to prove oneself as worthy of it.

There’s a reason royalty doesn’t wear rider black, they say. But what happens when it does?

｡･:*˚:✧｡

The day Xaden Riorson was named Duke of Tyrrandor, Bodhi Durran had a panic attack.

You could not believe it was his first. Ever.

“Honey,” you croon. You nestle your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck, using your other hand to bring one of his to your own heart. You keep your voice low, as comforting as you can be. There’s no real danger, and for a second, you can’t really understand why he was reacting this way. “Breathe for me. Feel my heartbeat and try to use it to slow yours.”

Bodhi drops his temple until it rests against your collarbone, but he obeys. His hand splays against your chest, and he sucks in a breath. He’s trying. His breaths are coming in ragged gasps, all hiccupy and sharp, but he is trying.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he chokes out. “This feeling—”

“Shh,” you soothe, brushing your hand over his shoulders, down his back, and up to his hair again. You curl the fingers holding his hand between his own, careful to keep his palm pressed to your skin so he could feel the steady beat of your heart. “It’s a panic attack. Just try to calm down for me so you don’t make yourself sick.”

He’s propped against a desk, with you standing between his thighs in an empty classroom. When he’d found you, he’d barely been keeping it together, a choppy rise and fall to his shoulders and unshed tears shining in his eyes. The second you got him alone, he broke down, tears flowing freely until he was gasping for air, and you had a brief moment of panic yourself before the problem solving part of your brain kicked in. You sat him down, trying to get him to speak, but it was nearly impossible between his sobs. Okay, regulation first, questions later.

“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” he says, low and muffled by your jacket.

“You’ve got yourself so worked up that you’re not breathing,” you respond. You go to take his face in your hands but he shudders and coughs, and you reach for the water skin at your hip instead, holding it to his lips. “Just take a sip.”

He does, and for a moment, he seems to have calmed down. You bring your hands up to brush along his jaw, interlocking your fingers behind his neck. His hand falls from your chest as he brings his gaze up to meet yours. The sight breaks your heart clean in two, the feeling so prevalent in your chest that you’re glad his hand was no longer pressed there, since you were fairly certain he would have been able to feel it. His skin was splotchy, tear tracks staining his cheeks, eyes rubbed red and puffy, lashes stuck together with the moisture. His eyes fell shut, and his body heaved with a shuttering breath. And you pressed a delicate kiss to his temple.

“Talk to me, Bo,” you whisper into his dark curls.

“That’s never happened to me,” he says, still breathless and hiccuping. “I feel like I can’t get a deep breath.”

“You had a panic attack,” you say, rubbing circles into the place his neck meets his shoulders. He was still shaking, and a sob wriggled its way up his throat again. You sit him up, placing one hand on his cheek, one hand on his chest, crooning, “Hey hey hey hey hey, none of that. Breathe with me.”

You take a dramatized deep breath in, counting to five. Hold for three. Exhale and count to seven. You repeat that a few more times, until his hiccups are few and far between, and he’s slumped against your chest.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles, low and slurred and electric against the skin of your neck.

“For what?” you ask, and you can’t help but laugh. “Sorry for having your first panic attack?” He nestles his nose against your skin, and you feel him take a breath on your counts of his own accord. “Which is insane, by the way. How are you that well adjusted?”

That earns you a small laugh. “Well adjusted is the last thing I’d say to describe any of us here.”

“Never had a panic attack,” you muse, containing your path over his shoulder, letting him wrap his arms around your waist and pull you closer. “Well, first time for everything, as they say. Guess I’m just glad I was here to witness it. Gods, no one is going to believe me!”

His face is smushed against your clavicle, so his words come out muffled and unintelligible, but you think he said something in between shut up and I love you—three words you had yet to speak aloud to him, but that played on repeat in your mind day in and day out. Bodhi was fond of them, though.

Across the breakfast table, picking at your eggs until your appetite manifests in the later hours of the day? I love you.

A stumbling dismount off your dragon after so many hours in the seat you were pretty sure your ass had scale imprints and you would never move properly again? I love you.

When he has you pinned down after losing yet another sparring match, curls falling into his eyes when you’re both breathless and worked up? I love you.

After he places a kiss to your knuckles as you walk hand in hand through Basgaith, the weight of the day heavy on you and exhaustion tugging at the corners of your vision? I love you.

When he slips two fingers inside you, makes you shudder and arch against him in a way no one has, when you should be getting up to face the challenges of the day or sleeping to better prepare for them in the next? I love you.

When he holds you tighter than anyone ever has before, skin against skin, limbs so intertwined neither of you are sure where one person ends and the other begins, his hand splayed over your back and your fingers in his curls? I love you.

You were dumb for not saying them. You were so wildly in love with the man it often made your chest hurt, feel like you could explode with it. But, at this point, it just felt awkward. Like when someone has your name wrong and you let it slide and then realize they’re going to continue to have your name wrong and by now it just feels too late to correct them? That.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on now?” you whisper.

He slowly excavates from your person, blinking up at you, expression bleary and hazy. “Lindell and Lewellen got sanctioned for hiding Aretia. We all knew it was going to happen, but the Senarium is so scared of losing our numbers in the riot, they gave it to Xaden.” He shakes his head, and your mind whirls. “I feel so selfish.”

That brings a furrow to your brow. You smooth your thumb along the line of his bottom lip, shaking your head like you can shift the puzzle piece into place. “Why are you selfish?”

“Xaden is the Duke of Tyrrendor, and all I can think about is that it makes me next in line.”

Your heart falls straight out of your chest, past your stomach, and hits the floor. You swallow hard. “What?”

“He has a seat in the Senarium. He found me, and he told me, and he basically benched me. Said I have to be safe in case something happens to him, and that—” He cuts off, screwing up his face, trying to bury himself in your chest again, but you hold him there. You wipe at the tears still staining his cheeks.

“I don’t—”

“I can’t tell you,” he says, with so much hurt in his voice. “Just look, please, and then I won’t have to have told you.”

“Bodhi,” you chide, nearly a reprimand. “I won’t.” You never use your signet. He’s the only person who knows, who knows the extent of it. The only person you trust enough not to get you killed for your inntinnsic abilities.

“Please,” he whispers, and you can feel the moment his shields drop.

Your own dragon is, thankfully, quiet in that moment. The issue is that you never use it, so you don’t have it honed very well. You look at him, and it’s all to easy to slip into his mind. Your terrified to take more than he’s offering, but—

Red. You see red. You’re not angry, but Bodhi definitely is. The fury associated with Xaden’s red-rimmed eyes is the first thing you feel, then your own shock. He’s a fucking venin.

You can’t help the gasp that escapes. “He’s—”

“Shh.” Bodhi stands. He’s shaken, unsteady, but his hands are firm on your waist as he brings his temple to rest against yours. “You cannot tell anyone. Only Garrick and Imogen know. Well, and Violet. And you, I guess.”

“And now he’s the Duke of Tyrrendor. And if he goes too far, or someone else finds out,” you breathe.

Bodhi looks at you, and it’s fucking intense. In that moment, he is the physical manifestation of every term in a psychology tome. Tense, worried, anxious, manic.

“Then I’m the Duke of Tyrrendor.”

｡･:*˚:✧｡

Above all else, you’re glad to be the one person Bodhi doesn’t have to pretend in front of. He gets into fights with his friends now. He’s bull-headed and tenacious in his unwavering loyalty. But he argues, with Xaden mostly. With Violet sometimes, with Garrick and Imogen once or twice. He’s stubborn in the way he refuses to back down, just to let Xaden be reckless because he knows there’s a successor to the throne. That Aretia and all of Tyrrendor are safe, just because there’s a back up. A spare.

Before you knew him, you’d always thought Bodhi handled leadership with grace. He was solid, unwavering in his choices. He went above and beyond to help those under his command. But the more time you spent together, the more you saw just how much it weighed on him. How worried he was he would make a wrong choice. This latest development only added to that. He would crawl in bed next to you, crashing the second his head hit the pillow. Physical exhaustion was one thing, mental exhaustion another. But emotional exhaustion? That shit was heavier than an anvil.

You did your best to support him, but most of the time it seemed futile. The way he would wrap around you, rest his head on your chest and play with your hair made it all seem worth it, though. Like maybe you were helping. Lightening his load, if only for a moment.

It wasn’t until Violet’s Quest Squad returned empty handed that all hope seemed to be lost.

He crawls in bed that night, hair still damp from the shower and a bone-deep sort of tired lining every inch of his body.

“I don’t know what to do,” he mumbles into the pillow. “I love you.”

“Bo,” you whisper, lying down beside him. “You’re doing enough, I promise.”

“He won’t let me do anything.” He cracks an eye open, the dark brown of his iris nearly black, no demarcation line to see where his blown pupil begins and ends.

You trace his bare shoulder. “Is there anything I can do? Make you feel better?”

“Marry me,” he mutters, and you’re absolutely certain you didn’t hear him right.

You sit up. He follows.

“I didn’t mean—okay. Yeah, I do.” He shakes his head, dropping his face into the palm of his hand. He’s fucking smirking. He looks back up at you. “Marry me.”

“Bodhi.”

“My mom would have fucking loved you,” he says, and your eyes go wide. “Almost as much as I do. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, however much time I have left. Forever, or something close to it.”

You can’t breathe. There’s no air left in your shared bedroom—his bedroom. The one he basically moved you into, since leadership gets their own bunks. “Is this because of—”

“No. Yes. Kind of. I really love you. Will you marry me?”

You stare at him.

“That’s usually a question that requires an answer,” Shocair chimes in helpfully.

“Butt out,” you hiss down the bond, into the deepest crevices of your mind.

“I love you. You love me. I think we know where this is heading—”

“I do,” you say, cutting him off.

He blinks. “That’s usually saved for the vows—”

“I haven’t said it yet,” you scramble to explain, like suddenly you don’t have enough time. Like this moment will slip through your fingers if you don’t get the words out fast enough. “But I do, and I should have so much sooner—”

“Is that a yes?” He’s laughing! You’re making a fool of yourself while your boyfriend proposes and he’s laughing!

“I love you,” you spit out. “Yes. Yes, I love you, and I will marry you.”

He looks elated. His smile is the brightest you’ve seen in months—at least since you left Aretia—and his hand goes to the chain he wears around his neck. The one with the gold band you’ve never asked him about.

“This was my mom’s,” he says, unclasping the chain so he can slip the band off. “She gave it to me before the execution, and I swear the first time I kissed you I knew I would be slipping it on your finger.” He takes your hand in his and does just that.

The second the metal touches your skin, you plant both hands on the side of his face and bring his lips to yours.

“Now we both get to be in line for this stupid crown,” he says in between kisses, nipping at your skin and moving down your neck.

“Don’t remind me, or I might change my answer.”

The ceremony is small. The closest temple and the closest priestess you can find the next morning. Xaden, Garrick, and all of Second Squad—which Bodhi had argued made it less than small, but you refused to do something like this without first real family you’d had.

It was jovial, and Ridoc made you promise to get drunk afterwards. You were married in your flight leathers, and all felt right in the world, for just a moment, as you took his last name, and made the second most important bond of your life.

For a moment, forever seemed like a tangible concept.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

Moments are never meant to last.

Bodhi realizes this, mid-battle, as he watches you ride away on your massive blue. He couldn’t watch you be hurt, couldn’t watch his wife succumb to the evil all around them. They were losing. Losing hard, and the battle wasn’t nearly over.

Bodhi looked to where Xaden stood, utterly still and furious. He’s staring up at where Seagyl is ensnared. The venin have fucking dragon catching nets. And he realizes—he’s next.

The venin looks to the sky, at your retreating form, and raises his hand.

Bodhi’s signet doesn’t work on venin. That doesn’t make any sense, his signet is always be balance. It’s in the name. But he’s not powerful enough to stop them, not powerful enough to save you from whatever is about to happen next.

“Don’t!” Cuir roars into his mind. “She will live, and be pissed at you if you do this.”

“I have to save you both,” he sends back to him. Cuir had an annoying habit of being able to talk him off a ledge, but this time, it might not be enough. “I have to do everything I can.”

He feels it. The thrum and churn of the power of the earth beneath his feet. He could be complete with this. It would amplify his signet, and then it would work. He would be able to fight the dark wielders, and it wouldn’t matter if he had to become the thing he hates most in order to do so. It would keep everyone here safe. Basgiath, Tyrrendor, Navarre—everyone would be safe. For the price of the soul he had just promised to you the night before. Forever.

He would keep you safe.

You could hold your own, and you were quick. Fast feet and good reflexes, but it was as if you didn’t know how to use those skills.

You were not top of challenges, to say the least.

“Yield!” you gasp, face to the mat as a boy from Second Wing attempts to crush your windpipe. “I yield!”

He lets up, laughing at you, and you roll onto your back, catching your breath. You blink a few times, willing the spots from your vision, but it gets darker and—

No, there’s just someone standing over you.

“Hi, Bodhi,” you rasp up to him.

“Hi, Baby,” he says, extending a hand.

“Hi.” You’re panting a little, but at least your vision is focusing.

“That was…”

“Pathetic. I know.” You wipe the sweat from your forehead and a tear from your eye as your wrist gives protest. You probably smashed it with a bad punch.

“I was not going to say that,” he says, grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. That corner of his lips was one of your favorite things at Basgiath.

“It’s okay,” you say. “At least I’m aware of it.”

“I can help,” he says, a little too quick to be casual, but you don’t mind. It makes you smile.

Your brows raise. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He drops your hand, and only then did you realize he was still holding it. “We can practice sparring.”

“You just… want to help me?” You furrow your brow. “Out of the kindness of your heart?”

“Uh—” He falters. “If you teach me how to ride like you do, I’ll teach you how to spar.”

You nod slowly. “Sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” you say, fighting a losing battle with your smile. His eyes were dancing. “When do we start?”

“Now.” He offers you a hand, and leads you over to an empty mat.

“You’re quick, and you’re smart, and when you win, it’s by outsmarting your opponent,” he says over his shoulder, coming to stand in the middle of the mat. He removes his daggers, tossing them on the floor beside the mat and leaving one strapped to his arm. He spins to face you. “Easy money.” He taps his arm where the remaining dagger sits. “Take it from me.”

You shake your head. “Okay.”

You lunge, going for his feet, and he jumps, landing and taking a knee that knocks your own until you’re kneeling, and he’s on top of you, pressing you to the floor. You feel his laugh rumble through his chest against your back, his breath on the side of your face.

“Did I say easy?” he teases.

“You dick—” You struggle, but it’s futile. He lays there for a beat longer, pinning you with his body weight, and you have a flash of an image in your mind, him on top of you, in between your hips—

“Focus.” It's Shocair. Your next exhale is a thanks.

He relents, standing up, offering you a hand, and you’re barely on your feet again before he twists it behind you.

“Take me down,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You—you falter. Fuck. This guy is distracting.

He wrenches your arm away, pushing you away from him, and you’re helpless as you step out and back into him. He pulls you close, and there’s no viciousness in it, no mirth—he’s near gentle as he wraps an arm around you, over your neck, and his other hand disables your free one. He kicks the back of your knee again and beings you both down until you’re kneeling.

“What do you do now, Baby?” It’s your name, but it’s so obviously not, and he’s grinning. This asshole is kicking your ass without even trying and he’s still. Fucking. Grinning.

Gods, you suck at this.

No, actually, fuck this.

You twist your neck so you’re nose to nose with him—kinda, you have to look up to see his face, and he’s already looking down at you. You suck in a breath, looking at his lips. His grip loosens.

Your twist, dragging your joined hands behind you until you’re facing him and you let your body weight fall back. He lands on top of you, right as you knee him in the balls.

He doubles over with a gasp, and you take the opportunity to head butt him. You hear the impact, and you shove him off of you. You jump up, snatching the dagger from his arm band.

“I did it!” you shout, victorious.

“That’s my girl,” Shocair sends down the bond with a beat of pride.

Bodhi rolls over, clutching his face, and you offer him a hand. He takes it, and it takes more strength than it should to get him standing. You rub your forehead where you had hit him, a little sore. This man is pure muscle, even in his face.

He takes his hand away, and it’s bloody. Your eyes widen, a gasp slipping from you.

“Oh my gods. I’m so sorry!” You rush to him, hands cradling the side of your face.

“Nah,” he says, grinning even now. “All’s fair in love and war.”

Your stomach clenches at the words. “Please tell me I didn’t break your nose.”

He shakes his head. “I think the bleeding’s stopping, so, no, not broken.” He tips his head back.

“No, wait,” you say, placing a hand on the back of his neck. “Forward, or else all the blood is gonna end up in your stomach.”

Bodhi flinches. “I don’t have anything to stop the bleeding.”

You glance around frantically, looking for something, anything, before landing on your own t-shirt. You grasp Bodhi’s dagger—now yours, by the laws of the codex—in your hand and rip a band of it, cropping it to your navel before handing the black fabric to him. He takes it and presses it to his nose.

“You did not have to do that,” he says, words muffled.

“I broke your nose. Yes, I did.” You gently pull his hand away, examining his face, cradling his jaw with one hand. Besides being beautiful and a bit red, and smeared with blood, you didn’t see any bruising.

His eyes trace your expression, landing on your lips, and he just… stares. And stares.

“I think you’re okay,” you say softly.

“I know I am.” He’s grinning again, invisible string tugging that corner up. Your hands are on his face, and this is your chance—you run your thumb along his lips as if you could smooth out his smile—but you don’t want to. The way it tilts to one side is quite possibly your favorite thing about him.

“You have a bruise forming.” His thumb comes up, brushing the skin of your temple—presumably from where you had nearly broken his nose.

“It’s your snout,” you whisper.

"Hey." His grin softens, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to the bruise.

“Shit,” he says, reaching up and wiping the cloth over it. “Sorry, blood.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling out of you as your heart rate kicks up again. And he just stares at you again, like his gaze is stuck.

“I love your laugh,” he says, like a secret, like it’s a whispered admission.

“Your smile,” you responded, equally as quiet, and suddenly you’re little kids at a sleepover, sharing secrets by candlelight, “it’s my favorite thing about you.”

That just widened his grin, and you let your ambitions run free, running your thumb over his bottom lip, cleaning off the blood that had spilled as you beam back at him.

He’s looking at your lips, and he leans in.

Someone drops a weight across the gym, and it makes you jump, creating space between the two of you, and there’s some mix of longing and disappointment in his eyes as you stop back.

“I should go,” you say. “Sorry. About your nose.”

“Sorry about your head,” he says.

You’re walking away, grabbing your flight jacket when he calls, “Tomorrow? Can I see you tomorrow?”

“Let’s go flying tomorrow evening,” you say over your shoulder. “I have a thing or two to show you.”

“I’ll be an eager student!” he says, and you smile all the way back to your dorm.

You let a mender fix the blossoming bruise on your temple when your vanity wins out. The next morning, Shocair has some choice words for you, all of which you ignore, in favor of playing the almost kiss over and over again in your head.

(You don’t even bother to block you out, and it’s something like excitement, or contentment that fills your chest every time you think about how he was looking at you, and you realize it wasn’t your emotions at all.)

You’re sitting at the table in the library, next to Violet and Rhiannon as you comb over another textbook on signets. You and Violet had taken to sharing notes you find, seeing if you can figure out how to get your signets to develop. Rhi is practically doing Violet's physics homework for her.

Dain is here, for some reason, probably because he’s panting after Violet—and everyone can see it. You’re pretty sure this is some attempt to get back in her good graces. She’s having none of it. The four of you are sitting in silence.

You’re just on a rather interesting part about the reflection of a signet on the rider when you hear,

“I just don’t get it.”

You turn, a little unable to suppress the way your nose scrunches up at Dain’s voice. “What did you just say to me?”

Dain looks at you, confused. “What?”

“Did you not—”

“Hush.” That was Shocair.

“Thought I heard something,” you say, the panic down the bond making you heed the warning. “Sorry, never mind.”

The girls don’t even spare you a second glance, just go back to the work in front of them.

“New subtleties must be taken into account when we investigate causality in quantum mechanics and relativistic quantum field theory in particular. In those two theories, causality—” It’s Rhi’s voice, and you look up, wondering why she’s reading aloud, but—

Her lips aren’t moving.

“Despite these subtleties, causality remains an important and valid concept in—”

“Shocair,” you send down the bond.

“Take a deep breath,” she says into your mind.

You do as told.

“Stretch, like you’re tired.”

You again do as she tells you, throwing in a fake-stifled yawn as you do so.

“Get your things and come to the flight field. Now. Make up an excuse.”

“I’m getting tried,” you say, your pulse kicking up.

All three sets of eyes turn to you.

“I’m gonna head out.”

“Should I—”

“Do you want me to walk you back to your dorm?” Dain asks.

“No,” you say, a little too quick. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“That was weird.”

“I hope she’s okay.”

“Does she—”

You clamp your eyes shut, and you try your best not to run from the room.

“Shocair.”

“Get here. Now.”

“Tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” you send to her, panic rising in your throat.

“Run.”

You do so, taking off and making it to the flight field in mere minutes.

“Shocair!” you shout.

She’s in front of you, navy scales glittering in the morning light. She wordlessly extends a leg to you, and you climb on, willing tears not to fall.

She takes off, and you’re not even sure where you’re going. She just flies, and you don’t unseat. Don’t stand, don’t ride the wind as if you were the one with wings. Just grip her pommel for dear life until she lands on a cliff side, leg extended for you to dismount.

You step off, and there isn’t a soul around you. The cliffs almost remind you of home. There’s no ocean at their base, but the view is beautiful nonetheless.

Did she bring you here so you could end it yourself, before anyone else has the chance to? To give you the dignity of choosing your own death?

“Tell me this isn’t my signet,” you say, a whisper on the wind, and you hear shuffling behind you. When you turn, Shocair’s head is lowered, her eyes lidded as the first tear falls. She blinks slowly, and it’s like an apology as she touches the tip of her nose to the center of your chest.

“Tell me I’m not an inntinnsic,” you plead, as if you could ask the gods themselves to change it.

Shocair says nothing, just nuzzles against your chest.

“I survived,” you say. It comes out a sob. “I survived the rebellion. I survived my father, and fleeing to the other side of the province. I survived parapet, and the Gauntlet, and Threshing, and every challenge I’ve been faced with—all of it. I have survived, and my own mind is going to be what kills me?”

“I will protect you.”

“You can’t protect me from the law!” You’re crying in earnest now, and you’re pretty sure this sort of weakness is what would prompt another dragon to kill their rider, but Shocair is looking at you with her own mix of worry and rage—and something akin to an apology. “They’ll find out! And if they don’t, what am I supposed to do? Pretend like I never developed a signet, and it just never affects me?”

She blinks, and shifts until your palm lays flat against her nose, like she had at Threshing. When she’d chosen you.

“I chose you for your mind,” she says, repeating those words—the ones from that day.

You sink to your knees, tears streaming down your face. Shocair settles into the grass in front of you, and you bend until your temple is touching her nose. Sobs wrack your body, and you can’t breathe, but it doesn’t matter. The world had stopped spinning, anyway.

He hadn’t even said goodbye. Just gave you a “see you on the other side” and started walking, started making you look bad in front of everyone. You literally come from the same place, were trained together, and yet he can walk the parapet—you, decidedly, cannot. Did he mean he’d see you after your souls were condemned to Malek? ‘Cause that’s what it’s looking like.

The end is maybe ten paces away. Ten steps between you and glorious, solid ground. How the hell were you going to be a dragon rider when you were afraid of heights? That’s a later problem. The problem at hand was not slipping and falling in the gods-awful rain.

Liam lands with the grace of a trained dancer on the other side, like he’s done this a million times before. You’re going to make it across this damn bridge just so you can smack him upside the head for that.

He turns around and he’s got that pretty smile pinned on you—the one that makes you feel a lot more than you should be feeling for your best friend—all white teeth and big, blue eyes. Fuck him. Like, sincerely fuck him.

You’re maybe five paces away, practically touching the alcove when a gust of wind blows through the valley so strongly that you sway—you falter. You see it in Liam’s expression. He panics, toothy grin snapping shut and baby blues going wide. You suck in a breath, lean against the wind.

You’re falling the other way now and the wind is no longer helpful in correcting you.

Your flail, and your leg swings out to counter your weight. You’re righted again, two feet firmly on the line of brick, and you suck in a deep breath. There’s no place for fear on the Parapet. (That’s what everyone says about everything in this hell hole.) Yeah, sure, deep breath, and another step. And another, and another, and another, until—

Two feet. Solid ground. Big ass arms wrapping around you.

“Li—”

“You made it!”

“I’m going to murder you—”

“Can’t do that in front of Executive Officers.” Wait, that isn’t Liam’s voice, it’s—

Xaden.

You tear out of Liam’s arms, twisting until you spot him, and you’re more teary-eyed than you’d care to admit. Two years stretched between you, and suddenly the weight of it is there. The weeks before he’d left had been hectic, barely pausing for long enough to pat you on the shoulder and start an argument with Brennan. And then he had left with Garrick, and then Bodhi and Imogen had gone, and now he was here, in front of you, and he was a godsdamned dragon rider. You have a whole year of seeing him every day now, seeing the people you knew like family, and despite the circumstances, it all felt right.

"You did good, B," Xaden whispers, a hand on your shoulder.

You pull back with a wince. "You don’t really have to call me that anymore. No one to differentiate me from."

"Good luck with that," Liam mumbled from behind you, and when you turn around, theres a glint in his eye—a little mischief, a little intrigue, but mostly understanding. It turns your stomach over in a way you didn't want to acknowledge, and it’s the last part that inclines you to let it slide.

"Go give your name to the roll keep. I'll get you in my Wing." He steps away from you, a clear signal the theatrics are over, to fall in line. You give him a mock salute. He rolls his eyes, and you hear Liam laugh behind you.

Second squad, Tail section, Fourth Wing, and a smiling Bodhi greet you and Liam as you file into place in formation. The summer heat is oppressive in the all-black outfit you’re sporting, courtesy of Brennan and his Infinite Knowledge of Basgiath War College, but if all you can ask for at present are two feet on solid ground and your best friend next to you, then maybe you have a chance of surviving this hellscape.

“Hi.”

The voice belongs to someone over your right shoulder, and you chance a look—flat lipped smile conveying the what the fuck you’re feeling since you’re fairly certain the dragons will come down and rip you apart for not paying attention the Xaden’s speech up on the dais.

“I’m Brinn.”

She keeps speaking. You give her another not-smile, and introduce yourself.

“B,” Liam hisses. You bring your gaze forward again and swear you can feel Xaden’s attention on you.

The girl’s bright brown eyes dance between you, and you swear you can feel her gearing up to say something else.

“I’m making friends.”

Is this girl serious? You turn to look at you over your shoulder, and she’s fucking beaming at you. You take a moment to survey her: wild brown hair in a braid down to her waist, a cream tunic paired with black trousers, and attention that is anywhere but where it should be. She’s like a ball of energy and excitement all wound up and ready to spring. You roll your eyes.

“I heard they torch cadets that don’t pay attention to formation,” you respond.

“Torch?”

You turn back, arching a brow. “Like, with dragons?”

“There are no dragons here yet,” Brinn responds sagely. “But I think they’re gonna be here soon. Have you ever seen a dragon?”

You blink. “One killed my parents.”

She sucks a breath through her teeth, a look of genuine remorse and something else etching into her face. “Oof. That’s rough. Mine were killed by gryphons.”

It’s enough to make you almost turn fully to her. She has Liam’s attention now, too, and you share a look with him.

“Look, we’re trauma bonding,” she says in a half-whisper. “Besties!”

And you can’t help it—you laugh. Just a little. Really, genuinely laugh.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

Dragons are, in fact, as fucking terrifying the second time you lay eyes on the species as the first. But the novelty wears off, which is good, you guess, considering soon you’ll be riding one. A thought that is borderline more terrifying than the fire itself.

It’s no more than a month into the year before you realize just how seriously—or, unseriously—people take training for the riders’ quadrant. Your squad has six first years, three second years, and a lone third year and squad leader. Smaller than most of the others, and you and Liam are, of course, the only Marked ones.

Other than one of the first years, Des, who practically bares his teeth and snaps at the pair of you any time you’re in his vicinity, everyone else is surprisingly unaffected by the relic. Which is honestly more than you could have asked for. The other two first years, Micha and June, are kind to you. One second year, Ollid, seems indifferent, another, Caelum, is too reserved to anyone but Ellis for you to get a read on—and you cannot for the life of you figure out the dynamic between the latter two. Your squad leader, Lumen, the only third year, just seems like he got the job because nobody else wanted it.

Classes are easier than you’d expected, too. Math and physics are practically no brainers, you’re surprised with how much you can get away with in history by just regurgitating answers you think a Navarrian would want to hear. Battle Brief is tougher. Definitely going to be a learned skill, but not impossible. Weeding through what you know versus what they are expecting for an answer is going to be a delicate line to walk, though. Liam, naturally, excels at everything.

Surprisingly, so does Brinn. And moreover, she is an excellent strategist. Even slipping you a few answers in Battle Brief that Professor Devera, kindly, doesn’t call you out on. You’re always send her a soft, hesitant thank you, but the way she beams and sends you an exaggerated thumbs up makes you glad no one’s attention is on you.

Besides Des, who seems to have hawk-eyed for any movement a Marked one makes. He always delivers a scrutinizing glare to Brinn, but she never falters. You’re honestly unsure anything could make her falter.

Sparring was the one thing you worried about, no matter how practiced you were—which was not nearly as much as Liam, much to your dissatisfaction. It was no surprise the hulking mass of a man was good at hand-to-hand, but even though you were in the same squad, and therefore meant to be encouraging one another, you would be remiss if you didn’t at least try to poke a hole in his perfect facade. Even after he took you down on the mat time and time again.

So, when assessment day rolled around, and you watched Emetterio point to Des, then to you, you had half the mind to be relieved Liam wasn’t up against you. The other half was a bit worried at the idea of sparring with someone that was probably out for blood. But, hey, he can’t kill you. Right?

You weren’t so sure as you took the mat, Des’s glare sticking you in place as you felt your heart ratchet up. He was tall, sure, but he didn’t have nearly as much muscle packed on him as Liam or Xaden, and you’d been training with them since you were a teenager. You took a deep breath, breathing in for a four count, holding for three, and out for five. You were not about to let some bigot get the best of you.

So, when he threw the first punch—of course—you used your size to your advantage and ducked. It was clear he had some power, but there wasn’t nearly enough follow through on it. He seemed to miscalculate, stepping forward, and you were at the perfect level now to throw an elbow into the back of his knee and land him face-first against the mat.

All you had to do was glance up to see Liam’s smile, trained on you.

Gods, this guy was an idiot. An idiot that was going to get himself killed if he fought like this in battle. You would have loved to see him go up against an actual opponent.

He rolled onto his back and made to kip, but not before you spun to meet his groin to the heel of your foot. To his credit, the only reaction he made was a sound of discomfort before he was pushing up, but all it took was a punch to the nose before he was back down again. There was the tell-tale crack, and then his hands were cradling his face, blood already smearing as he groaned. You laid a hand flat on his chest.

“Yield?” you ask, cocky with it.

Anger flared in his eyes, and he reached for you, bloody hands grabbing for the sides of your face—to do what, you weren’t sure—but you scrambled back. You rolled into a crouch and kicked, sweeping the feet he’d gained out from under him, and he fell forward on his already-broken nose.

“This is painful,” you heard Lumen mutter from behind you. Then, Emetterio, louder, “He yields, Bishop.”

You stand, offering Des a hand that he doesn’t take.

“Ollid, take him to the healers before he bleeds all over everything,” Lumen says, ushering Des off the mat.

You’re smirking when you step off, and Brinn offers you a towel and points to the spot on your neck where his bloody fingertips had grazed. You give her a nod of thanks, wiping at your skin before crouching to clean the mat.

“Brinn and Liam,” Emetterio calls as you rise, and you turn to face your squad mates with raised eyebrows. “You two are up.”

You toss Lumen the towel, locking eyes with Liam before you turn to look at Brinn. “Kick his ass for me?”

Brinn throws her head back and laughs. “Yeah, sure. I’ll do my best.”

You look over at the rest of your squad, seeing Micha and June—the latter sporting a quickly blackening eye, even after winning her match against the former—watching with rapt interest. Caelum wasn’t anywhere near paying attention, but Ellis looked like she was watching a sporting event. She held out a closed fist to you.

“Badass, little B,” she said.

The name sent a shock through you, and your smile fell, even as you bumped your fist against hers. Suddenly, your focus was on not letting your chest physically cave in.

“She’s big B,” Liam calls, because of course he heard the exchange. He probably read your demeanor change even from the distance.

“Nah,” Ellis laughs. “First years are all little, at least until threshing.”

“My sister,” you said, speaking past the emotion, “was always little B.”

“Aw,” Ellis croons, not missing a beat. “I landed on a family nickname.”

And something about the way she said it, the smile she sent you, set you right again. She didn’t even have to acknowledge it.

Your turn and place your back flat against the wall, your shoulder a healthy distance away from Ellis’. It seems the remaining members of your squad are just as eager to watch the match between Brinn and Liam. All eyes are trained on them as they step up, equidistance apart and beginning to circle.

Brinn is a fucking powerhouse—she’s all lean, packed muscle and an insanely quick mind. She’s a fast thinker and a brilliant strategist. She has enough confidence to make you really think she has any situation under control.

But, Liam… he’s just fucking huge.

He’s got six inches minimum on Brinn, and not to mention one of his thighs is probably the size of her head. He’d been training for the quadrant since he was a teenager, and if Xaden was anything to go by, the Lindell household was a formidable one. It turned out warriors.

But, by Dunne, if there isn’t a glint in Brinn’s eye that gave you the sneaking suspicion she might win this thing.

Something in Liam’s expression twists as he looks at Brinn, readying herself in a defensive position, and you could tell he was hanging back. He doesn’t want to make the first hit. It was obvious. But Brinn is all mirth as she looks up at him, as if daring him to try.

And try he does, but Brinn is powerful, and Liam had underestimated her. He throws the first punch, and she catches it, wrenching his arm behind him as she slips out of his reach. He winces, spinning around to try and grab her again, but she lands a quick jab to his ribs that doubles him over.

“Are you serious?” Liam groans.

“Are you taking it easy on me?” Brinn taunts him.

“No,” he mumbles, and it’s evident it’s a split second decision. A reassessment in his gaze as he calculates her threat level, sizing her up as a different breed of opponent.

You know Liam, you know him intimately, and you know the way his brain works. He doesn’t hurt his friends, and somewhere between the wide smiles and quiet remarks, Brinn was categorized as one now. Despite his hulking frame and brutal training, Liam is gentle at heart. You’ve seen him take spiders outside instead of killing them, just because he felt bad.

You can’t help but laugh, feeling lucky you weren’t paired against him. You don’t envy either of them. You weren’t sure you’d be able to take either of them down in the same situation.

Brinn is the first to lunge this time, a pattern of punches so quick Liam has no choice but to fall back onto the defensive, hands flying to block any from striking where it would hurt the most. He spins around, kicking back and making contact with the back of her knees, but Brinn is ready for it, twisting her body so she falls on her back and letter her momentum throw her into a backwards roll until she’s in a crouch. She springs up again, and Liam is there, throwing a punch out that makes contact with her jaw.

“I’m sorry!” he shouts, as if it’s a reflex, and you hear a laugh from beside you.

“Seriously, Mairi?” It was Lumen, watching them fight, and you see Professor Emetterio next to him, observing the match with rapt interest. His bushy eyebrows are raised in the biggest display of a reaction you’ve seen from him, and a quick glance around the room tells you he’s not the only one whose attention has been snagged.

Brinn seems impossible to knock off course, though. She barely even falters after the punch, immediately launching into her next attack with so much force you start to wonder where she’s hiding all of the muscle that has to be powering her. It’s incredible to see. Liam has yet to lose a match, but she’s giving him a run for his money.

She lands another good punch to his throat, so hard you know it’s going to bruise, and she’d downright giddy as she dances around him. She spins, and you can tell by the way she shifts her weight that she’s prepping for a kick. The tell is evident, and there’s a piece of you that’s hoping Liam is too distracted to notice as well.

Unfortunately for Brinn, he isn’t. She goes to kick, and with one step back, he’s there to grab her leg, pulling until she’s on her back, slamming into the mat. She recovers quickly, knocking into his ribs with a jab you know has to hurt, but not before he lands a punch that you know will bruise.

You had spent the latter half of your adolescence watching Liam spar with Xaden, or Garrick, or Bodhi, or Imogen, and yet this had to be the most entertaining match you had ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

By the end of it, both parties are breathless, bloody, and bruised. Liam, with so much exhaustion lining his face you were worried he was going to pass out on top of her, ends up with his entire body pinning Brinn down, bracing a bit of his weight on a forearm near her head as her front is pressed into the mat. He pants out, “Yield, please.”

Brinn looks just as worn as Liam does as she lifts a hand to tap the mat twice, and Emetterio calls the match begrudgingly for Liam. They both limp over to you, purpling bruises littering each of their faces, and Liam is pressing a hand gently to his ribs while Brinn favors her left foot.

You’d imagine your face reads the precise amount of shock you’re feeling. All you end up saying though is, “What the hell?”

“You pack a punch,” Liam pants, addressing Brinn.

She just shrugs, a smirk lining her split lip.

“Are you okay?” you ask her.

Humor dances in her eyes as she answers. “I’ll live.”

You cut a glare at Liam, who balks in response.

“Are you serious? What did I do?” he asks indignantly.

“You beat her up!” you squawk, and try to remain serious, because you are concerned about your friends, but you can’t help but relish in the way shock colors his features at your teasing.

“It’s assessment, B! I didn’t mean to hurt—”

He doesn’t make it much farther before Brinn bursts out laughing, and you dissolve into a pit of giggles right there beside her.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

“You’re sure we’re not going to get caught?”

Liam cuts you a sideways glance as the two of you make your way across the field together, back to the dorms. “You heard what X said, he and Garrick have been doing this since their first year,” he says. “Helped Bodhi through his, too.”

“This share-the-wealth situation seems a little outside them,” you volley, and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah,” he answers. “I guess so.”

“Why’d you go? Not like you need any help,” you mumble. Because it’s true. Liam hasn’t so much as lost a match. At this point, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t know how to take second place.

You’re not too far behind him, and neither is Brinn. But it’s nearly impossible to catch up to him. Micha and June aren’t doing terrible either, and even Des has started to shut up when he realized just how lacking in the hand-to-hand department he is. Liam might be leaps and bounds ahead of the rest of you, but you’re pretty sure that if the rest of you remain steady, with the advantage Liam give you, once Squad Battles roll around, they’re going to be an easy victory.

Maybe your sleuth leaves something to be desired though, because as you all break from the meetings the Marked ones held under the massive oak, you’re absolutely convinced someone is going to spot your duo. Even though it is only the two of you now, and it’s no longer a capital fucking offense.

“You were there,” he answers, like it’s obvious. “Did you see the way Ellis and Ollid were looking at each other after dinner today?”

Your head whips towards him. “Are you… gossiping?”

“You seem nervous.” He shrugs. “I’m distracting.”

You can’t help but laugh. “I don’t know how everyone in this school hasn’t caught chlamydia by now,” you answer. “I thought there was something between her and Caelum. She’s like the only person I’ve ever seen him talk to.”

“Maybe they’re a throuple,” Liam says dryly.

You can’t help but throw your head back, immediately panicking because fuck, you’re being too loud, and—

“B? Liam?”

There’s a voice that sounds out of breath, and then footsteps crunching over the gravel. In your panic, you don’t even bother to register the voice. You feel Liam tense next to you, and you quickly calculate all the ways to get out of this situation, all the lies based off who could have caught you. Who is even out here after curfew like this? Crazy people. And you qualify, and so does Liam.

And Brinn, apparently, who is who you see as you spin, clamping down on your panic. She jogs up to you, black sparring leathers sticking to her sweat-soaked skin. Her brown hair is pulled back from her face, but by how loose the tie is, it’s clear she’s been out here for a while just… running?

“Brinn,” you say in lieu of greeting, relief a fickle thing as you see her glance at a cluster of other Marked ones walking behind you. You catalogue the way her eyes flit over them, then back to you. Still, you can’t help but arch a brow at her. “Out for a night cap?”

The way Brinn laughs always seems to capture your attention. It puts you at ease, watching the way she is almost surprised by it, like her own joy caught her off guard. That’s the way she laughs as she looks at the two of you, and you feel a bit of the tension in your body release.

“I have to tire myself out at night, or I’ll never make it to bed,” she says, propping her hands on her hips as her breathing begins to even out. “Figured I might as well make use of it and do something productive with the way they run us ragged around here.”

“Being run ragged isn’t enough to tire you out?” you ask, incredulously.

She shrugs. “My stamina is legendary.” The throws you a wink, and you can’t help but return her smile. “Though, It looks like you two had the same idea?”

Liam quickly shakes his head, and the way you cut your eyes at him is involuntary.

“Listen, a field after dark with a ton of people around isn’t my forte, but if it’s what you two are into—”

“No!” Liam says, correcting her quickly, and it’s practically a shout.

You ignore the way it stings.

“We went for a walk,” you explain, opting for half-truths, because something about lying to Brinn made you feel ill. “I like the trees around here. The creek.”

“The trees,” Brinn says, arching a darkly defined brow at you.

You shrug. “Privacy.”

From the way her eyes light up, you immediately regret saying it. Brinn quickly picks up her feet, moving past you two.

"It's not what you think," Liam says, rushing to correct her, but Brinn isn't giving an inch.

“I’ll leave you to it, then!” she says jogging backwards as she gives you a mock salute. “See you tomorrow for breakfast?”

“Yep!” You hold up a hand, trying not to cringe.

The silence between you and Liam in her absence is deafening—and tense as a bowstring.

“She’s…” Liam began.

“Eclectic,” you finish, and despite how close you were to being caught, despite her insinuation, you were forcing down a smile. Something in your gut told you that Brinn knew you weren’t looking for a quiet place to be alone, or do whatever she implied you were doing. She saw the other marked ones behind you, walking from the same direction in what were hopefully inconspicuous groups. And she poked fun at you instead. Just let it roll off her, and turned back to what she was doing like it wasn’t a big deal.

Maybe you didn’t know her very well, and maybe you would never be able to share all of the parts of you with anyone that isn’t a Marked one, but you knew then:

You had an ally in Brinn.

But from the look on his face, Liam seemed harder to convince. “She’s suspicious,” he said warily.

“She is not,” you say, feeling the urge to defend her.

“It was weird of her to assume…”

You can’t help the way you spin towards him. “Assume what?”

He shrugged, not meeting your eye. “You know, that we…”

“That we what?”

He shook his head. “It felt like a deflection.”

Something stung. Deep in your chest, something stung. You frown. “The idea of it is so outlandish you’d rather her accuse us of treason than hooking up?”

Liam’s head whipped towards you. “No, I just think we need to be wary of her.”

“Wary?” you ask, appalled. “She has been nothing but nice to us.”

“Nice people can still be suspicious, B. Not all of them are like Des, constantly throwing it in our face that they hate us,” he retorts.

You reel back. “She saw the other Marked ones, you’re right, and she didn’t say anything. She’s keeping it to herself.”

“She literally ran away from us,” he says, and you barely recognize the look in his eye. “Who knows who she’s off telling! You need to be more careful.”

You scoff. “You’re right. Can’t have more people thinking we’re sleeping together.”

You turn on your heel and march away, leaving him calling after you, shouting your name across the courtyard like gasoline in an engine that only makes you walk faster, not even bothering to look back as he catches up to you.

Professionalism is key right now. He can't spare a second glance at you right now. He's an acting Executive Officer, and it's an important day in formation--

You look really pretty. Your hair is braided back, and the way your flight leathers cling to your figure--

"Seriously?"

Bodhi just sighs, and settles in for a long day.

-

You rub Ridoc's back as he empties his stomach onto the roots of the tree beside you, grateful for the stomach of steel years of being tossed around on choppy waters had granted you. The warmth of the sun did nothing to bite the cold of the morning, the freshly October air sharp against your skin.

You hand Ridoc a water canteen as you try to pay attention to Kaori at the front, but maybe you're hallucinating because there is no way he just told you to listen to your heart while bonding a dragon. That cannot be enough. That cannot be real advice.

It's not long and far too soon before the professor offers you good luck and turns away, releasing you to a riot of dragons that could have every intention of eating you alive rather than bonding you. Second squad turns to one another, no more wise cracks or well wishes left to say. With a stay alive order from Ridoc, you're off. And then you're traipsing through the valley, and honestly, just hoping for the best.

You pass by a few reds--terrifying fucking things, and if there were any room for doubt, you'd be thinking you're not cut out for this. There's no way you can be allied with something that vicious.

An orange and a brown both stop in front of you, and the brown cocks its head as if you're a puzzle it needs to solve. Not that one, you realize. Neither of them. Your gaze stays glued to the floor the entire time, and it's far too long for your liking before they both meander away.

It's a few deep breaths before you're steady enough to continue on.

The only color left for you to see is a green, and you know--you just know one will be yours. Or maybe you really want it. You want a dragon with cunning. A green is your best bet.

Another brown crosses near you, and your heart picks up again. It's followed by a green, and you freeze. This is it, this--

They both pass right by you.

Oh. Okay. No problem, yeah. It's just not that green.

You've got to keep moving. There are more, and you know it, because you haven't bonded yet. You've watched dragons launch into the sky with newly minted riders on their back, counting how many are off. How many are left. It's only an hour and a half in, and already you've seen close to twenty riders emerge.

That leaves just over eighty dragons to bond. Yours is out there, you know it. Can practically sense it, feel it in--

Okay, maybe Kaori had a point.

You just had to keep going so they could find you.

Through the trees, you saw four greens, a brown, and two reds. You were about to make your way to them when he materialized on the edges of your vision.

Second- and third-years weren't supposed to interfere with Threshing, but were there any rules about interacting? From the way he was looking at you, open and expectant, you had to assume not.

You came to a stop, turning to look at him, and when your gazes locked, it felt like the world around you stilled.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi," you say.

"Hi," he repeats, and he's grinning, except one side of his mouth is just a little higher than the other, as if some invisible force had strung it up and tugged. You wanted to run your thumb over his lips and smooth it out. See just how pretty those big brown eyes were when they were focused on you all up close and personal.

Oh, no, that's not--

"You're still out here, so I assume it's not going well, but I'm gonna ask anyway." That grin widens, his eyes dancing, and you have to take a deep breath before you can respond.

"I feel it. Something. I don't know what, but--" You bring a hand to your chest, the way Kaori had. "Here."

"Yeah," Bodhi breathes. "They have their eye set on you before you even know it sometimes."

"Is that how it was for you?" you ask, and you have no idea why you do. You're wasting valuable time standing here chit-chatting. You're not even supposed to clump up. This boy is going to get you incinerated.

You eagerly wait for his reply.

"Yeah," he says. "Cuir knew before I did. I don't think I was out here more than an hour before we found each other."

You nod.

"I got lucky. Imogen was out here all day. I think Glenn wanted to fuck with her a little." He laughs, and you falter, unable to suppress the smile that weasels its way across your lips.

"That's rather unfortunate," you say on the tail of a laugh, and suddenly Bodhi's staring at you in a way you can't discern.

He rubs his palm along his jaw and you chance a step towards him.

"Having a..." You trail off, unsure if you should ask. How stupid can you sound while actively trying to bond a dragon? "If I have a feeling, it's a good sign, right?"

"Yeah," he agrees, without hesitation. "Absolutely."

You nod, unsure of what to say now. Because you don't know if the feeling in your chest is anything more than sputtering hope. If your parents fucked you by giving you the desire to do something great without the means to do it. If you inherited their cowardice.

No. You would not be a coward. Something you did would have to be enough. You were bonding a dragon today.

It was like Bodhi could read all of those thoughts on your face. Not that you'd ever been particularly good at hiding your facial expressions, but it was as if he has a secret key to all of your emotions.

He inclines his head to you. "We did it," he says hesitantly. "Marked ones. They didn't think we would, but we did."

"I'm not Marked," you say quickly.

"No, you're not," he responds, and his gaze tracks your body from head to toe, leaving shivers in its wake. "You should go. You have a dragon to bond."

You nod, not finding your tongue before he disappears back into the foliage.

And that's when you feel it--a puff of hot air at your back, and you don't know if you should turn around slowly, or just send up a prayer to Malek now. You opt for the former, spinning as slowly as possible with a downcast gaze until you see the gleam of navy scales. You chance a look up a bit, and you meet golden, keen eyes. A blue scorpiontail, and its nose is so close to you you're convinced it's about to blow a plume and end you right then and there.

There was no way you were making it out of this interaction alive. Perhaps that feeling in your chest had been your last moments os peace before doomsday.

The blue lowers its nose until it's level with you, and you suck in a breath as it goes to your gloved hand. Fuck. Of course your stupid skin is what's going to keep you from--

Did the dragon just set your hand on its nose. Holy shit.

You look down, a furrow finding home between your brows as your breath saws in and out of you, and you see that this massive dragon had placed your hand on the top of its nose. It shuts its eyes, letting out another warm puff.

"Hi," you whisper. You're really racking up these multiple syllabic interactions lately.

The dragon chuffs, bumping your hand. "You are enough."

And it feels like your chest cracks in two.

"How did you--"

"I know you."

Holy shit, you were talking to a dragon--

"What do you mean?" you ask. You needed to catch up before she changed her mind.

"You're nothing like your father. It's why I've chosen you." She straightens, extending her leg. This is probably the moment you're supposed to mount. You stumble, and it's not the most graceful thing in the world, but you make it up, figure out your way to where you're supposed to sit, a hand resting on the pommel of her scales.

"You choose me?" you ask aloud, still in disbelief.

"You're surprised?" she asks, her gentle voice filtering through your mind. You never thought you'd describe a dragon as gentle.

"Maybe," you answer. "A little bit."

"You knew." Her voice is almost chiding. Did you just get stuck with a mother hen for a dragon?

"I guess," you say. "I knew something, I just--"

"You're ging to need thicker gloves. It's colder the higher in altitude we climb, and the ones you have aren't going to have enough grip to keep you safe." She launches into the sky without warning. Something like a laugh filters through your mind as your scramble to grip the pommel, your gloved hands sliding against her scales as your brace with your thighs and hold on for dear life.

So, she doesn't even care about your hands. You swallow the rising lump in your throat.

"Obviously, I don't care about your accommodations. I know you. I also know you're about to fall off. Please, don't embarrass me on the first day."

You tighten your grip on her pommel as best you can, the wind whipping tears from your eyes and--

Oh. You were flying. On the back of a dragon.

It was more than anything you'd imagined, better than anything you could have dreamed up. It was pure adrenaline and joy, the freezing air kissing your cheeks, ripping the strands loose from your braids. You gingerly loosen a hand, slipping the glove off and tucking it away. You trace your hand along the wind, letting it dance between your fingers as she loops around. It was unlike anything you had ever, ever experienced. It was like your entire life, you'd just been waiting for this moment.

And you made it. You did it. You had proved yourself worthy.

You're a fucking dragon rider.

You'd given her name to the roll-keeper--Shocairinntinn--and turned around only to have Rhiannon barrel into you, talking excitedly about her new bond. She drags you away, demanding to see who you'd been chosen by, and when you approach Shocair, you noticed you've gathered a bit of an audience.

"A blue?" someone sneers. "She bonded a blue?"

Something in your chest sinks, and you blink hard. Shocair snaps at the boy that had said it, and when his orange starts to put up a fight, all it takes is a rumbling growl for the larger dragon to stand down. Shocair was small for her breed, smaller than most of the dragons on the field, but you had a feeling what she lacked in size, she made up for in viciousness.

"Your assumption is correct," she muses into your mind, sounding indignant. "Though I find the observation unnecessary."

You open your mouth to apologize, but she speak into your mind again.

"Don't. I chose you for your sharp mind and quick wit." You swallow, surprised. "And you better figure out how to talk back to me. I don't do discussions with others."

So, your dragon was an introvert. A warm feeling filled your chest, and you had a feeling she approved of this descriptor.

"She's beautiful," Rhiannon muses, and you shoot her a smile.

"She is," you agree. Shocair lowers her head in inclination, reaching until she's level with you. The riders around you take a step back, giving the two of you a large wake, but you just raise your hand until it rests on the tip of her nose. Something that sounds suspiciously like a sigh comes from her.

She straightens, extending a leg, and you take the hint.

"Cadet Marho," a professor calls. "Stay grounded!"

Shocair waits until you're mounted before moving to growl at the professor, and he has the wits to raise his hands in surrender and back off.

And then she takes off into the sky, and you're flying again. Tracing the clouds with your hands.

She came up next to you, handing you a healing slave that you accept gratefully. You tug off the gloves, smothering the place where your palm met the knuckle in it. It makes the joint pain a bit more bearable, but you're still trying to find something that relieved the dry, cracked, and flaking skin there, or the welts that materialize and wake you up with how badly they hurt.

The freezing cold wind and rain in September certainly doesn't help. Fucking Morraine weather. Why does the north have to be so cold?

You slip the black leather back over your hands, fastening your gloved as tight as they could go to avoid slipping and handed the salve back to Violet.

"It's not as windy today," she remarks.

"I don't think wind is our biggest operative here," you say in response, and she laughs.

She nods at you, a twinkle in her eye telling you she has a new plan. She murmurs something under her breath before turning her attention to the hall that leads to the course, and you wipe the gloves against the flight leathers you'd donned that morning, as if that would rough up the palms and keep you from slipping.

It happened every time. Anything balance or footwork related was easy. In fact, you were the fastest in most areas, by a long shot. Impressively fast on the granite columns and rotating timbers, but you struggle with the iron rails. Sometimes, if you picked out the wrong gloves, you would slip right off. You were lucky your reflexes were fast, able to wrap a rope around your hand until you could tug a glove off. You ended nearly every session with rope burns cracking the skin of your hands.

Someone brushes past you, and as you turn to see who they were, Ridoc invades your space, his hands cupping your shoulders. He spins you back around, and shoves you another step down the hallway.

"Stop being nervous. You've got this."

"I haven't made it all the way up once," you remark, brow furrowing.

"Violet's gonna do it," he said firmly, casting a glance back to where her and Dain are having a heated conversation in whispers.

"She is, and so are you," Rhiannon chimes in. "We all are. It's going to be fine."

"The Gauntlet isn't even the hardest part about today," Sawyer grumbles, and all three of you shoot him a look. He shrugs. "I'm just saying."

The light is growing bigger now at the end of the hallway, and you're about to take up positions to start. Dain is gone, leaving Violet sucking down deep breaths behind you. And you feel like you're going to crawl out of your own skin.

"Ridoc," You say, spinning towards him. "I need a favor."

"Yeah?"

"Let me climb you."

Ridoc lets out a surprised laugh that's more akin to a yelp. "If you wanna take me to bed, Baby, all you had to do was ask. I just don't think this is the best place to--"

"Put your arm up," you snap. "I need to check the traction on these gloves. I think it's why I can't get past the rails, or the chimney."

Ridoc does as he's asked, and you jump up, grabbing for his arm. You grunt as your hand slides right off, and he wraps an arm around you to keep you from tipping both of you over. Frustrated, you rip the gloves off, wiping the salve off on your pants. Sawyer extends a handkerchief.

This is a terrible idea.

"Professor," you saw, as the rest of your squad files onto the landing. "Can I go last?"

Emetterio looks at you like you've grown a second head, bushy dark brows raising, but he relents. "Sure."

You nod, staring at the line of cadets in front of you, slotting into the back behind Tynan and Luca. Make sure your squad gets up all the way. You don't care if anyone else slips on the leftover lotion on your hands.

Because after Violet makes it up both the chimney and the vertical incline, you dare to let yourself hope. And then the last two are down, and then it's your turn.

This is a terrible idea.

The buoy balls had given you grief before, but with the amount of adrenaline in your body, you danced across them like the columns and timbers and logs. It was easy, and then you were standing in front of the iron rails. You were going to die--

An idea comes to you, and it takes half a second before you decide it's worth the time you waste. You rip the gloves from your pocket, knotting the fingers together, and hold them to each hand, gripping the rail.

You palm the rail as you swing your body across, using the traction of the iron and your skin to hand on, while the leather guards your skin from the ramifications. The sky is darkening, and you can tell it's about to rain, making you hurry along, one hand at a time, adjusting the grip of the gloved underneath your hands. Being able to use your nails to dig into the gloves, and the tension of the gloves to support your weight. You're maybe three feet from the edge before you feel it--a stitch snaps, and the leather begins to wrap.

You slip. It's an incremental fall, but it's there, and it jacks up your heart rate. It makes your palms sweat. It makes you lose your grip on the gloves.

You lose one hand, and scramble to grab the glove again as the other hand slips.

"Swing!" It's Violet's voice. She sounds frantic. "Swing yourself over. You're close!"

The distance between you and the edge looks insurmountable right now. But you listen. And you swing.

And Violet was right. You were closer than you'd thought, and you land on the edge.

You make it up the rest of the course without an issue.

"Holy shit," Violet breathes as you scramble onto the landing. "Your hands."

Holy shit. Your hands is right.

"I thought mine were bad." She rips free a piece of your shirt and goes to soak up the blood coating your hands, and you immediately yelp when the fabric makes contact.

"I'm sorry!" Violet gasps. "I'm sorry--"

"No," you insist. "It was bad before I went--"

"Put your gloves on."

The voice sends a shiver down your spine.

You turn and--it's him. Bodhi. You freeze, reset, check functions--

"What did you just say to me?"

"Put your gloves back on," Bodhi says, and his voice holds and urgency you make a note not to underplay, on that has you obeying without protest.

Not without question, though. "Why?"

"You're about to walk in front of a shit ton of dragons that have no loyalty to you. And you have a gaping, open wound that was troubling you even before it was inflicted." His eyes are soft, even with his harsh words.

Right. Weakness.

You wince as you slide on each glove, holding his gaze. "No more leaking," you say, holding your hands up.

Presentation passes in a flurry, and it's as you're walking through the quad later that you spin around at the sound of your name being called. You're tired, the adrenaline having drained out of your body until you're left a shell of energy--okay with the idea of somthing, less inclined to be able to follow through.

You'd made it through presentation, though. Not all of you had, but your friends had. That had to count for something. A Green had taken an interest in you, as well as a Blue. You had a preference for the Greens--you wanted a sharp mind--but the blue had looked at you with such keen eyes.

All of this to say you'd even be chosen. It was all up in the air at this point.

Bodhi--the boy from the challenge, and from the Gauntlet-- is jogging up to you. He has something in his hand, and you furrow your brow. You were making your way back from the infirmary, the healers not bothering to do much with your hands. The skin would never heal completely, anyway.

"Hi," Bodhi says, and you can't help but crack a smile.

"Hi," you say in return.

"Hi," he says again, and then shakes his head. "Your hands. Are they okay?"

"Oh," you say, honestly taken aback. Smart. Okay. You can do better than this, he's just a boy--

"Here," he says, extending something to you.

"Oh, no," you say. Okay. Maybe try for multiple syllables this time. "Please don't." Or not.

The way his face falls is comparable to buildings crumbling. To cities being leveled. It was Rome after Nero.

This is a terrible idea.

"It's not joint pain," you say quickly. "I mean, it is, but it's mostly my skin. It splits and gets really dry. That's why it hurts and bleeds."

"I figured," Bodhi says, with equal enthusiasm. "The blood, I--"

He takes a sharp, deep, and sudden breath, gaze meeting yours with an intensity that makes you falter. He opens the salve, and a soft, oaty scent floats to you. It's unlike the cool mint of Violet's salve. It's a balm, a lotion.

"You didn't use the ropes. I was watching your squad, and Violet did, which is why her hands were bleeding. But you didn't. And you wear the gloves all the time, so I just kind of figured..."

You swallow past the tightness in your throat. He motions to the bench next to you, underneath the wilting tree, and a few leaves make for their descent as you sit, side by side.

"Xaden mentioned something about Violet's salve, and I've seen you flinch when you put it on before," he says, eyes on the little round tin, and you're suddenly hit with the fact that this man has paid any attention to you.

"It's for joint pain," you explain. "Which can help, but the skin is my issue. When it's cold, or wet, or too dry, or I touch something--kind of all the time, but it gets worse with certain triggers. And the cold is one, and it is so much colder here than home."

Bodhi offers you the balm. "Where's home?"

"Tyrrandor."

He sucks in a breath.

"Near Lewellen. About as far south as you can go. Warm," you laugh. "Much warmer than anywhere in Morraine."

"I can imagine," Bodhi says, and he grins at you, and your world stops moving with the force of his focus on you. You were entranced. Holy shit, he was gorgeous. "Is that where your balance comes from?"

"I'd think so," you say. "We surf a lot down there. and I took dance classes as a kid. Well, before my mom died, so not too many--"

Idiot. Fuck, here's a marked one, a rebellion kid, and you're trying to talk about your damn mom--

'It's okay," Bodhi says. "You don't have to mince your words with me."

You nod. "My mom was apart of the rebellion."

You feel his gaze as it scans you from top to bottom. A question there--why you were from Lewellen, and not Aretia, and where your Mark was. The Mark you deserved, that he would never find.

"I'm not marked," you explain. "My dad ran off with me, basically, mid-rebellion. I never saw her again, only read her name on a death roll once I was enrolled here."

"So, he..."

"Was against the rebellion. Yes."

"And you..."

"Are. Not. No, I--" You suck down a deep breath, shifting where you sat, and trying to ignore the way his gaze bore into you. "I came to get away from him. I came to... see the death roll."

You hear a sharp breath in from beside you.

"I had to know for sure," you say quickly. "This was about the only place I could find out. And my town, after the rebellion, they would sponsor you, send you to school, but only if you were enlisted in the Rider's Quadrant."

Bodhi nods, averting his gaze and seeming to chew on the information you had given him.

"I did what I needed to. And I'm here. If i can survive Threshing, I might jut make it out." You smile at him, but he doesn't return it. Instead, the furrow in his bow only deepens. "That's the idea, at least."

"So, you didn't want to be a rider?" Bodhi asks.

"Gods, no," you say, under your breath, like it's a swear. "Surviving is a gift. And I won' take it for granted. But I'm fighting to do so."

"And your hands--"

"Kind of wounds that never heal, yeah." You turn them palm-up, staring down at them and wondering how you two had gotten so off track. "They're worse up here. The cold, I think, and the gloves make it hurt less upon contact, but I think it makes the skin worse when I take them off." You shake your head. "Some dragon rider I'll be, when I can't use my hands to do anything. If I had known how bad they would be up here, I would have gone to the Scribes or something, at least."

"Here." He extends the open tin, the soft smell of the balm wafting up to you, and something in your chest stirs. "I figured it was a skin thing, so this may help. I know a healer."

"You do?"

"Yeah!" He nearly chirps the word out. "She and her girlfriend helped make it for me."

"Oh," you say, swallowing. "That's really kind. Of all three of you. Thank you."

"Of course." Ne nods. "And for the record, you're going to make an amazing dragon rider."

It looks like it caused him pain to stand up, as his hands curled into fists. You knew the feeling well.

"I'll see you," he says.

"Yes," you return. "I will see you."

He walks away, and you watch him go, attempting to puzzle out where that had come from.