#liamweek2025

You’d asked him the same question more times than you could count.

“Why do you let them talk to you like that?”

Every time someone muttered traitor under their breath, or spat the word rebel like it was poison. Every time they shoved past him in the mess hall or made a quiet, cruel joke during drills—like he wasn’t good enough to be here, like he hadn’t earned every damn scar on his hands.

And every time, Liam just shrugged with that infuriating calm. “Because I know who I am,” he’d say. “And I know what you think of me. Doesn’t matter what the rest of them believe.”

You hated how much sense that made. Hated more how often it worked.

When you tried to speak up—when your blood boiled hotter than his ever did—he’d always step between you and the fire. Pull you close. Tuck you just under his chin.

“Easy, Sunshine,” he’d murmur, voice soft against the shell of your ear. “Letting them get to you means they win.”

It made you feel safe. Steady. Like nothing they said could touch you as long as he was there.

But then—it all flips.

“He only picked you because you're easy to control, huh, sweetheart?” one of the cadets in your squad mutters as he brushes past you in the sparring gym.

You freeze. You were just taping your wrists, half-focused on your stance—until that voice, and those words, slither under your skin.

You straighten, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

He’s already pacing a slow circle, like this is just another round. “I’m just saying,” he adds with a shrug, “you’re the weakest in our squad—but I’m sure you’ve got other useful skills. Right?”

Your heart pounds. Your face burns. But not from shame. From rage. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

He turns back, grinning like this is funny. Like you’re the joke. “Relax. Just making an observation. He’s got a type, doesn’t he? Soft. Obedient. Easy to—”

You don’t see Liam until he’s beside you. “Finish that sentence,” his voice cuts through the gym like lightning—sharp, electrified, and cold. So cold it silences the space instantly.

The cadet stiffens. His smirk fades.

Liam’s jaw is locked, arms tense like he’s holding himself back from launching across the floor. But his voice? His voice is steel.

“Go on,” Liam repeats, stepping forward. “Finish it. I dare you.”

No one breathes.

The cadet falters. “Just joking,” he mutters. “Didn’t mean—”

“You don’t get to talk about her like that,” Liam says, low but deadly. “Ever.”

Then he turns to you. He doesn’t touch you right away—just looks. Like he’s checking to see if you’re okay, if you want him near.

You nod, but your hands are still shaking. “I got this,” you say quietly.

Liam nods back. “I know you do.” His voice softens. “But I’m done letting them think you’re fair game.”

Because now? You’re the one they’re aiming at. And Liam—calm, honorable, untouchable Liam—isn’t brushing any of it off.

The air inside the sparring arena is taut with anticipation—too quiet, too still. All eyes are on you and Ren, who is triple your size and known for breaking noses, shattering egos, and walking away without a scratch.

But you know you can handle him and you do for the first three minutes.

Your strikes land clean. Your footwork outpaces him. He scowls as you dodge another brutal kick and drive your elbow into his side. The crowd is murmuring now—surprised, maybe even impressed.

Then, one step lands too heavy. The next stumbles. Your limbs go hot, then numb. Your fingers twitch strangely as your blade dips mid-swing. It’s like your body’s disconnected—fog rolling over your nerves.

Then Ren’s fist slams into your ribs.

You gasp—but it’s slow. Like your lungs are filling with something thicker than air. Another hit. Your vision tilts. You're too sluggish to block the blow, and the blade cuts across your upper arm—deep.

You stagger back, blinking. The crowd blurs at the edges.

What’s happening?

You try to raise your blade again, but it slips from your fingers and hits the mat with a sharp clang. The world wobbles. Your knees hit next.

Ren hesitates—just for a second—like he’s realizing something’s off. But Emettario hasn’t called it, so he moves in again.

And this time, you can’t even flinch. The final hit crashes into your jaw. Your head snaps to the side and everything goes black.

Across the arena, Liam finishes his challenge with a clean takedown. He’s already turning to find you, expecting that crooked smile you always wear after a good fight.

But you’re not smiling. You’re not moving.

He sees your body first—twisted awkwardly on the mat. Then he sees Ren, standing over you. No remorse.

He sees red.

Liam’s already moving before his mind catches up. Shoving past those circled around your mat, ignoring the shouts of his name.

He hits Ren like a storm.

Fist to gut. Elbow to jaw. Ren doesn’t even get a guard up before he’s on the ground, groaning in pain as Liam drives a knee into his side.

“What did you do to her?!” Liam roars, voice shredded. “What the fuck did you do?!”

It takes Xaden, Bodhi, and Garrick to drag him off. Emettario is shouting over the noise, someone shoves Ren out of the ring as he stumbles to his feet.

Liam doesn’t care. He breaks free from his brother’s hold on him and drops to your side, hand hovering just above your face—afraid to touch, afraid he’s too late.

“Sunshine,” he breathes. “Hey—look at me. Please.”

Your face is pale. Too pale. Blood trickles from your nose. A shaking healer slides beside him, already working—but Liam doesn’t move.

He just stares. At your limp fingers. Your bruised jaw. The way your head lolled so easily to the side when they checked your pulse.

And it hits him. This wasn’t just a fight. Something was wrong.

His bloodied fists curl on the mat.

And for the first time since arriving at Basgiath—Liam Mairi is ready to burn the whole quadrant down.

You hadn't stirred in hours.

The healers said the bleeding stopped. That you were stable. But your skin is still too pale, your breathing too thin. They don’t know what was used on you—only that it was something slipped before the match. Maybe in your water or lunch.

Something subtle. Deliberate. Meant to break you without anyone noticing until it was too late.

Liam hadn't left the infirmary since they carried you in. Not until now.

Because someone did this to you and he’s going to find out who.

He stalks through Basgiath like a man possessed.

He tracks every cadet who made a comment towards you. Corners them. Demands names. He checks bottles, gear, and bags. 

He doesn’t care about rules anymore. Not after seeing the way your body laid on that floor.

Not after he heard the way the healers whispered about permanent damage—intentional, invasive, and premeditated.

He had just pinned one of the cadets in your squad when a sharp voice stopped him.

“Liam.” 

He turns—sharp, still seething–to see Xaden standing a few paces away, arms folded, jaw tight.

“You need to stop.”

“I’m not stopping until I find out who did this to her,” Liam snaps, turning back to the cadet in his arms.

“I get it,” Xaden says, pulling Liam away, letting the cadet get away. “I do. But dragging cadets out by their collars isn’t going to help her. And it sure as hell isn’t going to help you.”

Liam’s breathing hard. “She could’ve died.” Liam’s voice cracks, shoulders sagging as he finally just feels everything.

“I know.”

“She didn’t even get the chance to fight. Someone made sure of it before she stepped on that mat.”

“I know,” Xaden says again, softer this time. He takes a step closer. “But if she were awake right now—if she saw you like this—you know what she’d say.”

For a moment, all that rage just... folds in on itself. Exhaustion takes its place. The kind born of heartbreak, not battle.

“Is she...is she awake?”

Xaden nods, a faint smile breaking through. “She’s asking for you.”

Liam doesn’t run. He walks. But inside? He’s sprinting. 

And as he slips into the infirmary, breath caught in his throat, he sees you—awake. Bruised and dazed, but awake. His whole body relaxes.

You blink up at him, lips parting in a tired smile.

And he crosses the room in three long strides, falls to his knees at your bedside, and takes your hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to the world.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, like a prayer.

Your voice is hoarse, barely audible. “You look like hell.”

He huffs a broken laugh, pressing your hand to his lips. “You scared the shit out of me.”

You close your eyes briefly. “I was so scared, Liam. I didn’t understand what was happening. My body... it felt like it wasn’t mine anymore.”

He tightens his grip on your hand. “I thought—” His voice breaks, then steadies again. “I thought I lost you.”

Your lashes flutter open. “You didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.” he says fiercely. “And I’m never gonna let anyone take you from me. Not now. Not ever.”

You nudge his shoulder weakly. “Letting them get to you means letting them win... remember?”

He chokes on a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“Yeah,” he says. “I remember.”

But in his head, he promises himself:

They’re still going to pay. Later, but still pay.

The only person safe from your wrath so far is Liam, but that’s only because he hasn’t given you the chance to take it out on him. He’s been quieter today. Watchful.

He doesn’t interfere when you pace around like a caged animal during your squad study session. He doesn’t comment when you huff and curse under your breath when you keep dropping your pen. Just raises an eyebrow and gives you that look. Like he’s just processing and storing it away in some mental file he keeps on you.

When it’s finally time to head back to his room, he slides a hand against your lower back and guides you there without a word.

The silence is almost suspicious.

You kick off your boots as soon as the door shuts, already reaching for your bag. “I’m gonna redo my flashcard set—maybe rewriting will help my brain—” When you drop your bag onto his desk and go to reach inside, Liam takes it away.

“What in Dunne’s name are you doing?” you snap, spinning around.

He just hums nonchalantly and tosses your bag on the floor. “You’re done for tonight.”

Your hands ball into fists at your sides. “No, I’m not. I haven’t even—Liam, seriously—”

“Up,” he says, ignoring your protest entirely and patting the edge of the desk behind you. “C’mon, on the desk.”

You blink. “What—are you kidding—”

His hands are at your waist before you can hurl a real complaint his way, and he’s lifting you with that effortless strength of his and settling you on top of the desk like you weigh nothing.

You sputter, flustered. “Liam.”

He leans in, eyes dark with something molten and murmurs, “Shh.” And then he kisses you.

It’s a hungry, claiming kind of kiss, slow but purposeful, his mouth fitting over yours like it was made for it. Your breath catches. Your fingers go slack where they’re gripping the desk. And you barely notice him undoing the button of your pants until his hands tug gently at your hips.

“Lift,” he says against your lips, voice low.

You pull back just enough to blink at him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m helping you relax.” He smiles and kisses your nose. “My girl’s been wound so tight lately.”

The way he says it—my girl—makes something flutter in your chest. But still, you shoot him a skeptical look, even as you lift your hips to let him tug your pants down.

“This isn’t going to help me study,” you grumble, breath already starting to shorten.

“You’ve done enough studying.”

He kneels just enough to ease your pants down past your ankles and toss them somewhere behind him. You don’t get a good look. You can’t, because he’s already coming back in close, his large hands bracketing your thighs, spreading you just enough.

His fingers find your clit.

You jolt. “Liam—”

But he pulls your mouth back to his in another kiss that’s deeper, filthier, heat pulsing in your core like a second heartbeat.

“I know how to take care of my girl,” he murmurs, words lost against your lips as he rubs slow, teasing circles over the thin fabric of your underwear.

Your breath hitches. Every nerve feels raw. You’re overstimulated from stress and he’s switching it, rewiring it. Turning every frayed edge of your anxiety into a place where pleasure could bloom instead. You barely register when he slides the fabric to the side. Not until his fingers touch skin.

You gasp into his mouth.

“That’s it,” he whispers, lips brushing your cheek as his fingers start to move again. “Just feel me, baby. You don’t have to think. Not right now.”

You moan softly, digging your nails into his shoulders.

Liam kisses you again as his fingers press more firmly, coaxing your body into tension of an entirely different kind. And then, without warning, he slides one thick finger inside.

“Liam,” you gasp.

“I’ve got you.” Another kiss. A second finger. “Let me make you feel good.”

It builds fast, your head falling back as your thighs tremble, your whole body tensing as his fingers curl just right and you come with a cry you can’t hold back. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps kissing you, holding you up, murmuring little praises in your ear as he rubs your clit again, drawing tight circles with the perfect pressure until you’re shivering, hips twitching until you come again.

“Please,” you whisper, breathless. You aren’t sure what you’re asking for. You can’t conjure a single, cohesive thought. You’re already boneless and flushed. He just shifts you a little so you’re putting all your weight on him, laying your head on his shoulder.

“One more, sweet girl.”

His fingers work again, gentle but steady, and you feel it building even faster this time. You’re gasping his name, moaning helplessly into his shoulder, clutching at his shirt like it’s the only thing anchoring you to this world. And when the third climax crashes through you, it’s nearly too much. You sob his name and shudder through it, trembling as he kisses your temple.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, kissing you again, softer now. “You’re okay.”

Liam kisses you one last time, then pulls back just enough to reach for a soft cloth and gently clean you up. He picks you up in his arms like you weigh nothing again and carries you to his bed.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumble, half-asleep already.

“I’m a wonderful boyfriend,” he counters, pulling the blanket up around you as he slides in beside you. “You needed that. You’ve been grinding your teeth in your sleep all week.”

You blink. “…I have?”

He hums. “Yeah. You’ve been running yourself ragged, stressing yourself out even when you’re asleep.” His arm wraps around you, tucking your head beneath his chin. His heartbeat is slow and steady beneath your ear. For the first time in what feels like days, your body isn’t buzzing with anxious energy.

You feel…calm.

“Thank you,” you whisper, eyes already fluttering shut.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Dating a marked one is not easy.

The relationship itself was the best thing you have ever asked for. Liam Mairi is the definition of perfect—always treating you like a princess, keeping you safe, and always showering you in endless love. 

The part that made it difficult? The way other cadets began to view you simply because you were dating a marked one. In all fairness, Liam warned you before you two got together and even before you two decided to be public. You remember the conversation like it was yesterday.

“Are you…sure?” Liam hesitantly asked, diverting his ice-blue eyes. They landed on his relic-clad hand, a certain tension settling within him.

“About what?” You questioned, letting out a laugh in the process. You couldn’t kick that habit, one that always made an appearance when you’re nervous. And gods, Liam Mairi always made you nervous.

“Being with me,” he specifies, giving you a look.

“Of course I’m sure, why wouldn’t I be?” You tilt your head, a weak attempt to get the blonde to look at you.

He looks up at you, eyes widened in shock. “I’m a child of the rebellion,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And we both crossed the parapet,” you deadpan, showing that his statement holds no weight. At least, not to you.

He releases a loud breath, grabbing your hands with his large ones, “you need to know, that being with me means that people will see you differently.”

You chuckle, “what does that mean?”

“It means, there is a high chance people will not want to be around you because of me,” Liam’s blue eyes bore into your own, holding so much certainty. 

“People like to be around you,” you point out, “Ridoc, Sawyer, Violet, me.”

He chuckles, the sound dry with humor. “Just because the squad likes me doesn’t mean everyone else feels that way.” You go to open your mouth to retort, but Liam quickly shushes you by flashing his palm in front of you. “I’m used to people viewing me differently because of my mother. People think I’m dangerous, untrustworthy, and not worthy in general. I live with it on a daily basis. But can you live with it? Anyone who’s associated with me experiences the backlash.”

You furrow your brows, “if people see me differently because I’m with you, they’re stupid.”

The corner of his mouth tilts up, “that’s true. Look at Quinn, so many cadets were quick to judge when she became Imogen’s best friend. But that didn’t stop her.”

You squeeze Liam’s hands, “let me make this clear for you. I don’t care how people view me for being with you. At the end of the day, I found the love of my life and they haven’t. Okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers, leaning forward to place a loving kiss on your forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you two,” you smile, your eyes crinkling in the process.

You never really thought you’d come face to face with it. It was easy avoiding the judgmental stares and the whispers. At the end of the day, those cadets weren’t even in your squad or your section. But this? This is worst.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the second-year cadet leans on the stone wall where you lingered, waiting for your boyfriend to walk you to your next class.

“Don’t call me that,” you keep your voice firm and steady, taking a tentative step back to gain back the space you so desperately seek.

The cadet steps closer, the familiar feeling of being uncomfortable spreading through your veins and into your heart. “I have a proposition for you. You let me take you out into the village tonight.”

You divert your eyes, “first-years aren’t permitted into the village.”

He laughs, the sound as ugly as his personality, “sneaking out exists, sweetheart.”

“No,” you speak steadily, “I’ll pass.”

“I can assure you, sweetheart, I can fuck you better than that marked one,” he goes to grasp your chin, to pull your eyes to you. Before he can even touch you, a large hand to wrapping around his wrist and pushing him into the wall. 

Your eyes snap in front of you, met with Liam’s large back. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was upset. His ice-blue eyes bore into the cadet’s eyes, making his point very clear without needing to speak a word.

“Touch her. See what fucking happens,” Liam spits out, narrowing his eyes at the older cadet. He was thankful he wasn’t in the same squad as himself, so he’s free to hurt him if he truly desires. He does desire, but he doesn’t want to upset you. Had he touched you—

“It was just a joke, calm down,” the cadet anxiously chuckles, clearly lying. 

“Jokes are supposed to be funny. Nobody’s laughing, not even Gamlyn,” Liam raises his brows. On any other day, he wouldn’t refer to his friend by last name, but given how his blood is boiling with anger, he doesn’t find it within him to care.

The cadet scowls at him, “don’t forget who’s older. Know your fucking place.”

Liam doesn’t realize what he’s doing until it’s done. It seems his body has a mind of it’s own, instantly swinging at the cadet and knocking him into the wall from the force of the punch. He doesn’t go any further than that, the wall had done more damage than his fist. 

Liam squats, getting eye level with the cadet, “if you even look in my girl’s direction, I’ll be digging your gravestone. Learn your fucking place, got it?”

The cadet nods, clenching his jaw in the process. Liam lets out a pleased hum, rising back to his full height and grabbing onto your arm, pulling you away from the crowd that had accumulated. He brings you into an abandoned hallway, finally letting go and stopping.

“Thank you,” you whisper, feeling comfortable already. As long as you were with Liam, you were perfectly fine.

“Anything for you,” Liam answers, his words instantly melting your heart. 

A quick downcast glance makes you notice his bloodied knuckles on his right hand. You were glad his relic-clad hand hadn’t gotten bruised up—that hand was your favorite. Still, you frown at the broken skin and blood forming from the fight.

You extend your hand, “let’s go clean up your hand.”

His dimple forms, smiling at you, “whatever you say, my love.”

He takes your hand, allowing you to lead him to your room, knowing you have your first-aid kit ready to go. It had made your pack slightly more heavy than necessary when crossing the parapet, but you refused to chicken out and see the healers for stupid injuries that you could easily clean and wrap yourself. He relaxes once you close the door, sitting in his usual spot at the end of your bed. 

You make quick work of getting the first-aid kit out of your armoire, setting it on the bed next to your boyfriend. You open the kit, digging through the different supplies until you find your half-used roll of bandages and an antiseptic packet. Ripping open the packet, the smell of antiseptic fills your nostrils, though it’s relaxing in a way. Your hand gently rests under Liam’s guiding it towards you. 

“This will sting,” you warn, not giving him time to respond before you’re wiping his knuckles, cleaning off the blood and the wound itself, not wanting it to get infected.

“Fuck,” Liam breathes out, wincing from the sting. He doesn’t allow his hand to move, knowing how meticulous you are when it comes to this type of thing. He swears you should’ve been a healer. Maybe in another life.

“Sorry,” you whisper, making quick work of cleaning up his hand. 

You throw the bloodied wipe into the trashcan behind you, now grabbing the roll of bandages. The light-brown fabric wraps around his knuckles once, twice, three times—for good measure—before you secure it in place. 

“Tada!” A smile coats your lips, presenting his bandaged hand like a trophy. Like something you were proud of.

Arms encircle your waist, pulling you towards Liam’s warm body. “Thank you, baby,” he brushes against your lips, teasing you. He connects your lips with his, sending all his love for you. You smile into the kiss, preparing to pull away, but Liam knew exactly what you were going to do. He places a firm hand behind your neck, keeping you there as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. It isn’t until his lips make you dizzy and feverish that he pulls away, watching as your swollen lips pout for more. He chuckles, placing a chaste kiss on your lips, deeming that the end for now. 

Liam would never regret protecting you. The moment you agreed to dealing with how people would begin to view you, he vowed to himself that he’d do whatever it takes to protect you from those people. He couldn’t help the fierce protectiveness turning his brain into fight mode when he saw how uncomfortable you looked. All he could think in that moment was “who dared to make her feel that way?”

He didn’t care that he would get a lecture from Xaden later. 

He didn’t care that people would whisper about it. 

He didn’t care that he, a first-year, beat up a second-year. 

All he cared about was that you were safe and sound, in his arms. 

Just like how it’s meant to be.

“Can they move any fucking faster? It's fucking hot out here.” 

Staring at the stone steps beneath her feet, she allowed the eyeroll at the whining of the man-child standing in front of her. Zinhal was certainly punishing her for her lack of temple worship if he stuck her behind this asshat. 

“I bet it's those marked ones. I saw a couple ahead of us.” The one in front of the man-child spoke without heed of his loud volume. “Fucking separtists’ kids.”

Biting the inside of her cheek was the only physical indicator of her annoyance Leyla allowed to manifest. Even after all these years, her mother's training of keeping her emotions to herself still wrapped around her like a muzzle. 

“Ha! They're all cowards anyway. I'd bet they see the parapet and freeze, too fucking scared to walk it.” The man-child wiped sweat from his brow and his close-cropped hair.  

The line up the stairs moved forward two steps then stopped again. 

“Maybe I'll help encourage them along.” He chuckled darkly. “They're not technically cadets until they cross the threshold, right?”

“Nothing stopping them from encouraging you to see Malek then.” She muttered, wondering if her eyes would be permanently stuck in the back of her head from rolling them so much at this idiot's statements. 

Could he not see the massive target his haughty statements slapped onto his back? Even if most of the Narravians disliked the marked ones for what their parents did, that did not mean those same marked ones would not protect their own. And in a place like this…where murder was basically encouraged…she doubted he would live long if he kept talking like that. 

The sudden snort-laugh behind her made her eyes widen and her stomach drop as she realized someone overheard her snarky comment.  

The realization solidified when the man-child turned around to stare down at her, a thick jaw clenched reminding her of her old neighbor's bulldog. “Did you say someth–” His words cut off, anger draining away as he finally acknowledged the person standing behind him. In the span of two heartbeats, his entire demeanor predictably shifted. A sleazy smirk drew up one side of his mouth and his dark eyes scanned her body like it was a treat up for auction at the market. 

Leyla wisely kept the eyeroll internal this time, yet stiffened her spine at his unwanted attention. Unfortunately she was stuck, unable to escape as they stood high up on the stone stairs, almost to the crowded, open doorway of the turret. Man-child stood in front of her, looming taller as he stood above her, even though she guessed he was only several inches taller than her own average height, but it was his barrel chest and bulky form that reinforced her prior observation of a bulldog. Behind her stood a tall and very attractive blond, that she had briefly said ‘hi’ to when they first stood in line but she kept her focus on her feet, trying to keep her fears and doubts from strangling her. The only other way to escape man-child was to jump from the stairs and that was the last thing she was willing to do. Some asshole with the intelligence of a cracked walnut was not about to influence her future. 

He placed a hand on the stone wall between them, bicep flexing against his short sleeve shirt. “Hey, beautiful.”

She stared over his shoulder, her jade green eyes focused on the turret. 

“Are you Loial in the flesh because I think I might be falling in love?”

“The line moved.” She deadpanned, still refusing to look at him. 

He peered over his shoulder and sure enough, the line had taken two more steps upward while he was distracted. Of course, once he moved up, he turned back to continue his barrage. 

“What's your name, beautiful?”

“No.” 

“No?”

Ignoring him, she tucked her shoulder-length black hair behind her ear, allowing a moment to mourn her real hair. It was foolish of her to think cutting and dyeing her hair would repel unwanted attention. Stupid genetics. 

“Ohhh…is this one of those ‘you're not worthy to learn my name yet’ things? That's fine. It just makes the victory all the sweeter.” He nudged his companion standing in front of him in line. “Hey, Rus.”

“What is it–Oh fuck.” Rus said once he looked around his companion and noticed her, his blue eyes trailing over her with the subtlety of war horn. 

If their attention was not so wholeheartedly predictable and aggravating, she would have laughed. She had been standing behind them for hours and they just now noticed her. She knew those around her were twenty years old but gods, she had hoped for some sense of maturity from those wanting to protect their kingdom. 

“She won't tell me her name.” Man-child said, his dark gaze trained back on her. 

“Aw, come on, baby. You need allies in a place like this.” The other- Rus- smiled winsomely. “And I promise, Iver and I would be beneficial allies.”

“Yeah, we'd look out for you.” Iver reached out, trying to touch her shoulder. “You know…mutually beneficial.”

Leaning back, she twisted her body before he could make contact, ignoring how it brought her closer to the tall man behind her. “Don't touch me.” She flatly stated, even as annoyance burned away inside her to unearth anger. 

Iver blinked before chuckling in a way that was anything but humorous or friendly. “Don't be like that. We're just being friendly. A beautiful girl like you needs someone to protect her, who knows what might happen if she's all alone.” 

Leyla tried to suppress the shudder slinking down her spine. How was she already making enemies when she had not even crossed the parapet yet? She was supposed to keep her head down, blend in as much as possible and survive. 

“The line moved, asshole.” A deep, soothing voice spoke from directly behind her. 

Iver glared at the man behind her before turning and taking the eight steps along with his friend to the top of the stairs, bringing them directly to the turret's open door. 

“Are you alright?”

She turned to look at the man behind her. “Yeah.” She replied, selfishly allowing herself a moment to appreciate how handsome he was, especially under the midday sun. His blond hair shone, tousled with longer strands swept over his forehead. Even with her standing two steps above him, he still managed to be taller than her. Broad shoulders, an obviously muscular body that his short sleeve tunic could not fully mask, and toned arms, she wondered if Loial had a hand in creating him, especially with his sharp jaw, plush lips and bright blue eyes that stared at her like her answer was the most important thing in this moment. 

“Do you want to switch places with me?” He questioned, his soothing voice a caress to her ears. 

She hesitated, the word ‘yes’ on the tip of her tongue before she shoved it back down. How was she going to survive the Rider's Quadrant if she could not even handle a couple of assholes, let alone dragons? No, she needed to be strong…even if she felt anything but strong or prepared for what lay ahead. 

“It's fine. Thank you.” She took the first step upward before throwing back over her shoulder. “Unless he starts farting, then I'll definitely switch. He looks like he would smell like death.”

The blond behind her snickered as he followed her up. “Write that on my tombstone. It wasn't the parapet or dragons that killed me. It was a deadly fart.”

Slapping a hand over her mouth, she stifled the laugh that erupted at his blasé comment. She stopped at the top step, one down from the top of the turret, and turned back to the blond. Something fluttered in her belly at the genuine smile and sparkle in his eyes. “I'd never allow your reputation that disgrace. It'd be shameful. I'll come up with something more interesting.”

“What’s more interesting than death by fart?”

“Well, obviously, you wanted to make a reputation for yourself before you even crossed the parapet….it's just a damn shame that you decided to try and cross the parapet by walking on your hands the whole way. I mean, it would be very impressive if you succeeded but alas…” she sighed dramatically and shook her head in faux melancholy, “Malek found you amusing and stole you away. A real tragedy.”

She fully faced him as she spoke, giving herself front row seats as his smile grew, revealing dimples in both cheeks and she had to remind herself not to swoon. Loial definitely had a strong opinion when he was created. She lazily wondered if he was blessed by the goddess of love also or just a recipient of her favor in genetics. 

“That's the story we're going with?” He asked, mirroring her pose. 

“Unless you can think of something better?”

“No, I think that'll work.”

She opened her mouth to reply when a hand on her shoulder whipped her around roughly, making her almost lose her balance on the slick stairs and tumble off if the blond behind her had not latched his hands onto her waist to steady her. 

“Stop fucking ignoring me. You're too pretty to die this soon.” Iver stated, his eyes drifted down to the pair of hands on her body. His eyes widened for a brief moment before they narrowed into slits, directed at the man behind her. “A marked one. Makes fucking sense. You know what, beautiful, I wouldn't touch you since you let those dogs put their hands on you. I bet you fucking moan when they rut into you.”

“Shut the fuck up before I make you.” The blond snarled, his grip tightening on her as if that alone prevented him from lunging at the asshole in front of them. 

“Hey! The line moved! Fight on the other side!” Someone from further down the stairs yelled out. 

Iver turned around but not before sneering at her like she was shit beneath his boots.

Once he moved forward, Leyla started to take the final step up but the hands still on her waist remained, preventing her from moving. She looked up, above her shoulder to meet his furious gaze. 

“We're switching spots.” He demanded quietly. 

“Okay.” She breathed out, desperate to mask the tremor in her voice.  

Gently and carefully, he moved around her, keeping her body against the stone wall and purposefully putting himself towards the open air and the long fall down to the ground. It was as he switched with her that she finally took note of his rebellion relic. The mark traveled from his wrist and up his arm, the rest hidden by his tunic. The swirls and sharp lines stunning in their design but laced with the despair of what it represented. 

She had never met a marked one before, tucked away in the country like she had been. Of course, she had heard the stories surrounding the Rebellion and what had happened to the leaders’ children but…she was the last person to blame children for the sins of their parents. 

Leyla might not have a mark on her arm but she felt marked all the same. 

“He shouldn’t have said that about you.” 

She shrugged, gazing out over the expansive fields surrounding Basgiath. “That’s not the first time someone has tried to insult me. I’m sorry too. About what he implied about marked ones. I don’t think that.”

“I know.”

She turned her face to look up at him upon hearing his smug tone. 

Those dimples made a reappearance as he leaned down to whisper. “You wouldn’t have been checking me out earlier if you thought that.”

“Shut up.” She grumbled, heat warming her cheeks to an embarrassing degree. 

Luckily the line moved once more and she was momentarily saved from her embarrassment. The turret’s top was open to the air, allowing an unobstructed view of the ravine and river on the other side…and the two hundred foot drop from the stone parapet. 

Observations of the turret’s stonework or the three riders standing at the entrance to the parapet suddenly vanished from her mind as she stared at the long stone trail, only eighteen inches in width, that she was expected to cross to join the Rider’s Quadrant, or fall to her death. Success or failure. 

Gods, what was she thinking? This was a terrible idea, the absolute worst. Fear bloomed within her chest, tendrils slipping out to prick her with thorns, constricting her heart. A nauseating wave of understanding doused her in its icy chill. She had heard rumors and stories of what the Quadrant entailed, of the death tolls, the violence and terror it caused. It was not until this moment she truly believed it. And now she was going to voluntarily try to join. 

How could she do this? If anyone found out…. But what else could she do? This was her best chance to survive…or not. Either way, at least she tried. At least she could say she did not give up. 

“Name?” One of the three riders waiting by the entrance, which just looked like a gaping hole in the stonework, asked in a clearly bored tone. 

“Liam Mairi.” The blond stated confidently to the roll-keeper.

Anxiety and fear danced a tango in her belly as she watched him move forward to stand at the entrance, waiting for the signal to take his turn and prove he deserved to be a cadet. Two other riders loitered around, barely shifted their posture, but she could tell they were talking to him…to Liam. Staring at them, she belatedly took notice of the winding rebellion relics on their own arms. Two more marked ones, but ones that were riders already. A hint of something, perhaps gratitude, coiled in her belly in knowledge that there were others like Liam already in the Quadrant, he would not be alone. 

Unlike her. 

But she had to remain so to survive. 

“I said ‘name’, girl, or are you deaf?” The roll-keeper snapped. 

“Sorry,” she immediately apologized, ducking her head, “it's…ah, Leyla Rivers.”

The rider wrote down her name, barely sparing her a glance as he covered a yawn and gestured her forward. Taking a step, moving behind Liam, she wondered how embarrassing it would be if she vomited right then. Would they make her clean it up? Would they laugh and throw her off the parapet? The rolling of her stomach was about to make a decision for her when a gentle touch startled her. A large, warm hand wrapped around her own shaking one and squeezed. 

“Hey.”

Daring to be brave, she looked up and was greeted by those bright, blue eyes again. 

“I'll see you on the other side.” He said in that soothing tone, imbued with confidence. 

“Okay.” She took a deep breath, a poor attempt to soak in his reassurance and smiled softly, not wanting his last memory of her to be surrounded in panic, not that it really mattered if he remembered her. “No walking on your hands.” She teased. 

He chuckled. “I'll try my best.”

“Then neither of us have to worry about meeting Malek today.”

“Liam, stop flirting with the pretty girl and get going.” One of the marked ones by the entrance drolled, but with a familiar undertone to the remark.

Liam winked at her and squeezed her hand once more before releasing it. “Ignore Garrick, he’s always been upset that I'm obviously more handsome than him.” 

“For fuck’s sake.” The marked one that was as wide as a barn door and with huge muscles for days groaned, rolling his eyes. “Xaden, if I push him off–”

“You know he’d float with all the hot air in his big head.” The taller marked one with dark onyx eyes lazily said but smiled for a brief moment, turning his dark, broody aura into something warm before killing it once again. 

“Hilarious, the both of you.” Liam snarked back. Placing his hands on either side of the entrance, he froze for a moment, meeting intense onyx eyes and sharing a brief nod before stepping out onto the parapet and the open air surrounding it. 

Chilling anxiety and crippling nerves gripped her with an iron fist. She watched with bated breath as Liam casually walked across the stone parapet like it was a leisurely stroll, arms by his side and an dauntless swagger to his gait that would have been distracting if she was not terrified for his safety. 

Once Liam made it to the quarter mark, the marked one- Garrick- she thought, finally spoke to her. “Step up.” 

Wordlessly she followed the order, her gaze only drifting briefly to the massive second year and the one with onyx eyes. She startled at seeing those scrutinizing onyx eyes staring at her, gazing at her in a way that felt assessing, like he was trying to read her secrets. He was truly gorgeous with dark hair, tawny skin and a sharp jawline but something about him unnerved her and she quickly darted her gaze away, focusing on watching Liam continue to cross. 

It was when Liam was almost to the halfway mark that Zinhal decided to show his fickle hand. 

“Go.” She heard from beside her, shoving down the rising terror and taking that first uneven step onto the parapet. 

Yet when she looked back up, her heart leapt into her throat. 

Liam was warily taking steps back, dodging powerful swings from Iver who had gone before him but clearly turned back. 

As if on their own accord, her feet slowly moved forward, her own terror forgotten on the turret as her gaze refused to abandon the sight of the fight happening. She knew hardly anything about fighting, her training was more focused on being a lady, but she could tell Liam remained defensive, only blocking yet giving ground with each step. 

Everything changed in a split second. 

Iver overswung, losing his balance on the narrow stone walkway. Liam blocked the swing towards his side. Instinctually, Iver gripped onto Liam’s arm as if that would steady himself, like a drowning man clambering over another to try and stay above the deadly waters. 

Gravity, and Zihnal, chose otherwise. 

They both started to topple over the side, a petrifying shriek yanked from Iver's throat as he grasped at the taller blond. 

WIthout thinking, Leyla raced along the parapet, ignoring the two hundred foot drop on either side of her, outrunning the terror previously eating away at her. 

With a pained shout, Liam slammed onto the parapet, arms blindly reaching across to grip onto the narrow stonework as his legs and torso dangled freely over the ravine. Iver clung to Liam’s waist like a parasite, loudly cursing and screaming to be pulled up. 

Liam’s head shot up, mouth in a grimace, as his gaze locked on hers when she slid next to him on her knees. “No, it's too–”

“Don't let go!” She demanded, locking her arms around his shoulders, pressing her forehead against his temple, desperately hoping it would keep him from falling. 

“Wasn't planning on it.”

“PULL ME UP! FUCKING PULL ME UP!” 

Leyla lifted her head just enough to meet Iver's wide, panicked eyes. 

“DON'T JUST FUCKING SIT THERE! HELP US THE FUCK UP!” 

She dropped her forehead back to Liam's temple, her lips brushing against his ear. “Can you do it? Pull yourself up?”

“Just my weight…fuck!...not his too.” He grunted with eyes closed, the strain of hanging on evident. 

Realization settled on her like a boulder dropped onto her back. She knew the Rider's Quadrant was hard, that it was ruthless and death would be the shadow that followed all cadets…she just had not expected to taste its darkness so soon. 

“Fuck!” Liam shouted, torso jostling as he quickly readjusted his hold on the uneven stones. “Princess, let go. I can't– you need to let go.”

“No! Hold on…just don't give up yet, sunshine!” She commanded, mind scrambling on how to help. A renewed sense of panic bloomed in her chest but she valiantly tried to ignore it, logic warring with everything she had been taught all her life. 

Under the bright afternoon sun, a thin shadow wrapped around her wrist and fiercely tugged. At any other time, she would have gaped and screamed but with the adrenaline and mind-numbing panic coursing through her, her mouth remained sealed shut. Her gaze followed as the shadow guided her hand across Liam's back to his ribs, nudging her as it spread across a hard line. Acting on instinct, her hand wrapped around something hard, but it was not until she tugged it out that she recognized what it was. A slim dagger. 

Oh gods.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, BITCH?” 

She only allowed herself one heartbeat, one brief second before she changed her world forever. Or maybe once she stepped foot in the line to join the Rider's Quadrant, that alone set things into motion. She gave into the growing horror for the span of a breath then forcibly locked it away in her mind. 

Gritting her teeth, she leaned over Liam's back and stabbed one of the parasitic hands wrapped around his waist. 

A scream ruptured the air around them but she tried to pretend it was only a bird of prey's cry. Not because of her. Not because of what she was doing. 

So, she stabbed again. 

Just a bird’s cry. The wetness on her hands was only rain drops. Don’t focus. Just act. Don’t…

Oh gods. 

Making sure to avoid Liam, she solely focused on Iver's hands and wrists, stabbing one more time. 

With a pain-fueled wail, those bloodied hands released…

…and Iver dropped, screaming all the way to the rushing river below. 

“Shit.” She gasped, sitting back on her knees, bile coating the back of her throat. Blood splattered across her hand, still painfully gripping the handle of the dagger. 

“Princess?” 

“Can you–can you get up?” She sputtered, tremors racking her body at the knowledge of what she had just done. 

Liam nodded, back and arms flexing. “I think so…back up.”

She scooted back on her butt a little but refused to move more, terrified she would fall off with how badly she was shaking. 

Carefully he pulled himself up until his torso was over the parapet and then turned like one would to get out of a pool. It was not until he was balanced precariously on his knees facing her that she let out the breath clogging her lungs. 

“Are you hurt?” Those blue eyes scanned over her, the edge of fear still coloring his tone. 

She shook her head, throat tight like the very air was trying to suffocate her.  

“Come on, let's go.” 

“I can’t…” She whispered, terror and horror breaking through her mental box, freezing her limbs to the stone beneath her. Malek…she killed someone. 

“Hey, look at me.” He reached out, cupping her cheek as he forced her gaze to hold his. “I won’t let you fall, okay? We can do this.” 

Then he dropped his hand from her cheek and grabbed her clenched fist in front of her. Slowly he opened it, slipping his fingers into the empty space between hers. With a fleeting smile, he squeezed her hand before rising. 

Following his actions, she rose too. 

Above the horror and terror. 

Above the raging river that would claim dozens of bodies this day. 

She shoved it all aside and willed herself to survive. 

Still holding hands, they began to walk towards the other side, that distant entrance to the Rider’s Quadrant. She could feel her hand shaking in his, which only seemed to make him tighten his grip on her. She kept her eyes on his broad back, refusing to look down. The sun burned down upon her face but she welcomed the sting, anything to dilute the writhing emotions swirling in her body and mind like poisonous snakes. 

As they approached and then crossed the threshold to the Quadrant, those poisonous emotions slithered to the back of her mind, leaving her feeling drained and exhausted. 

“Well that was fucking dramatic.” The woman standing just on the inside with a scroll and pen stated flatly, making a rider standing next to her laugh. “Names?”

“Liam Mairi.”

The rider nodded and then pointedly eyed her. “And yours?”

“Leyla Rivers.”

“Find a spot to sit until formation. Welcome to the Rider's Quadrant, cadets.”

“You two are off to a good start.” The companion chuckled, nudging the roll-keeper. 

Without sparing them a second glance, Leyla silently followed Liam, allowing him to draw her further into the Quadrant. Almost as soon as they passed the roll keeper, Liam was bodily dragged into a fierce hug. He released her hand, slapping his companion happily on the back. 

“Took you long enough. I almost came out to get your ass, but they wouldn't let me back onto the parapet.” The dark-haired companion with a matching rebellion relic on his arm said, after smacking Liam one more time on the back. “You don't have to be such a show-off.”

Liam chuckled, taking a step back and returning to Leyla’s side. “I had to make it interesting. You practically skipped across it.”

“Well, Xaden told me if I did something stupid like fall, he'd wring my neck…can't imagine what he's going to do to you.”

“Oh fuck.”

The dark-haired companion chuckled. “Lucky for you, you had a gods-sent savior.” He finally looked at her, a smile growing on his face. “Thank you for saving his ass.”

“I'd say ‘anytime’ but I really don't want to do that again.” She softly murmured. 

He laughed, tawny skin catching the sunlight, before jerking his head towards where the crowd of cadets loitered. “Come on, let's find somewhere to wait.”

She paused as the two started to walk away, unsure if she was meant to follow them. When a large, warm hand wrapped around hers, tugging her along, she easily relented. 

The three of them secured a spot against one of the outer walls, dropping to sit on the dirt floor. She found herself sandwiched between the two taller men, but instead of fear, comfort skated down her nerves, even though she could sense the bone-deep horror and tremors only a heartbeat away. Right now, she tried to ignore it. To revel in the reality that she made it, she was a cadet! Amongst the sea of strangers and danger ahead, she relaxed into the cove of momentary peace her companions’ surrounding presence offered, soaking it in like parched ground. 

“Shit, you've got blood on you.”

Leyla startled as Liam gently grasped her hand, sliding the dagger from her palm. In the mental chaos of crossing the parapet, she had not noticed the dagger still in her grip. “Oh.”

“Are you hurt?” He asked, wiping off the blood on the bottom of his pants before sliding the dagger back into its sheath against his ribs. 

“Shouldn't I be asking you that?” 

“I'll be fine.” 

To her shock, he lifted the hem of his dark tunic and used it to clean the drying splatters of blood off her hand. She caught a glimpse of a firm core and the faint outline of abs before she quickly darted her gaze back up to his face, hoping what brief flash of heat she felt did not transfer to her cheeks. Now was certainly not the time to be ogling him. 

Then something hit her. “Wait…did you call me ‘princess’ back there?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Her heart raced at the potential implications of his answer. 

He leaned back against the wall, lips curled upward in a smirk that drew out a dimple in his cheek. “Well, you were quite demanding, telling me to hold on. I figured ‘princess’ fit.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “I'm fairly certain you called me ‘sunshine’ right back.”

What building tension whooshing out of her so quickly, she felt momentarily lightheaded. It was just a silly nickname. He did not mean anything by it. 

She ignored his latter comment, not about to reveal how struck she was by him at their initial meeting and how his warmth and their lighthearted humor reminded her of sunshine. “Well, I didn't feel like working on your tombstone today so I told you to hold on and Malek to fuck off.”

That drew a startled laugh from the men on either side of her and a responding, weak smile grew on her lips. 

“I think you'll be fun to have around.” The dark-haired man chuckled, then held out a hand in front of her. “Bodhi Durran.”

She took it, giving it a quick shake before wrapping her arms around herself again. “Leyla Rivers.”

“Who else made it across?” Liam asked in a hushed tone. 

Leyla zoned out as the two quietly spoke over her. Gods, she hoped she made the right choice. What was this place going to do to her? How was it going to change her? She had not even fully entered into the Quadrant and she had already murdered someone! The reminder made her breath hitch in her throat and horror clawed its way towards her lungs. She could not do this. She had literal blood on her hands. Someone died because of her. The back of her throat tasted of bile once again and she wondered if she had enough time to sprint for somewhere seclusive before vomiting. 

Before she could spiral further, a warm hand covered hers, tugging her into a broad chest. Without thinking, she leaned against Liam, absorbing his comfort and warmth. Taking slow breaths, she waited for the swelling nausea to subside, for the faint trembling of her hands to dissipate. 

She desperately hoped she had not made a mistake. She had heard it sworn once that those that attempted the Rider's Quadrant either came out on the back of a dragon or dead…but she silently rationalized to herself that either was a better option to the alternative. 

At least HE could not find her here. 

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