The training yard was a vast, open space of packed earth, littered with the tools of a warrior's trade: practice dummies, weapon racks, and worn sparring mats. Arion followed Cassian onto the field, the oppressive silence between them more menacing than any battle cry. The air was thick with the scent of Cassian's bitter cedarwood, a suffocating presence that clung to Arion's skin.
They began to spar, and it became clear very quickly that this was not a simple training session. Cassian was brutal, his movements aggressive and full of a cold, controlled fury. He was just as strong as Kyon, and every blow he landed was deliberate, a physical manifestation of his rage. Arion's body, already sore and battered, screamed in protest with every strike. He tried to reason with him, to de-escalate the situation.
"Prince Cassian," Arion said, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he dodged a savage blow, "we can stop. We can talk about..."
"Silence!" Cassian snarled, his eyes dark with a violent hatred. He didn't see Arion; he saw Kyon's smirk, Kyon's lips on Arion's, the raw humiliation of it all. Each parry, each punch was a brutal extension of his wounded pride. The more he thought about the kiss, the more furious he became, and the more punishing his attacks grew.
Finally, drenched in sweat and aching from the brutal assault, Arion turned and walked away to grab a water bottle. He was exhausted, his body trembling with the aftershocks of the merciless sparring session. As he reached for the bottle, a pair of powerful arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him into a crushing embrace. It was Cassian.
Before Arion could react, Cassian rubbed his hardened groin against Arion's rear, a deliberate and vulgar motion. Simultaneously, he released a wave of his heavy, overpowering pheromones directly onto Arion. The scent of bitter cedarwood was a physical weight, pressing into Arion's lungs, threatening to suffocate him. The combination of the unwanted touch and the intoxicating scent was too much. A wave of nausea, sharp and violent, washed over him. He felt his gorge rise. In a moment of pure, panicked instinct, he twisted and slammed his elbow back, catching Cassian squarely on the face.
A gasp of shock and pain escaped Cassian's lips as he stumbled back, his hand flying to his nose. The connection was broken, but Arion's panic immediately turned into a cold dread. He had just hit a prince. A member of the royal family.
"Sorry!" Arion said, his voice a frantic whisper. "I didn't... I didn't mean to." He took a step back, his eyes wide with a terrified apology. He had just done a terrible, irreversible thing, and he knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that this would have consequences far worse than any bruise or scar.