But Lord Falchester, pitiful as he appeared on the ground, seized upon the audience. He raised his voice, forcing a tremor into it, eyes wet and wide with practiced outrage.
“Look! Look at what he does, he descends upon me like a brute, and she… she was out here with me, unchaperoned. What sort of Duchess behaves so?—”
That was the final straw.
Cassian lunged at him.
“Do not,” he snarled, grabbing the front of Falchester’s coat, “dare to utter her name.”
His fist came down again and again. Lord Falchester screamed as his nose cracked beneath the blow, blood spurting across the snow-dusted stones, but it didn’t stop.
“Cassian!”
Isabella grabbed his arm, but he shook her off cruelly because he did not see her. He saw only the shadows of the past, rough laughter, a boot on his ribs, a voice whispering, “No one is coming for you, boy.”
Cassian’s chest heaved like that of a beast pulled too long by the reins. He struck again, knuckles splitting.
“Cassian, stop!” Isabella cried, voice cracking with terror. “It is not worth it!”
But her words did not reach him. He was trapped inside a memory, inside darkness.
“Cassian!” she tried again, stumbling closer. “I am not hurt. Do you hear me? I am not hurt. Please, look at me!”
He did not lift his head. Not until she dropped to her knees beside him, right into the blood-smeared snow, and her trembling hand caught her dress.
“Cassian,” she whispered, tears streaking her cheeks. “Please… please stop.”
Her voice, so broken, finally cut through the fog. He froze.
Slowly but painfully, he raised himself from Lord Falchester and looked at her.
Her face was pale, stricken. Her eyes, usually warm, bright, and stubborn, were now wide and red with fear and disbelief. And beneath that… disappointment.
The blow hit harder than any fist could have.
Cassian’s hand loosened, but Lord Falchester had already gone unconscious beneath him. Servants rushed forward, dragginghim away, pressing cloth to his bleeding face. The crowd burst into frantic whispers, clustering like vultures.
“Did you see him?”
“Like a madman?—”
“A caveman, you mean. Why would a duke behave like that?”
“Ruination, both of them.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, all of you hush at once!” Cassian heard his grandmother’s voice, and he looked towards the crowd to see her pushing through, her expression torn between fury and mortification.
“If gossip must be spread, at least have the decency to be accurate. Lord Falchester laid hands on the Duchess; His Grace merely reminded him that such behavior is not tolerated by civilized men,” she snapped at the crowd of gossipers.
“Civilized?” someone whispered. “Did you not see what just transpired?”
“I said be silent,” she barked.
But the whispers only softened—never stopped.
Cassian did not bother to listen to any of them. He could not. He was still staring at Isabella, unable to tear his gaze away from the expression on her face. She was frightened of him.
His chest constricted painfully.
