“It’s like that every time. All it does is give me a massive headache. There’s no way I’ll make it through the semester.”
“I didn’t know it was possible to be this bad at incanting.” I rub the inexplicably dry spot on the table. “I was always told everyone could do it. That it simply took practice.”
“That’s not really helping my ego.”
My entire body grimaces. “That came out wrong. I’m sorry.”
He huffs as he returns the aquamarine to his pocket, then takes my hand. “You are so bad at conversations sometimes.”
My fingers flinch. “What?”
A smile tugs at his face as he rubs my thumb with his. “It’s like, you either plow ahead without thinking at all, or you try too hard. Nothing in between.”
“That’s not… I just…” I pull my hand away, but his grip tightens.
“Hey.” He tilts his head, trying to pull me back to his eyes. “It’s fine. I’m not one to talk. I’m terrible at most things.”
“Because you don’t try.” I didn’t mean to say it, but it’s true. Not once have I witnessed him paying any attention in History.
Caeo’s mouth falls open, and the fear that I’m ruining everything rushes back. I stutter an apology, but he cuts me off.
“No, you’re right. I don’t.” He sighs, then runs his hand through his hair. “I guess at some point, I decided it didn’t matter how much effort I put in, so why bother?”
“But then you’ll never succeed at anything.”
He rubs his brow, then looks back at me. “Alright. I’ll work on trying harder, and you just… relax. Take a beat, but don’t overthink things. And stop feeling like you have to fix everything. Deal?”
A smile blooms across my face. “Deal. And you can start by letting me tutor you.”
“Did you already forget the part about not fixing everything?”
“I’m not fixing you—I’m trying to support you.”
Caeo’s eyes narrow as he holds back a smirk, then he exhales. “Reid’s already tried—like you said, I did everything right. It just doesn’t work for me.”
“Still. You should join us when we study. Your foundational assignments are the same, and we can make sure your incanting work shows an understanding of the material. Maybe that’ll be enough for them to let you stay?”
“Yeah, maybe.” He rubs my fingers for a moment before grabbing a chip. “But what about you? It doesn’t seem like incanting calls to you, either.”
It’s my turn to sigh, my gaze landing on the silly wooden duck at the center of the table. “Not at all. I’m here entirely because of my father. High Marshal Detura, if you’ve heard of him.”
“He’syour father? The High Marshal of the Order of Incanters?” Caeo pushes himself a respectable distance away from me. “You should’ve told me that before I stuck my tongue in your mouth. I’m a dead man.”
“Relax, it’s not like I’ll tell him about that.”
“You don’t have to. He’ll know. Fathers always know.”
“Anyway”—I pull Caeo back to me—“while he’s a viscount, he earned his title through service, which means I won’t inherit it. That limits my marriage prospects, so it’s always been expected I’d follow in his footsteps. Coming here wasn’t a matter of choice.”
His fingers brush against my side. “And if you’d had the option?”
“Then I wouldn’t be here. I suppose you’ll have to thank him for that.”
“Right before he murders me,” Caeo mutters, then winces.
I flick his arm playfully. “He’s not going to murder you.”
“Uh huh.” Caeo tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “But seriously—what would you do if you weren’t here?”
