If the confrontation between the two sisters is a road accident, the sudden exclamation is like a giant ball of fire launched into a village in the middle of the night. A surprise assault that catches people off-guard, the explosion and bright light drawing attention. It takes a moment for the shock to fade and the horror to set in.

While Alana and Yulia hurled insults at one another, they controlled themselves, keeping their voices down aside from the odd shout or curse. They drew a few glances, a lot of people in the room having better than average senses, but most of the room remained focused on Rolly’s show as it nears its emotional finale. But everyone notices the shout, over a dozen gazes turning toward the drinks table.

Lane, the source of the distraction, is standing with hunched shoulders. I can’t see his face from my seat but I’m sure it’s something spectacular. I can see Alyssa over his shoulder, watching him with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. Beside her, Jack, her scruffy hunter friend, is frozen, a drink half-raised.

Of the three, Jack recovers first, shaking his head as he finishes taking his drink. Amusingly, Lane is the next to recover. “Are you going to say something?” he says, his voice mixed with frustration, anger, and a hint of pleading. I cringe hearing it, feeling a strangely profound sympathy.

Saints, I hope this isn’t my fault. I encouraged him to confess but I meant he should take her for a private stroll through the gardens and risk his life to give her a flower. Maybe recite some bad poetry. Risk his life a second time and sneak a kiss. Not scream out his feelings in the middle of the party and emotionally bludgeon her with them. This is so awkward Iwant to bury myself in a hole.

“You throw a great party sister,” Cloud whispers and I slap her shoulder, urging her to shut up.

At his prodding, Alyssa finally reacts. Her eyes flick around the room before she grimaces. Clearly, she doesn’t want to do this in front of an audience. “We shouldn’t talk about this here,” she says, trying to spare him but Lane is either too drunk or too dense to understand her intentions.

“So, you’re rejecting me.”

“That’s not what I said.”

Lane guzzles down the drink in his hand before slamming the glass onto the table. To my horror, Fen, with the same grace and lack of presence as a leaf blown by a gentle breeze, slips past him, collecting the glass and putting a full one in its place. It’s artful and devious. The last thing he needs is more to drink but he’s already shoved his foot so far into his mouth it’s coming out of his ass. There’s no salvaging this.

All that’s left is to enjoy the show, us nosy onlookers glad that we’re not one of the actors.

“If you’re going to say it, just say it. Better than you stringing me along.”

“What?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t know how I felt,” Lane says bitterly. “I was clear about my feelings and you brushed me off. And I dealt with that. Thought if I stayed close, if you got to know me as someone other than a student, I could change your mind. But you weren’t interested in me. Just in what I could do for you, right?”

The instructor takes a deep, fortifying breath. Saints bless her, I swear I can see her wrapping herself in her self-control, figurative chains to keep from torching the ceiling again. Then she slips on a pair of figurative soft gloves. “Don’t tell me what I knew, what I think, or what I’m going to do. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Because I didn’t know. You never said anything!”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“For saints’ sake woman, I moved into your house. We lived together for almost a year!”

“I thought I was doing a student and a friend with scant few crowns in his coin purse a favor. How was I supposed to know it was a statement or something?”

“Men don’t move in with women without certain expectations!”

“Fuck your expectations! Is that some southern bullshit? You think soldiers give a shit what’s between their legs when they’re freezing their asses off in some winter hellscape and a night raid destroys half the tents? Ancestors, no. Only thing on their minds is keeping warm. That’s the onlything that was on my mind when I let you stay with me, not letting a friend freeze his ass off at night.”

It’s Alyssa’s turn to drain her drink. Then she drains a second one, randomly grabbing a wine and chugging it like it’s water, before leveling a threatening finger at his face.

“Don’t put this on me when you’re the one who didn’t say a fucking word. What, you thought you would use some societal expectation titan shit to confess without confessing, didn’t you? If I notice your feelings and respond to them, all’s good, and if I don’t, it’s fine, you never put yourself in front of the sword to get cut down, huh? Or maybe you’d laugh it off, haha, I’m the crazy bitch reading too much into it.”

I really want to stand up and circle around to see Lane’s expression. It must be something amazing. “I was being subtle. Careful. Sure, I never outright declared my feelings, but I never hid how I felt. I was trying to be considerate. Not push you too hard. I figured, after I moved in, you’d either ask me to go or ask me to stay. But you never said anything.”

He takes a shuddering breath. “You’re not an ignorant girl, b—Alyssa. Maybe you didn’t notice anything the first month. Or the second. But the fourth? The seventh? The tenth? I…damn, I knew you didn’t think much of me, but because you never sent me away, I thought…there was a chance…”

Alyssa lets out an impressive litany of curses before pinching the bridge of her nose. Her hand drops with a sigh. “If it were anyone else, I might have thought there was something to it. But Lane, I thought it was a family thing. Like you saw me as an older sister.”

“You’re joking.”

“Is this the time for jokes?”

“How could you think I saw you as a sister?”

“How? Maybe because you never made a pass at me—"

“I’m a gentleman!”

A laugh almost bursts out of me, a hand clamping over my lips to smother it. Shake doubles over as she struggles to contain snickers while Cloud shakes her head. It’s not the sentiment that fills me with humor, really, it’s quite admirable, but the way he says it. As if his so-called gentlemanly behavior was the pinnacle of courtship and he is astounded it led to misunderstandings instead of ensuring the redhead fell for him.

He sounds genuinely bewildered, which is hilarious to me. I don’t have the most experience courting women but even I could guess that indirect methods aren’t the way to go when it comes to the fiery instructor. Besides that, she’s a Victorian. The north doesn’t do subtle.

“Or maybe because I’ve known you since you were a brat.”

“Brat?! I joined your class when I was eighteen!”

“Like I said, a brat. I’m a decade and a half older than you.”

“Is that why you never gave me a chance? I don’t care about age.”

Alyssa mutters under her breath, “You’re going to make me say it.” Then, much louder, “Lane. I never thought about anything romantic between us because you’re not my type. At all. You’re a good friend and I think of you as a brother but never anything more.”

Saints. The whole room is deathly quiet. Even Rolly’s show stops, the accompanying music abruptly cutting out. In the silence, I swear I can hear a heart breaking.

“I…see.” Lane swallows. “Figured.”

“Hey…”

“Don’t. Being nice makes it worse. This is good. Should have cleared the air years ago.”

His fake positivity doesn’t fool anyone. Probably not even himself. Alyssa’s perceptive enough not to point it out, letting the poor man hold onto a few shreds of dignity as he walks away, drink in hand. She watches him leave with narrowed eyes before sharing her glare with the rest of the room. “Show’s over, get back to your own business!”

The room collectively turns away from her, Rolly’s show resuming with Earl quick to accompany it.