Chained Hearts: From Slavery to Sovereignty
Chapter 145: The First Lesson

Chapter 145: Chapter 145: The First Lesson

The stone beneath Cassian was colder than it looked. It cut through the thin silk of his trousers and seeped into his skin like winter frost. Or perhaps it wasn’t the stone at all—perhaps it was his nerves. That coiled, suffocating tightness in his chest refused to loosen, and his fingers trembled no matter how tightly he laced them together in his lap.

He didn’t raise his eyes. Not yet.

Not as the demon woman entered the center of the circular chamber, moving with a grace that bordered on terrifying. She didn’t walk—she commanded. Every step she took was calculated, every movement so precise it spoke of someone who had trained beasts larger than buildings and made kings kneel in dust. The staff in her hand made no sound against the polished black floor, and yet somehow it echoed in the hollow pit of his stomach.

She stopped.

"Etiquette," she said at last, her voice cool and razor-edged, "is not merely how you eat, how you bow, or how you hold your tongue. It is about survival."

Cassian lifted his eyes.

She turned her head slowly, her gaze slicing through the room like a sharpened blade. Her eyes passed over each student, unreadable and severe, until—briefly—they landed on him. Just for a second. But long enough for Cassian to know she saw everything. The tightness in his shoulders. The way he sat too stiffly. The quiet desperation he thought he had hidden so well.

"In this palace," she continued, "knowledge is power. Power is influence. And influence, my little lords and ladies, determines whether you are admired... or devoured."

A chill crawled down his spine.

Cassian swallowed, his throat suddenly dry as sand. Around him, the other students didn’t flinch. The girl carved from twilight lounged in her seat like a queen without a crown, one leg crossed over the other, lips painted in the deep, decadent red of blood and wine.

The silver-haired beast-boy tilted his head in curiosity, tail flicking lazily, a sharp grin tugging at his lips. And the fae boy—effortless and smug—leaned back in his chair like he had taken this exact lesson a hundred times before.

Cassian sat among them like an imposter wearing someone else’s skin.

A sharp clap broke the silence.

The instructor’s hands came together once—quick and decisive—and the room responded immediately. A line of servants filed in, each one silent and swift, placing small obsidian boards in front of the students. Atop each board rested a single scroll, rolled tight and sealed with a wax the color of dried blood.

Cassian’s hands remained clenched in his lap.

"This is your first assessment," the instructor said. Her tone remained calm, but there was a weight behind it, like the press of an unseen blade against a neck. "A basic skill all members of the court are expected to master: Accounting."

He blinked.

Accounting?

Around him, the others moved without hesitation. The demon girl broke her seal cleanly with a flick of her clawed fingers and unrolled her scroll in a smooth, fluid motion. Her ink glowed a faint red as it flowed from her pen, her strokes elegant and efficient.

The beast-boy sniffed at his scroll before scratching his head with the feathered end of his quill, grinning wide as he dove in like it was a game. Cassian had no idea whether the boy understood what he was doing, but that didn’t stop him from writing with wild enthusiasm.

The fae boy rolled his eyes, broke the seal with a flick of his nail, and muttered under his breath as he read. His fingers moved like a conductor weaving through a silent symphony.

Cassian hesitated, staring at his scroll as if it might bite.

Then, slowly, he reached for it. He broke the wax, careful not to draw attention, and unrolled the parchment with reluctant fingers.

The ink shimmered like liquid metal. Symbols—dozens upon dozens of them—lined the scroll in neat columns and jagged rows. Some curved like runes stolen from an ancient tomb, others were sharp and broken like shattered glass. It was a ledger, clearly. A record of transactions, tributes, or trade. He could recognize numbers, just barely. Maybe totals. Maybe weights. But the language?

Completely foreign.

Panic began to rise. His fingers curled tightly around the edges of the board as he leaned in, eyes scanning for something—anything—familiar. His pulse pounded behind his eyes.

"You have fifteen minutes," the instructor said coolly. "Interpret and balance the records. Identify the embezzlement. Begin."

Cassian’s heart plummeted.

Embezzlement?

This is a joke, right?

He stared at the symbols, mind blank. He looked to his side, just for a second—enough to steal a glance.

The demon girl was already halfway down her scroll, her brow furrowed with calm focus.

The fae boy’s lips moved soundlessly, his fingers gliding across the parchment like he was unraveling an old love letter.

The beast-boy was still scribbling away, tail looping in lazy figure, a contented look on his face despite the chaos he was undoubtedly putting on the page.

Cassian looked down again.

Nothing made sense.

The symbols blurred, a twisting mess of unfamiliar lines and unreadable intent. He clenched his jaw and bit the inside of his cheek until the tang of blood filled his mouth.

Don’t panic. You’ve lived through worse.

He had. He’d fought for scraps in bloodstained alleys, learned to read hunger and violence in a man’s posture. He knew how to survive.

But this?

This wasn’t survival through instinct. This was survival through privilege. Through knowledge. Through a language of numbers and power that had never belonged to someone like him.

This wasn’t a test.

It was a reminder.

That he didn’t belong here.

He gripped the quill in his hand. It trembled as he held it above the scroll, the ink at the tip glistening.

Then—he pressed it down.

A mark. Just one. Probably wrong.

But it was something.

The minutes bled away far too fast.

And then—clang.

The instructor’s staff struck the floor like a hammer, the sound cutting through the room like a blade through silk.

"Stop."

Cassian froze.

His ink hadn’t even dried. His answers—few, hesitant, and almost certainly wrong—stood like stuttering children next to the confident scripts of his peers.

The instructor walked slowly down the row, scanning each scroll as if reading more than what was written. She stopped behind the beast-boy, hummed softly, then moved on. She paused a little longer behind the demon girl and the fae boy, nodding—barely. A flicker of approval, cold and reserved.

And when she reached Cassian—

Her steps slowed.

She looked down at his scroll for what felt like hours.

Then she said, simply, "Hmm."

No insult. No scolding. No comment at all.

Just "Hmm."

Somehow, it was worse than a reprimand.

Because he didn’t know what it meant.

And she didn’t plan to tell him.