“A little bit of both.”

More bad, I think, remembering my episode last night at home. I know the new schedule is Cal’s doing, but I didn’t expect him to work so fast. Truthfully, I’m excited for Training. If it’s anything like what I saw Cal and Maven go through, the ability practice in particular, I’ll be hopelessly far behind, but at least I’ll have someone to talk to. And if I’m really lucky, Evangeline will be deathly ill and stuck in bed for the rest of her miserable life.

Lucas shakes his head, chuckling. “Be prepared. The instructors are famous for being able to break even the strongest soldiers. They won’t take well to your sass.”

“I don’t take well to being broken,” I retort. “What was your Training like?”

“Well, I went straight to the army when I was nine, so my experience was a bit different,” he says, eyes darkening at the memory.

“Nine?” The thought seems impossible to me. Abilities or not, this can’t be true.

But Lucas shrugs like it’s nothing. “The front is the best place for training. Even the princes were trained at the front, for a time.”

“But you’re here now,” I say. My eyes linger on Lucas’s uniform, on the black and silver of Security. “You’re not a soldier anymore.”

For the first time, Lucas’s dry smile disappears completely. “It wears on you,” he admits, more to himself than to me. “Men are not meant to be at war for long.”

“And what about Reds?” I hear myself ask. Bree, Tramy, Shade, Dad, Kilorn’s father. And a thousand others. A million others. “Can they stand war better than Silvers?”

We reach the door to the training hall before Lucas finally answers, looking a little uncomfortable. “That’s the way the world works. Reds serve, Reds work, Reds fight. It’s what they’re good at. It’s what they’re meant to do.” I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from shouting at him. “Not everyone is special.”

Anger boils in me, but I don’t say a word against Lucas. Losing my temper, even with him, won’t be smiled upon. “I can take it from here,” I say stiffly.

He notes my discomfort, frowning a little. When he speaks, his voice is low and fast, as if he doesn’t want to be overheard. “I don’t have the luxury of questions,” he mutters. His black eyes bore into mine, full of meaning. “And neither do you.”

My heart clenches, terrified by his words and their veiled meaning. Lucas knows there’s more to me than what he’s been told. “Lucas—”

“It’s not my place to ask questions.” He furrows his brow, trying to make me understand, trying to put me at ease. “Lady Titanos.” The title sounds firmer than ever, becoming my shield as well as the queen’s weapon.

Lucas will not ask questions. Despite his black eyes, his Silver blood, his Samos family, he will not pull at the thread that could unravel my existence.

“Keep to your schedule, my lady.” He pulls back, more formal than I’ve ever seen him. With a flick of his head, he gestures to the door where a Red attendant waits. “I’ll collect you after Training.”

“Thank you, Lucas,” is all I can manage. He’s given me so much more than he knows.

The attendant hands me a stretchy black suit with purple and silver stripes. He points me to a tiny room, where I change quickly, slipping out of my usual clothes and into the jumpsuit. It reminds me of my old clothes, the ones I used back in the Stilts. Worn by time and movement, but trim and tight enough not to slow me down.

When I enter the training hall, I’m painfully aware of everyone staring at me, not to mention the dozens of cameras. The floor feels soft and springy beneath my feet, cushioning each step. An immense skylight rises above us, showing a blue summer sky full of clouds to taunt me. Winding stairs connect the several levels cut into the walls, each at varying heights with different equipment. There are many windows as well, one of which I know opens to Lady Blonos’s classroom. Where the others go or who might be watching from them, I have no idea.

I should be nervous about walking into a room full of teen warriors, all of them better trained than me. Instead, I’m thinking about the insufferable icicle of bone and metal known as Evangeline Samos. I barely make it halfway across the floor before her mouth opens, dripping venom.

“Graduated from Protocol already? Did you finally master the art of sitting with your legs crossed?” she sneers, jumping up from a weight-lifting machine. Her silver hair is tied back into a complicated braid I’d very much like to cut off, but the deathly sharp metal blades at her waist give me pause. Like me, like everyone else, she wears a jumpsuit emblazoned with the colors of her house. In black and silver, she looks deadly.