The Sparring Ring Proposal
Pairing: Cassian x Reader
Rating: Teen (Fluff, Proposal, Battle Couple)
Summary: You try to surrender during training, but Cassian has a different kind of match in mind.
The impact rattled your teeth.
You hit the mat of the House of Wind’s training ring hard, the breath knocked out of you for the third time in ten minutes. Before you could even think about scrambling back to your feet, a shadow fell over you.
Cassian stood there, backlit by the setting sun that painted the skies of Velaris in shades of violent violet and gold. He was grinning—that infuriating, arrogant, devastatingly handsome grin that usually made you want to either kiss him or punch him. Currently, you were leaning toward punching.
"You dropped your guard," he said, extending a hand. His chest was heaving slightly, a sheen of sweat making his golden skin gleam, and his seven Siphons were humming with low, red light.
You ignored his hand, groaning as you pushed yourself up. "You fight dirty, General."
"I fight to win," he countered, though his eyes were warm. "And I fight to make sure you stay alive. Again."
"Cassian, I can't," you huffed, wiping sweat from your forehead. "My arms feel like jelly, and you’ve thrown me into the dirt enough for one day. I surrender."
He went still. The playful cockiness vanished, replaced by that intense, predatory stillness that reminded everyone he wasn't just a jokester; he was the most lethal warrior in the Night Court.
"You surrender?" he repeated, stepping into your personal space.
"For the day. Just for the day."
He didn't back off. Instead, he closed the distance until the toes of his boots bumped yours. The smell of him—musk, wind, and spice—filled your senses. He reached out, his calloused thumbs brushing the dirt from your cheekbone with surprising gentleness.
"I don't like that word coming out of your mouth," he murmured, his voice dropping to that rough timbre that made your knees weaker than the sparring had. "You’re a fighter. My fighter."
"Even fighters need a break, Cass," you whispered, looking up into those hazel eyes.
"True." He didn't pull away. His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes. "I’ve been thinking about fights. About the wars we’ve fought, and the ones that are probably coming. Illyrians… we don't plan for the future often. We assume we’ll die on a battlefield before we get gray hair."
You frowned, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden shift in tone. "Cassian?"
He took a half-step back, just enough to reach into the hidden pocket of his leathers. "But lately, every time I picture the next ten years, or fifty, or five hundred… the only thing I see clearly is you. Yelling at me. Laughing at me. Throwing punches at me."
He dropped to one knee.
The air left your lungs again, and this time, it wasn't because you’d been thrown. Cassian—the Lord of Bastards, the warrior who refused to bow to anyone but his High Lord—was on his knee in the dust of the training ring.
"Cassian," you breathed.
He pulled a ring from his pocket. It wasn't delicate. It wasn't a dainty diamond that would snag on clothes or break during a drill. It was a band of black Illyrian steel, polished to a mirror shine, inset with a small, raw rubies that matched his Siphons. It looked unbreakable.
"I don't want a quiet life," he said, looking up at you with a vulnerability that stripped him bare. "I want the noise. I want the arguments. I want to train with you every morning and fly with you every night. I want you to watch my back, and I swear on the Mother, I will spend every breath watching yours."
He held the ring up.
"Marry me," he demanded—half order, half plea. "Be my partner. In the ring, in the court, in everything. Fight with me until the end."
Tears stung your eyes, blurring the sight of the most feared General in Prythian looking at you like you were the only solid ground in his world. You dropped to your knees so you were level with him, ignoring the dust.
"You’re an idiot," you choked out, a smile breaking through.
"I'm your idiot," he corrected, his grin returning, wider and brighter than the sun behind him. "Is that a yes?"
"Yes," you said, grabbing the front of his leathers. "Yes, you brute."
He didn't bother putting the ring on immediately. He crushed his mouth to yours, kissing you with a hunger that tasted like victory. He wrapped his massive arms around you, lifting you off the ground as he stood up, spinning you around the center of the ring while you clung to him.
When he finally set you down, breathless and laughing, he took your hand and slid the heavy, cool steel onto your finger. It fit perfectly.
"Does this mean I get out of the rest of training?" you asked, admiring the dark metal against your skin.
Cassian laughed, the sound booming off the mountains. "Not a chance. Now you have to defend your title as the General’s wife. Put your hands up, sweetheart. Round two."
