Page 52 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

“We have several staff members who help with the horses.” My tone is casual as I carefully watch Alex’s reactions. “Including Cassius over there. He’s one of our gladiators—yes, an actual Roman gladiator. I’m sure they told you about who lives at Second Chance before you signed up. But he’s only here if you want him to be. Some of our students prefer to start with just me, and that’s absolutely fine.

Alex’s gaze darts to Cassius, then away. I see the tension rise in their shoulders, the instinctive step backward. “Maybe… maybe just you for now?”

“Of course,” I say warmly. “This is Buddy,” I continue as we enter the corral and approach our calmest horse. “He’s usually our starter horse for new students.”

Alex reaches out tentatively to stroke Buddy’s nose, and I see the first crack in their armor as the horse nuzzles their hand. They relax slightly, their focus entirely on the horse. It’s a good start.

As I demonstrate basic grooming techniques, I catch glimpses of Cassius working in the distance with a new chestnut quarter horse, Sable. He’s trying to appear busy, but I know he’s watching us. The confusion is evident in his stance, the way he keeps pausing, the slight pleating of his brow.

A pang of guilt hits me—I should have prepared him for this. Despite our personal distance, he deserved a heads-up about twenty-first-century gender identity issues before being thrown into the situation.

“You’re a natural with that brush,” I tell Alex, who’s methodically grooming Buddy’s neck. “Would you like to learn some of our training signals too?”

They nod, more enthusiastic now. “Is that what he’s doing?” They gesture vaguely toward Cassius.

My heart skips a beat at this opening. “Yes, Cassius is excellent with the horses. Would you be comfortable if I asked him to demonstrate some training techniques? Only if you want—there’s no pressure.”

Alex considers this, their brush strokes slowing. “He’s… really big.”

“He is,” I agree. “All our gladiators are. But I promise you, Cassius is like a gentle giant with the horses… and the teens in our program. Still, it’s completely your choice.”

They think about it for a moment longer. “Maybe… maybe if he stays on the other side of Buddy?”

“Of course.” I catch Cassius’s eye and wave him over. He’s attuned to our newcomers, taking special effort to walk slowly and avoid quick movements.

But then I see his expression change as he gets closer and really looks at Alex. His jaw tightens, and I know what’s coming before he speaks.

“Diana, a word?” His Latin carries an edge of confusion and displeasure.

“Actually,” I say in English, including Alex in the conversation, “I think we could all use a water break. Besides, I didn’t equip Alex with a translator yet. Alex, why don’t you grab a drink from the cooler by the barn? We’ll wait here.”

Once Alex is out of earshot, Cassius’s confusion spills out in rapid Latin. “That child—is it male or female? Why—”

“Stop,” I interrupt quietly. “I owe you an apology, Cassius. I should have explained this to you before Alex arrived. That’s my fault.” I take a deep breath, meeting his troubled gaze. “Some people know, deep in their hearts, that the body they were born in doesn’t match who they truly are. Alex was assigned female at birth, but that’s not who they are in their mind. Alex uses ‘they’ and ‘them’ instead of ‘she’ or ‘he’—it’s how they feel most comfortable and authentic.”

His brow furrows. “But that’s not possible. The gods—”

“The gods made people in all different ways,” I say gently. “Even in Rome, surely you knew people who were different from what society expected?”

He’s quiet for a moment, and I see him struggling with this, comparing it to his own experiences. Finally, he says, “When Ifirst awoke on theFortuna, without memory of anything—not even my name—the other gladiators accepted me despite my differences.”

“Yes,” I say softly, understanding where he’s going with this.

“Acceptance doesn’t always require complete understanding. And this child… she… he…”

“They.”

“They have faced rejection? For being who they are?”

My throat tightens at the sudden compassion in his voice. “Yes. Probably more than we can imagine.”

I watch the internal battle play out on his face—his ingrained Roman beliefs warring with his growing modern understanding. Then something shifts in his expression, and I recognize the look from when he first suggested that we create our youth program.

“Then we must show them that Second Chance lives up to its name.” His voice carries an edge of finality. “For everyone.”

For a moment, I wonder if he’s just blowing smoke, sucking up. I haven’t been blind to the way he looks at me when he thinks I don’t notice. He wants to get back with me, though that will never happen. But his compassion with Alex isn’t an act. It’s genuine concern and a growing acceptance, which is especially commendable considering so many of his beliefs are still two thousand years old.

As Alex returns, Cassius deliberately softens his stance, making himself appear less imposing. “Alex,” he says carefully, emphasizing their name, “would you like to see how we teach Buddy to respond to hand signals? You can stay on this side of the horse if you’d like.”

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