“I’ll check after we’re done,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“I promise.” The words came easily, though the ache in his chest deepened at the sight of her. Worn thin. Frayed at the edges. He’d go straight to Charis, or Danaos, or anyone else who might know what she’d been given, and find that damned vial.
Katell shifted back, pressing herself against the rough stone wall. She hugged her knees to her chest, curling in on herself. Sunlight spilled across her body, gilding half her face while theother remained veiled in shadow. The sight hit him like a blow. It was just like their last night in the arena.
Nik couldn’t look away.
“I added your freedom to the deal I made with Dalmatius,” she said, staring at her bare feet, her voice laden with memory. “I didn’t want to leave you back there, but you refused.”
Nik let out a bitter huff, shaking his head. “Is that what he told you?”
Her brow furrowed, confusion and anguish clouding her expression.
“You were always too good for the arena,” he said. “You and Sinope both. I’m glad you got away… even if it was with the Rasennans.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, her body trembled, and she raised a hand to her mouth, biting at a fingernail. A closer look revealed they were all chewed to the quick.
Nik shot to his feet. He had to get her help. Find a healer, someone?—
“Will you visit again?” she asked.
The question caught him mid-step. He turned back. “Tomorrow, if you wish.”
He had training with Pelagios and the Tirynthian soldiers as always, but if she wanted him here, he’d make time. No matter what.
She gave a small nod.
“I’ll come by in the morning,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Not that anyone else will bother you. The palace is too busy preparing for the wedding?—”
“What was that earlier? A new Gift?” she cut in, her gaze fixed on the ice-blue swirls peeking from beneath his arm guard.
Nik shifted, angling his arm away. It surprised him that she’d noticed. “Something like that,” he said lightly. “Get some rest. I’ll see you soon.”
With a final nod, he slipped out. Outside, he caught one of the guards by the shoulder. “Find a healer,” he ordered, voice low but urgent. “Have them look at her again. She’s not herself.”
The guard wrenched free, sneering. “I don’t take orders from traitors.”
His companion said nothing—just watched.
Nik’s jaw clenched. The urge to punch the idiot was overwhelming, but he held back. “And when the queen loses her most precious prisoner because you refused to call for a healer, what will you tell her then?”
The guard faltered, his bravado wavering. “I’m not to move from my?—”
“Soldier,” a sharp voice snapped. Nik turned to see Despoina approaching, her steel scale armour gleaming in the sunlight. “The Megarians are our guests. Whatever they request, consider it a direct order from the queen herself. What did Lord Nikander ask for?”
Nik stiffened at the title.
“A healer, my lady,” the guard replied quickly, his tone suddenly respectful—a stark shift from the sneer he’d given Nik only moments before.
Despoina raised an eyebrow. “Then what are you still doing here?” Her words left no room for delay, and the guard departed at once.
“Come,” she said more softly to Nik. “The others are gathered in the council chamber, deliberating over the prisoner. Perhaps you can offer some clarity on her situation.”
Nik followed her through the open colonnade, the tall columns casting long, cool shadows across the vibrant mosaics beneath their feet. Scenes of ancient heroes—Nestor raising hisshield, Telamon locked in battle with the Amazons, Atalanta drawing her bow—seemed almost alive in the shifting light. The air was thick with jasmine and citrus, a promise of spring only days away. Tiryns, like Megara, thrived under a temperate sun, where frost and snow were distant memories and gardens bloomed freely.
The quiet between them stretched until Nik finally said, “I’m no lord, Despoina.”
