My door opened with a whine, new guards already in place. As I rose, my gaze strayed to the drawer in my desk, where I’d stored my little piece of the Rock. First decision of the day: Carry the fragment around in my pocket, risking its discovery, or leave it behind. If Mr. Vyle opted to search my cell and bypassed the lock ...
“Yo, Arden—” Miller ground to a halt outside my space, blocked by my guards, who stepped in front of him. Only after he explained his purpose did they part. He padded in while grumbling under his breath and holding a familiar link of metal. “Are you as excited to buddy up as I am?”
“Sure sounds like it,” I offered dryly.
He was a little taller than me, and lean, with wavy hair and a barrage of tattoos that covered most available skin below his face. Uh, there was a lot of available skin right now. He wore boxer briefs and a grin. My cheeks heated when I realized I’d been checking out his ink. But ten points for that perfectly etched bouquet of roses.
“I refuse to secure the cord until I’ve used the facilities.” I had togo.
“Might as well get used to having me at your side.” He wiggled his brows. “Don’t worry, I’m not dumb enough to make a move on the emperor’s new bump buddy.”
I bit my tongue. Minus twenty thousand points. “Let’s not speak.” No way this guy was the ally I sought. Just no way. Something had to go right for me; I was due. And yet ...
I swallowed a groan. He was the other Soalian, wasn’t he?
No, no. I experienced no repeat of the warm, sweet uncoiling of friendliness. Therefore, he couldn’t be. Thank goodness!
I walked with Miller to the men’s locker room, the now unisex space a stark, functional area designed for security and efficiency, with two rows of metal cubbies, two benches, and open shelving that displayed clean, folded uniforms. Concrete walls bore a smattering of stains from who knew what. Surveillance cameras occupied nearly every corner, ensuring everyone behaved. An automated device periodically emitted a disinfectant spray, keeping the air (almost) scent-free.
In a private stall, I peed and changed into my uniform.
Holding my stare as I emerged, daring me to look away, Miller stripped out of his underwear and donned a clean pair of fatigues, forgoing a new undergarment altogether.
“Could you be any more inappropriate?” I muttered. How I hated this.
“Definitely. But go ahead, pretend you’re not impressed.” He secured one end of the metal around his waist. “Are you bummed High Princess Lolli Dolion arrives today? ’Cause I would be.”
“I’m not bummed about anything.” Because I was currently bummed abouteverything.
“Sure, sure.” Miller made an obscene gesture with his hand before handing me the other end of the chain. “I believe you.”
Ignore him.I secured the metal, as well, connecting us.
We sat on a bench and tied our boots, knocking elbows and growing more irritated. The teammates around us, each bound to another, were no happier. Only Roman and Merlot worked well together, totally in sync.
“Lolli was only, like, the love of High Prince Cyrus’s life, once upon a time,” my partner said, diving back into the conversation as if there’d never been a lag.
Nope. No way. “That’s a lie. She was married to his brother.”
“Yeah, but only after she dated Cyrus. They lived together for a year, I think. And now that she’s a widow, Cyrus has another chance to win her.”
That ... no. Maybe Cyrus had dated his sister-in-law before she got hitched to his brother, maybe he hadn’t. Either way, he didn’t desire her now. For whatever reason, Miller was attempting to razz me up with jealousy.
“I said let’s not speak,” I snapped. Cyrus had chosen me. Our relationship was new but solid, and nothing a guy with questionable motives suggested would alter my certainty of that.
“Your loss.” Miller blew me a kiss, attempting charm. “But I was gonna tell you about all the other women he’s dated and how he dumped them as soon as they fell in love with him.”
Promised to lay low. Can’t throat punch him.An urge I hadn’t entertained until today.
Domino’s warning replayed.Words are like your cherished seeds. Living containers able to grow and produce after themselves. Once spoken, they take root in the soil of your heart and get watered by your thoughts. What develops is a tree of life or death. The semantics you lament decide the fruit that grows—fruit you will eat.
Here was a perfect example of that. Miller had just planted a seed of fear. What if I fell in love with Cyrus, and he ended things?
Argh! No. Enough of that. “Let’s go.”
Miller and I headed to the gym and took our place in line beside Roman and Merlot. The pair teased each other and laughed as if they were on a date. Because of course they did. Roman was a man of many interests, and most of them involved bed hopping. Other trainees streamed in after us.
The room itself was large, with a small set of bleachers for spectators, different pieces of equipment pushed against a cement wall, and a hardwood floor marked up for various activities. In the back was a small office encased in glass, leaving a desk and two chairs on exhibit.Thespot for getting reamed by our instructors.
