“Open your heart to me and I’ll prove you wrong.”
My hand tightens around the hilt of my dagger, stare darting between Cainon and Lyra, but instinct stops me from whipping out the blade. Flinging it at his head.
His confident stance, the way he carves off another piece of pear and bites down on the crispy shard, winking at me … it all tells me he’d have the stealth to dodge it. Then I’d be without a dagger, bearing no other weapon but a close-combat sword I’ve never used before.
“Seems we’re at an impasse.” Another crispy bite. Another languid chew. “We can keep his death a secret for now, and I’ll take care of your little …problemso you can claim it as an accident,” he proclaims, waving the pointy end of his dagger at the trembling woman cowering in his shadow. “Though I will require insurance to keepmymouth shut.” He looks straight at me. “You.”
No.
“All of you. Once we’re officially coupled, you’ll be undermyprotection, which will eliminate most of our issues. And if you’re a good girl, I’ll garnish the deal with some ships. But first you’ll have to prove yourself by completing the trial. I’m sure you’ll understand that I, too, have lost trust.”
My gaze darts between him and Lyra, trickles of sweat beading my brow.
He’s got me backed against a wall of spears primed to slide between my ribs.
Based on the assumption that I make it out of The Bowl, there are only three possible outcomes to this political shitshow:
One, he’ll couple with me, bed me, burn me at the stake once I don’t bleed for him, then claim Ocruth as his.
Two, if I’m pliable—let him use and abuse my body and political stance—he might let me live, though I doubt he’ll be very forgiving once a portion of his fleet disappears without his consent. Because there’s no fucking way he’s willingly giving me those ships.
I see that now.
And the final option, the one that leaves Cainon just as far from getting his claws into Rhordyn’s territory as he was before I stupidly accepted his cupla, I take the duel, sacrifice myself, and leave Zali in charge of RousteandOcruth—an easy sway of power since Rhordyn’s people have already accepted her. Lyra won’t die, and Zali can implement the trade halt. Starve Cainon out until he’s forced to yield the ships.
Rhordyn trusted her.
I trust her.
“Cat got your tongue, petal?”
I blink, lift my chin, and turn my attention back to Cainon. “I’ll take thefuckingduel.”
He sighs, long and deep. “There you go again, pushing me away.”
His arm whips out.
There’s the short whistle of metal splitting air before a meaty thud makes me jolt. Slowly, I let my gaze drag to the dagger now protruding from Lyra’s chest, amidst a blossom of red blooming on her tunic. She lifts her head, looks right at me, then opens her mouth, spilling a ribbon of blood that pours down her chin.
Her lighting pole clatters to the floor, and she crumples into a heap at the same moment my knees smack the stone.
I taste the metallic perfume of her blood in the air as I draw a shuddered breath, hands clapping upon my mouth in a failed attempt to stop the violent scream that rips up my throat.
He killed her.
He—
Cainon whips a napkin off the table, flicking it open. He strides toward his motionless servant and rolls her onto her back. “Look what you made me do,” he mutters, exposing me to her vacant, wide-eyed stare.
I force myself to watch him pull the dagger from her chest. Endure the wet sound of it slipping free before he wipes the sharp on the dark-blue napkin that gobbles up the red.
“I appreciate the fact that you’re trying for the sake of your new responsibility, but all you’re really doing is hurting more people.” He looks at me from beneath folded brows. “If you were better prepared for the outside world, you wouldn’t be constantly making such costly mistakes.”
He walks toward me and threads his hands beneath my arms, hauling me up like a strung puppet—my body a shell folding to his whim. He sets me in my seat, then uses the blade he just pulled from Lyra’s chest to carve a hunk of meat from the hog, piling it on a spare plate. “But it’s okay, you havemenow.” He places the meal before me, and my guts cramp.
Easing down my hood, he sweeps my hair over the back of my chair and runs his fingers through the length, separating it into three long sections. “You will never cut this, do you understand?”
I don’t answer.
