Page 84 of The Pleasure Contract

I feel a presence beside me. “Do not worry, I washed the glass before preparing your beverage,” Zek says, his hand and the aforementioned drink coming into view before my brain has fully registered who he was. “The staff said that all glasswares are washed thoroughly, but I saw streaks,” he snips, offering me a pair of neuro patches in the other hand.

I stare at the patches, and then glance out to the area again.

Part of me doesn’t want to put them on.

The neuro patches make you see what the players can see – what the Arena Masters want everyone to see.

But it’s not reality.

And I don’t like being fooled.

Not by anyone.

But especially not by a huge, horned, stupid-hot prince, who somehow made me drop my guard around him.

Zek jiggles his hand, insisting on the neuro patches.

The lighting in the arena dims, and a single loud drumbeat starts.

I huff and take the patches from Zek’s hand, reluctantly putting them in place on my temples.

“Lords! Ladies! Gentlefolk! Drakball fans!” the announcer says, eliciting a frenzied cacophony of screams and whoops from the crowd. “We welcome you tonight to the Capital Arena to witness two of the greats of drakball! Please put your hands together for Team Capital, and teeeeam Northern Principalityyyyy!”

The whole place erupts.

It’s deafening.

They love them.

Absolutely love them.

I see Az and his teammates swagger into the arena. Hear the crowd kick it up a notch when he waves. The excitement is palpable.

I want to cry.

Sharply, I turn my back to the arena, facing the inside of the Lords’ Gallery instead. No one in front of me has moved a muscle. They’re all still too busy talking. Most of them don’t even have neuro-patches on.

I don’t really think they give a shit about the game.

I think this is just an excuse to schmooze and network.

And maybe I should treat it exactly the same.

Glancing over my shoulder, I can see Az’s team has moved to their starting point – all except Az. He’s still standing where he had been before, and I swear he’s staring up at me.

“Come on, Zek,” I say, whipping my head back around and grabbing his arm. “Help me find some people in here that might give a flying fuck about abducted humans.”

* * *

Nobody in here gives a flying fuck about abducted humans.

Well, that’s an overstatement. They seem sympathetic. But whenever I get into the ‘what can be done about this’ part of the conversation, they all point toward Glex, saying that he is the best person if you want influence beyond the Xavianns.

It just all feels very ‘there-there, poor you, how awful’, and then they’re eager to change the subject.

All the while, there’s a drakball game going on behind me, and each conversation I’ve been trying to have has been cut and sliced with cheers, boos, screeches, and chants. And my stupid, traitorous heart can’t help but leap a little in my chest every time I catch one of the commentators saying Az’s name.

“And that last score has released the first drak for the Northern Principality!” Shit. “She really is a beauty. A finely bred specimen that Prince Az has trained well.”