Page 35 of A Match Made in Error

Was it me? Am I what changed?

Chapter Twelve

RIVEN

The applause hits first. Then the cheers. And then the Moirai’s voice, cutting through it all.

Perfect.

I roll my shoulders, drag a hand through my wet hair, and let the noise anchor me back in my body. Back in control. Back in the version of myself that knows how to perform.

Poppy’s still looking at me like I just rewrote the laws of magic. Like something meant something.

It didn’t.

It was good timing.

Good acting.

Good instincts.

We sold it, and they’re all eating out of the palms of our hands and begging for more.

We can see a hologram of the audience in Fate’s Fortune, sitting in the arena, cheering our names.

The eldest Moirai lifts her staff again, eyes glinting. “One more round,” she announces. “Final pairing. Highest heart rate spike wins, or first fall loses. Whichever comes first.”

And of course, we’re against Angora and her perfect, glowing, infuriatingly tall new match, Lord Erik.

I glance at Poppy, giving her my easiest grin. The one that I know she knows says, we’ve got this, not, you almost undid me in front of the entire realm, like everyone else likely thinks it does.

“What we just did,” I whisper. “Flawless practice. The crowd loved it. You’re committing to the bit beautifully, by the way.” Poppy rolls her eyes, but her cheeks pink anyway, and Fate help me—that might be the most entertaining thing I’ve seen all week.

This is fake. Obviously.

A performance.

A very convincing, occasionally distracting performance.

Though neither of our bodies seem interested in that distinction. Not when we’re tangled around one another, and certainly not when she’s looking at me like she was on that stump

Probably just adrenaline.

Or the island’s aggressively romantic atmosphere poisoning our brains. Moirai magic at work against our wills.

She blinks. “The bit?”

“Faking it,” I remind her gently, like she didn’t just look like she forgot how to breathe two minutes ago while forcing herself to stare at me in awe. “Performance. Strategy. Mild emotional manipulation. Fate, you’re amazing.” The whole thing about not feeling seen, I thought it was real for a moment, but then I saw her watching the heart rate monitor. Poppy is so much cleverer than I thought. It had me second-guessing things there for a moment. Of course she doesn’t feel that way. She’s stunning and incredible and too good for any man here.

We step back into the waves, water sloshing around our calves, bracelets glowing again as we make our way to the rock platforms just offshore.

Lock in.

Win the challenge.

I’ll let the physical sensations wash over me—her heat, the closeness, the way she’ll look at me to sell it.

I can use it. Channel it. Let the energy sharpen me.