Page 78 of Feralheart

When she caught me looking, her lips lifted in a brief smile.

In two days we’d be riding dragons, trying to outlast each other. I wasn’t in this to make a new friend.

Alliances didn’t last in races where only one person could win.

A lord beside her made a comment I couldn’t quite hear, something about vintage wine years and proper cellaring. Lyndie laughed at exactly the right moment. Not at the joke itself, but the reference that came before it.

I turned and nodded toward a lady standing nearby. She stared down her nose at me, sniffed, and purposefully turned away.

My burned foot had decided the marble floor was a personal insult. Each step sent stabs of pain up my leg, my shoe rubbing against raw skin.

Music swelled, the floating instruments near the ceiling playing something sweeping and dramatic while nobles danced on one side of the room, their silks swirling in colors that shifted with the light and, in some cases, became the light, blazing like they’d stolen flames.

One of the chandeliers caught my eye, its crystal drops hanging in perfect symmetry, each one refracting light, scattering rainbows across the floor.

For one moment, I let myself feel the beauty.

My skin felt too tight to hold it all in.

Tolross would never see this or feel the magic shimmer through the air. He’d die in our cottage in Shaleside, shallow breaths in the dark until they stopped.

Unless I won the Scorching.

The ache in my throat sharpened into rage, and I welcomed it with a burning across my bones. Rage felt better than grief.

My gaze found Prince Fenian. He stood apart from the clusters of elite, wearing a formal tunic and pants in stark black etched with silver. The close cut of the fabric showed off the line of his broad shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. He held himself like someone who’d been trained since birth to stand exactly right.

Alone despite being surrounded by his people.

The same way I was alone in this room full of commons and elite alike.

I held his gaze for longer than I should. He’d know this wasn’t an accident. I couldn’t pretend it was anything but choice.

I looked away first, my pulse throbbing in my throat, and walked slowly around the outside of the room, pain from my burned foot scorching across my spine.

His gaze tracked my uneven steps, and his expression tightened. He started toward me. The crowd seemed to part for him without trying. Even the air knew to make room. When he stopped in front of me, close enough I could see the darker flecks in his eyes, he said, “You’re injured.”

“I’m fine, Sire.”

“You aren’t.” He didn’t say it unkindly. “I have salve in my rooms. It’s better than anything they’ll give you with the commons supplies.”

“I don’t need⁠—”

“I know you don’t need it.” His voice stayed even. “I’m offering it anyway.”

He held my gaze, waiting.

I wanted to say yes. My foot screamed with every heartbeat, and the thought of the relief salve would bring made my eyes prickle with tears. But relief meant owing him, and I’d already watched him speak to his mother, watched her decide my fate with a nod. I couldn’t owe more to a person who held power over whether I lived or died.

“No, Your Highness,” I said. “But thank you.”

His eyes flashed, but he jerked out a nod and stepped back, returning to wherever crown princes stood when they weren’t crossing rooms to offer salve to commons who turned them down.

As he left, I told myself the refusal had been sensible.

So why did my chest feel hollowed out, watching him disappear into a crowd of people who’d never had to choose between pride and relief?

Selira had accepted my help, but maybe pride was a luxury wild things couldn’t afford. She was caged even if she stood behind invisible bars. But standing here in a gown I’d never own, in a room I’d never belong in, about to race for a wish I might not survive to claim, made it clear they’d caged me as well. We were all caged. The only difference was that Selira knew it.