“It is a requirement … of sorts.”
“A requirement?” That piques my interest.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his hand brush over his chest before he scratches the short scruff on his chin. “It is complicated.”
“Oh, come on. You can’t tempt me with a backstory and then hold out at the last second. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen a TV or read a book?”
“Why is that?”
I point the forceps at him. “Don’t try to change the subject.”
“Fine,” he relents, “if you must know, it is … I am not sure of the word.” He pauses. “The direct translation would be ‘obligation’. Yes. An ancient obligation for some members of my family. My path has always led here.”
“And …?” I prompt. It’s clear he’s hesitant, but I hold my ground and he breaks.
“It demands that any King or Queen of Vhorath prove themselves in battle before taking the throne. It is a right of passage.”
I laugh. “Right. King Vexar.”
“I am serious,” he says, his tone matching his words.
King.
The heat in my blood turns to ice.Not a slave. Not a gladiator. A king.I slowly set down the needle-driver and forceps. “King? As in,youare a king?”
A pained look crosses his face. “Not exactly. I am still a prince.” He goes silent for a long moment. “Does that bother you?”
“You being a king … or, sorry, a prince?” I ask, my voice grating through the seized muscles in my throat.
He nods, and my thoughts start firing at a million miles a second. He’s a king. Not a slave. Not some guy fighting for a better life. He’s someone in power.Does he know I’m a slave? He has to, right?Then again, he did call this my “job”. Unless he’s playing dumb…
My stomach drops, and whatever feeling of safety I had is overridden by rational thought. He might not seem like a monster, but what do I know? I’ve known him for an hour, max.
And yet, my gut is telling me he isn’t lying. That he isn’t a monster. I mean, he did sound really sincere when he called this my “job.” And why would he say that if he already knew? What would be the point? And why would a king or prince opt out of medical care?
So either he’s lying to me and is just really, really good at playing dumb. Or he has no idea that I’m a slave, and despite being a prince, he was left to die in his cell…
A sickening feeling creeps up my spine. None of this feels right.
“What’s your … uh … kingdom?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm and failing.
His brow furrows. “The Vhorathi Empire.”
Empire.Not kingdom.I clench my hands together and watch my knuckles go white. “Where is this empire?”
The lines between his brows deepen, but he still looks so damn kind. So gentle and sincere. Like he thinks I might havehit my head or something. “Here, Amara. The Vhorathi Empire is here.”
Nausea rises in my throat as I remember the woman the Magistrate brought. The ‘Queen’. But no matter how hard I think about it, I just can’t imagine Vexar being related to that woman. His eyes are too kind. Too gentle. Too trustworthy. Maybe I’m being foolish, but I’ve always trusted my gut, and my gut is rarely wrong.
“You’re really a prince to this … empire? You’re not just messing with me?” I ask.
“Why would I lie about that?” he asks earnestly. Then he points to the large, scrolling tattoo that covers most of his chest, and when I show no sign of recognition, he deflates a bit. “It is my family lineage.”
At this point, it’s clear he thinks I’m some sort of idiot, but I think that’s a good thing. If he knew why I was here, he wouldn’t be surprised that I don’t know any of this. He would expect it. Slaves aren’t usually given history lessons, right?
“So Calidus is part of the Vhorathi Empire?” I ask, still needing extra confirmation.
“Yes.”
