Well. Close enough to a god—if gods were infuriatingly beautiful and perpetually smug.
“Are you all right?” His voice was clipped, but the heat in it was as undeniable as the way it had taken half the clan to hold him back in the stands.
“No,” I ground out. My throat felt raw. Every inch of me ached. “But thank you for asking. And for bringing me here, by the way.”
What right did he have to be upset at seeing me hurt? Without him, I never would’ve been trapped in the Trials.
But as he steadied me—his hand braced between my shoulder blades, his warmth seeping through the fabric of my torn tunic—the thought that followed twisted sharp inside me.
What if he was right?
What if the curse was always coming for me? What if, in his infuriating, arrogant way, he’d really saved my life?
I hated the wound of uncertainty that question carved through my anger.
“Let’s get you to a healer.” He sounded as commanding as always.
“You make quite the show of seeming to care about me,” I murmured as he lifted me. I nestled my head into his hard shoulder. I didn’t mind him carrying me. It was effortless for him, after all. “Are we still pretending you’re going to marry me? Was that show in the stands to make your mother think you’ve gone mad with love?”
“You know me.” His lips turned up, infuriatingly handsome as always. “Always scheming.”
“I do admire that about you…when I don’t despise it.”
“Progress,” he said. “Disdain with atouchof admiration now. I’ll take it. By the time we’ve been married for a year, you might evenlikeme.”
The crowd parted for him as he carried me through. Even bloodied and bruised, the other shifters lowered their gazes when he passed. His power radiated like heat from a forge—commanding, inescapable.
The healers’ quarters had been expanded into an entire tent at the edge of the arena, but he carried me past the enormous tent and into the regular quarters.
The place was full of commotion, with spillover into the halls and surrounding classrooms.
He set me down on a long stone bench covered in a soft mattress, the sudden absence of his warmth making me shiver.
“We’re doing triage,” the healer started briskly—then froze when she registeredwhostood before her. “Of course we’ll tend to her immediately, my lord.”
I blinked at the title, disoriented.
“Did you just cut the line?” I rasped, pushing myself halfway upright despite the pain that shot through my chest.
Fieran crouched beside me, his large hand brushing a strand of hair from my face with disarming gentleness. He leaned close enough that his breath warmed my ear.
“Continuing the ruse,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t my future wife have the very best care? Of everything?”
The healer’s magic flowed through me like molten sunlight. Warmth spread through my limbs, dulling the pain, softening the sharp edges of thought. My body relaxed like I was sinking into a hot bath after a winter storm.
“Your wife would deserve it for putting up with you,” I muttered.
He laughed. “Yes. Tell me what she would deserve.”
I bit my tongue to keep from babbling. I had no idea what might spill from my lips in this state.
“Done?” he asked, glancing up at the healer.
“She’ll need rest to finish her recovery,” she warned.
“She’ll have it.” He slid an arm behind my knees and another around my back, lifting me again before I could protest.
I pressed a weak hand against his chest. “Fieran?—”
