She shifted in her chair. “Actually, money is why I’m here. I’m in a jam. I have an opportunity I think could help us both.”
He tipped his head and gave her an exasperated frown. “I was serious about what I said before. What I did was a onetime thing. I can never do it again, and I can’t go back there.” He lowered his voice on the last part. She didn’t blame him. If anyone else knew he’d conspired to throw a match so he could split the winnings of a friend’s bet on his competitor, he’d be in a ton of trouble. Only Harlow, who knew Brantley’s talent and fighting style so well, had seen through the ruse. She’d never divulged his secret to anyone.
She shook her head. “That’s not why I’m here. I’d never ask you to do that.”
“Oh.” His guilty expression morphed into a shallow smile. “Sorry… It’s just when you said this was about money… I assumed.”
“I know you regret what you did.”
“Enough that I can’t face the other fighters again. Even Aiden doesn’t know. She thinks I quit for family reasons. Nice story but not true. It was all shame.” He sank into his chair. “My winnings did pay for my eldest’s tuition at Rawkfist.”
Rawkfist was the premier private school in Paragon. Harlow had attended because at the time her parents were wealthy nobles. Brantley had gotten in on a rare needs-based scholarship set up by Eleanor to win over commoner support for her reign. That’s how it was then. The rich would do just enough to keep the poor complacent.
Back then, she hadn’t thought about it much, but becoming poor herself had brought her a level of clarity on the topic she’d never expected. Brantley’s father was a laborer who’d won the royal lottery, which meant Brantley became the token poor kid in an otherwise elitist academy. It was no secret who his parents were, or more importantly weren’t, and the pressure to avoid him was high. But the moment he’d won his first school pit match, she’d been intrigued. Her love for the game had led to a fast friendship that had only deepened over the years, to her parents’ dismay. They would have preferred her to keep her distance and spend more time with friends in her own social class.
Funny—now that she was poor, those so-called friends her parents loved wouldn’t give her the time of day. But Brantley was still Brantley. Solid as always. Maybe that’s why she refused to judge him for the choice he made to throw the match. In the same place, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t do the same.
“This is nothing like that,” she said. “I’ve been hired to coach someone.”
“Coach them in what?”
“Pit fighting.”
He gave a throaty laugh. “You’re kidding.”
She shook her head.
“Don’t get me wrong, Harlow. You know more about pit fighting than anyone in Paragon aside from me. But you’re a female.”
“I’ve kicked your ass before.”
“In the practice ring. It’s different in the pits. Who exactly hired you as their coach?”
She paused, wondering if it was a good idea to share too much. But if she was going to convince him to be a sparring partner, he had to know whom he’d be fighting. “Marius.”
His eyes narrowed in concentration, then widened as his eyebrows rose in shallow increments. “Royal, the-boy-who-might’ve-been-king Marius?”
She nodded. “He was raised from the dead. He has… physical challenges. He’s trying to get back into it.”
“And he hired you.”
She sighed. “I was in the right place at the right time.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“I need a sparring partner for him. I can’t coach him and be his partner. I’d pay you.”
He stared at her for a beat. “You’re serious.”
She nodded.
“So, I spar with this guy a few days a week, and you would pay me. How much are you talking?”
Harlow did a quick calculation in her head. “Fifteen dragmars a day.”
He scoffed. “Find someone else.”
“Twenty!”
