She pulls her chin back, a perplexed look on her face. Then her eyes widen. “Are you talking about the time on the tour when I said I’d weep over your remains? That’s different.”
“How so?”
“The subject of your demise began with me stating I’d pay to see you get struck down by lightning. Then I said I’d laugh if you got hit by a train.”
I release a halfhearted chuckle that sends a spear of pain through my jaw. “Ah, right. Only then would you weep over my remains.”
“Only then,” she echoes. “Seriously, though, are you all right? Are you…concussed, or whatever that horrible thing is that happens to human brains?”
“I’m not concussed,” I say, though maybe I am. I’ve been concussed before, during one of the first boxing matches I participated in, long before I’d developed any skill in the sport. Even if I am, she need not concern herself too much. I feel fine now and heal relatively quickly, with or without the aid of the green sprites or the medicinal mushrooms in the room. But I don’t tell that to Daphne. “How long was I out?”
“A minute or two maybe? The referee and Master of Ceremonies dragged your pathetic corpse in here, and I rushed down to see if you were all right.”
I give her a coy look. “And you decided to offer me your lovely thighs as a pillow?”
She narrows her eyes to a glare and pokes me hard in the arm. “I sat next to you, that’s all. You’re the one who reached for me and wormed your way onto my lap.”
The blood drains from my face. I don’t recall doing that. Thank fuck it was Daphne beside me and not Grave Danger. Speaking of…
“Did that asshole get disqualified too?”
“Yes,” she says through her teeth, poking me in the arm again—my bicep this time. “What the hell did you say to him that made him want to kick you in the head? And why did you choke him?”
“What didIsay? Me? He’s the one who…” I trail off, not wanting to admit the truth.
But Daphne can read it on my face. Her glare softens. “Then…what didhesay?” She lowers her voice. “Was it my fault?”
I angle my head in her lap to pin her with a serious look. “Why the hell would you think it’s your fault?”
Her lips pull into a grimace. “I sort of…snarled at him.”
I purse my lips to hide my grin. “Did you now?”
“I did. He looked at me and I just…snarled. Teeth and all.”
Why am I so flattered by that? “It’s not your fault.” If I relayed the vile words my opponent spat at me, shewouldthink it’s her fault, but it isn’t. It’s mine. I knew Grave Danger was goading me. That’s what he does when he’s in the ring. He riles up his opponent and makes them sloppy.
But I don’t get sloppy.
I get bloody angry.
At least I did this time. His words have never gotten to me during any of our previous matches because I’ve never given him the right fuel. All he’s had at his disposal before are petty jibes at my past, calling merich boy, ridiculing me for being cast out of the aristocracy, disinherited by my father, fired from almost every job I’ve had.
Fucking laughable. Even more so because everyone knows Grave Danger is a rich boy too. A menace to the aristocracy I was ousted from.
Then tonight…
Tonight, I unwittingly gave him the right kind of fuel. Tonight, I gave him Daphne.
Is she your girl? No? Mind if I fuck her senseless after our fight?
Rage boils my blood at the memory, and that was only the beginning. What really set me off was what he said last.
She looks a little feral. Bet she likes it rough. How rough do you think she’d take it? A little teeth? A little blood? Some light choking?—
All I could think was to silence him. Destroy every part of him that could form another word about her.
My only consolation is that perhaps my disqualification was all part of the plan. Notmyplan, but my moneylender’s. Siegfried Financial has a heavy hand in fixed boxing matches, which is how I make my weekly payments—the ones I can no longer afford to pay on my own, thanks to the overwhelming interest that continues to rise. Each Friday I enter the roster of fighters, get called to fight a mystery opponent, and lose before the final round. Sometimes I receive instructions on which round to lose during, and on rare occasions, I’m even ordered to win. Tonight, I received no demand to get disqualified, only to lose.
