“No, not me,” I whispered.
“I'm glad,” he whispered back.
I cleared my throat. “So, it was a blow you took during the tourney? Why didn't it heal?”
His smile left, replaced by a serious, if not stern, countenance. “It went on several days, and I fought through them all, sometimes for hours at a time. Between the constant cuts and the sweat on my brow, the wound didn't heal fast enough.”
“Don't you wear armor?”
“During a crown tourney?” Rian lifted his brow. “No. We are already resilient people. With armor on, a tourney could last weeks.”
“Ah, I see.”
He chuckled, the seriousness vanishing. “You aren't disgusted by it?”
“By the scar?” I asked in surprise.
He nodded, his mouth tightening.
“No. Why would I be?”
“Because it's an imperfection.”
An imperfection. Ah. Now it made sense. His love of fashion. His need to look presentable. That night when he came to me disheveled, he apologized for how he looked.
Because he was already imperfect.
I burst out laughing. It was the best way I knew of to deal with feelings of inadequacy. I was deeply familiar with them, and so I knew what I'd need to get over them. Laughter.
Rian gaped at me. Then he scowled. “Why are you laughing?”
I settled into a smile and said, “Maybe I shouldn't tell you. I like you thinking I'm more beautiful than you are.”
He blinked. “You think I'm beautiful?”
I went serious. “Rian, I think you are magnificent. That scar of yours is what attracted me to you. Without it, I never would have given you that unspoken invitation to seek me out.”
“Truly?” Rian leaned back. “Why?”
“Well, it's not what I thought.”
“What did you think it was?”
I sighed and said, “When I saw your scar, I thought, 'This man has suffered. There's pain on his face and in his eyes. He is like me.”
Rian went still. The only movement was from the rapid blinking of his eyes, then the parting of his lips. “You saw that?”
I frowned. “But I was wrong.”
“No, you weren't. The Crown Tourney was held centuries ago, long before the Dragon God awoke and outlawed tourneys to the death.”
“You had to kill your opponents?” I whispered.
Rian nodded. “Some of them were friends.”
“Dear Gods,” I whispered.
“The truth is . . .” He paused. “Fuck, I've never told this to anyone.”
