There’s something almost reassuring about her bluntness.
“So, what now?” I ask.
“First, we move you to more secure quarters.” She gestures toward the door.
The chambers they assign me span an entire wing of the arena’s residential section. Rooms that shift and adapt to my presence, walls that display any view I desire, furniture that molds itself to my body. Everything designed for a ruler. I sink onto the massive bed in my personal chambers, still wearing the bloodstained arena attire, and close my eyes.
Raised voices from the corridor jolt me back. Ren’s sharp tone cuts through the door, then a deeper voice I recognize immediately.
“I don’tcarewhat protocols you’ve established. I need to speak with her.”
“Lord Zevran – she’s under Cardinal protection. No one enters without clearance.”
“Thengetclearance.”
“It doesn’t work that way?—”
A pause. Then Zevran’s voice drops lower, and I can’t make out the words. Whatever he says makes Ren go quiet. I hear the crackle of a comms device, then an exasperated sigh.
“Fine. You have five minutes.” A moment later, the door opens.
Zevran moves inside, his jaw set. He’s changed into formal courtattire – deep red and black that emphasizes his commanding presence. When he looks at me, I see exhaustion mixed with anger and confusion.
I notice the signs immediately – healer’s instinct, even now. His shoulder sits properly in its socket, no longer twisted at that horrible angle from the arena. His ribs are bandaged beneath his shirt, the fabric sitting differently over his torso. The bruising on his face has faded to pale yellow instead of the deep purple I expected. My healing in the arena did more than I realized.
“How long have you known?” he asks finally.
“Always.” The admission sits heavy in the small space.
“Every time you healed me.” His jaw tightens. “When I trusted you with my weaknesses, when I let you see things I show no one else. You were evaluating me. Learning about the Lord of Mars for future use.”
“That’snotwhat I was doing.”
“Isn’t it?” He moves closer, and I can see the anger warring with something else in his expression. “Tell me, Cyra – how much of what happened between us was real, and how much was the Sun King’s daughter playing averylong game?”
The accusation hits harder than it should. My hands start shaking, withdrawal symptoms spiking with stress – and I clench them into fists.
“I never lied about my feelings,” I whisper.
“Just about everything else.” He goads.
“I was trying tosurvive. I’ve been trying to survive my entire life. Do you know what they do to people like me? I watched my mother live in fear for twenty-eight years. I couldn’t—” My voice breaks. “I couldn’t tell anyone. Not even you.”
“Especially not me.” His voice is bitter. “The Lord of Mars, who might one day need to be your enemy.”
“You’renotmy enemy.”
“Then what am I, Cyra?”
I don’t have an answer. Everything between us has shifted, the ground beneath our feet turning to quicksand.
“She knew,” he adds quietly. “Lioraknewthis entire time. Shestood in my court for years, healing my nightmares, watching me grieve. And she never said a word.”
He runs a hand over his face, and in that gesture, I see his exhaustion. The heaviness of betrayal mixed with understanding he doesn’t want to feel.
“I keep trying to be angry,” he says quietly. “To hold onto it. Then I think about what you must have been carrying all this time. The fear. The constant hiding.” He looks at me, and the anger in his eyes has softened. “I don’t know what to do with that.”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
