Perhaps they’re in denial, or perhaps they’re all so egotistic, so entirely confident in their immortality that they haven’t yet realized what they let themselves in for.
When Taron vanished below deck to our cabin, still exhausted from the first trial, I went in search of a washroom. Mostly because my eyes were still stinging with seawater, but also because I wanted to briefly lock myself away to collect my thoughts.
It was a fanciful thought.
We only have two washrooms to share among the lot of us. They’re cramped, barely large enough to turn around in, and the lanterns flicker weakly, casting long shadows that move like ghosts against the walls. I could barely splash some water on my face and have a drink before someone hammered on the door.
“Hey, some of us are waiting out here,” Gigi slurred. “Ifyou don’t come out in the next three seconds, I swear I’ll burn the door down!”
An unlikely threat to make good on, although I wouldn’t put it past them. So here I am, with the corridor spinning in front of me. I straighten, taking a slow, shaky breath to calm myself – a mouthful of stale dampness.How do people get used to this?
One foot in front of the other, Talia, I tell myself as I stagger towards the cabin I share with Taron. I practically hurl myself around an incoming corner, gasping when I nearly collide with someone.
He’s tall, towering over me, and he’s shirtless. Cyrus. His eyes have a golden-brown tint to them, appearing even darker now in dim light.
“Slow down, Freckles,” he says, eyes blatantly sweeping over me, lingering a moment too long on the torn hem of my dress where it cuts off at my thighs.
I shift uncomfortably, and his smile only widens. He leans in a little closer, a stray blond hair falling across his forehead.
“Shame about your dress,” he says in a low, almost playful tone. “Though, I have to admit, I wouldn’t have minded being the one to tear it.”
Heat spreads across my face so fast it makes me dizzy. I’ve never had a guy look at me like this before; never felt this strange, fluttery mix of embarrassment and confusion. It feels like a layer of me has been peeled back, left bare forthe world to see. I’m not sure how to react. Not sure how Iwantto react.
My tongue is numb, my thoughts jumbled by the sheer boldness of his words. It’s his confidence, how at ease he is within any space he occupies, that unnerves me.
Cyrus winks and something inside of me snaps. I narrow my eyes. Maybe it’s just arrogance, masquerading as confidence. Wrapped neatly in a handsome package, held together with the bow of his sickly-sweet tongue.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I shoot back. “You’d never get the chance.”
Cyrus chuckles, unfazed. Tiny creases form in the outer corners of his eyes, dancing when he smiles. He’s enjoying the challenge.
“We’ll see about that,” he murmurs, slowly stepping forward to close the distance between us. “I like a little fire. It makes things … interesting.”
I stiffen. This infuriating, cocky, self-centred man, thinking I’ll fall at his princely feet like all the others. And this after he had me by the neck yesterday in the Lucky Fish.
I don’t have the patience for whatever game he’s playing, so, with a final glare in his direction, I brush past him, my heart still pounding in my ears.
“Your boyfriend. He’s a Luna, right?” Cyrus asks, fingers grazing my forearm, sliding gently across my wrist as he pulls me to a stop. “Quite powerful, from what I saw during the trial.”
I glance over my shoulder at him, pulling my wrist away. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Oh, even better.”
Before I can make another attempt at an exit, he takes two long strides forward, lips parted in a greedy sort of way as he keeps his stare pinned to me.
I back away, but hit the cold wall of the corridor. He corners me, one hand braced against the wood beside my head. The narrow space between us seems to shrink, and his bare chest is inches from mine.
His scent fills the air – something warm, like sandalwood and sea salt, mixed with the faint, musky scent of sweat and the ocean breeze still clinging to his skin.
There’s no denying that, up close, Cyrus is even more striking – everything you’d expect a prince to be. The sharp line of his jaw perfectly defined, as though sculpted from marble. His freckles. The fullness of his lips. Their natural curve rests somewhere between a smirk and a challenge, the kind of mouth that draws you in without meaning to.
“Don’t you think we might be of use to each other in the tournament?” he asks. “We could work together, your team and mine.”
“Not a chance.” I’m flustered, despite myself.
“If you say so.” His breath is warm against my skin. “One thing you should know about me is I always get what I want.”
I part my lips, debating a reply, when the door to oneof the cabins further down the corridor opens and Taron steps out. I didn’t even realize where we were.
