My cheeks heat, but I give a light huff. “Then I would say you’re sorely in need of some lessons.”
“Are you volunteering?” he counters, eyes twinkling.
I nearly curse at the flutter of my pulse that hasn’t abated in the least. “No.”
With a stern shake of my head, I focus on the issue at hand: my dagger and potentially being thrown in the dungeons. That’s what is important, not the rich, rumbling sound of his laughter or his teasing banter or his stupidly pretty face. Why wouldn’t a prince of the realm report me at once? Does he intend to use the knowledge against me later? Or will the punishment come when I least expect it? My emotions are roiling all over the place, between alarm, desire, and unease.
“Come on, let’s go visit the forge,” the prince says. “Before the combat rounds.”
“Oh, fuck, the gladiatrix contest!” I say, and he gives a low chuckle at my language, a sound that burns through me. “What time is it?”
“You have about forty-five minutes,” he informs me after checking a pocket watch attached to his emerald-threaded vest. “More than enough time to show you the forge and make it to the competition grounds.”
I let out a groan. “Not if you have handmaidens who will murder you in your sleep if you don’t let them make you presentable. Apparently, that’s important when you’re about to fight to the death in some arena.”
“Appearanceiseverything in the Imperial House,” the prince says. His hand lands on the small of my back, and he guides me gently toward a narrow path between the hedges. I pretend I don’t notice the warm press of his fingers against my spine. “You did well with the riddle last night.”
I nearly stumble as we walk briskly back toward the palace. Has he been watching me? “Thank you, but I was lucky. And what even was the intent of that challenge? Riddles prove nothing. Intelligence comes in many forms.”
“Ah, but the ability to think under pressure is a wonderful indication of mental fortitude,” he counters with that crooked grin.
“Where did the girls who failed go? I heard screaming.”
“They slept in the dungeons,” he says.
“That’s cruel. They’re women, not criminals.”
The prince nods, and his tacit agreement makes fear wind up my spine as if this kind of practice is nothing new to him. “Focus on the next challenge. As you’ve just seen, one can never be too sure of the crown prince’s intentions or humors. He’s a fan of bloody sport.”
“Are you serious?” I was joking about thefight to the deathportion, but clearly if there’s blood involved, fighting tosurvivemight be the order of the day. Then again, women were sent to cells in the dungeons for failing to answer a fucking riddle.
He doesn’t answer, and soon we reach the outer edge of the maze. I realize once I get my bearings that I’m not far from where I started. The cupola of the southernmost turret of the palace is visible, and I can almost imagine my mother at the window peering down upon me. I wonder what she’d think of this whole wretched, misogynistic affair.
With a low bow, the prince’s lips brush my knuckles and heat travels up my arm into my chest, punching the air from my lungs. “I am not privy to the specifics or what’s expected of you in the arena, but place yourself at a defensible corner if you can.” Inscrutable warm brown eyes hold mine. “And stay alive.”
“Why are you helping me?” I ask.
“Perhaps for the same reason you sought to help that girl with my brother,” he says. “Moral obligation. Be safe, Lady Suraya.”
Curling my hand into a fist, I watch as he disappears back into the maze. I shake my hand as I walk rapidly toward the palace,the brand of his mouth seared into my skin. I feel fluttery and unsteady. The press of his lips had been so soft, the touch chaste and perfunctory—a salutation commonly used in court I’d read—but the storm it had stirred inside of me wasn’t virtuous in the least. What would those lips feel like elsewhere? I touch two fingers to my own lips and feel my cheeks burn.
Focus, you dolt, you’re about to die, and you’re fantasizing about kissing!
I reach my room with twenty minutes to spare, and both handmaidens give me matching glowers. Despite my desire to tell them I don’t require makeup, I know I will need them on my side for the near future... or for as long as I’m here, so I force a bright smile. “I’m so sorry, I was detained by the prince.”
I don’t specify which prince, but their eyes widen and the disapproval fades like magic. I grin internally—I’ll be sure to throw that excuse around more often!
I sit demure and still as my mussed hair is recombed, the three rows of braids along each side of my scalp deftly rewoven and regathered into a high tail intersected with gold clips. My skin is lightly contoured with powder, my eyes darkened with extra bold kohl, my eyelids and lips made brilliant with a glossy stain. I prefer Laleh’s hands—she managed to do my makeup and still allow me to feel like myself—but I have to admit, I look badass, like a warrior princess.
At least I’ll look the part, which might be half the battle.
Fight me at your own risk.
Once they are satisfied with my appearance, we join the line of contestants being herded outside to the waiting carriages. I once again search for Clem in the crowd, but it’s a sea of unrecognizable bodies.
As I suspected, the other chosen are dressed in leathers similar to mine proudly bearing the crests of their houses: dark green with a tree and scales for Aldebaran, burgundy with a burning torch and a furled scroll for Regulus, navy with a laurel wreath and two birds forFomalhaut, and gray with a snarling wolf with a crossed sword and ax for Antares. No doubt, the latter will dominate this challenge, but I’m certain there will be other tests of mental acuity as well as practical trades, courtly conduct, and artistic abilities. Each of the houses must be given a fair shot, after all.
This round, I’ll just have to try to keep my blood in my body where it belongs.
