I forget everything but the pain. Each step is excruciating. Ciprian tries not to jostle me, but my jaw is soon throbbing from the effort it takes to keep from crying out.
Crossing the rope bridge is horrifying, but Ciprian doesn’t miss a beat. He carefully navigates the wobbly path, and I can only tell he’s nervous from the slight tightening of his grip.
When he steps onto the narrow balcony of the birdcage, the last of my adrenaline abandons me. I cradle his face and pull his lips down to meet mine. The kiss grounds me even as my body trembles.Am I in shock?
If I’d lost the fight, how could I have chosen one of them to die? I didn’t let myself think about it before—losing wasn’t an option, but the question haunts me now. I cling to Ciprian, gasping into his mouth.
He’s real. He’s here. He demanded medicine and booze on my behalf. I know that, but?—
“Get inside,” Riven snaps.
Ciprian steps into the circular cell—the guard I knocked out with the pitcher is gone—and places me on the narrow cot. He pokes the thin mattress with one finger, then says, “Get a better bed too. Champions don’t sleep on glorified yoga mats.”
The door slams behind him, followed by the buzz of magic.
The remaining glow of my magic wilts inside me. It’s been fading since I left the arena, dampened by the holding room, then completely snuffed out by this cell.
Ciprian tosses the veydran cloak on the floor and reaches for the button of my pants.
“I don’t want you seeing this,” I protest, covering the angry burns with my arm.
He frowns. “I know Luca would be better, but I’m all you’ve got right now.”
“That’s not—” I hiss as I accidentally rub the back of my thigh against the scratchy bedding. “It’s not aboutyou.It’s aboutme.”
Ciprian studies me silently, his blond hair standing on end from the biting wind, then shakes his head. “Nope. You’re going to have to unpack this for me. I don’t get it.”
My cheeks heat. I’d rather not talk about this, but he leaves me no choice. “This is gross,” I say, pointing to my injuries. “I don’t want you to see me this way.”
I’m not sure what I’m expecting. For him to say something sweet or deny that it’s nasty, but when he throws his head back and laughs, I’m shocked. Then pissed.
I hurl the thin pillow at him, and he catches it. “You’re so fucking vain, Celine. I love it.”
“Taking pride in one’s appearance isn’t vanity,” I snap.
“Not always, it isn’t, but when you do it, it definitely is.”
“T-that’s not—stop laughing,” I demand.
Ciprian leans over me, bracing his hands against the cot on either side of my hips. “Look, you’re fried right now, but you could be as skinless as that freakish horse-man and I’d still want you.”
“Really?” My lips twist as I picture the shifter’s exposed veins and muscles. I can still smell his poisonous breath in my hair.
Ciprian winces. “Okay, maybe not, but I would try. Maybe if I closed my eyes.”
I giggle, and a piece of my stress falls away. “You’re crazy,” I whisper.
“Crazy about?—”
“Don’t say it,” I groan.
“What?” He kisses my cheek. “I was going to say Luca.”
My face falls. “Is he okay?”
Ciprian nods. “He told us about his parents.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, I’m surprised.”
