Kaidren doesn’t notice. He’s staring through the mesh over my eyes, attention fixated on the face he can’t see, breathing deeply.
Before he can react, I twist. Clench my thighs, rotate my hips, and roll us over.
I’m poised over him, straddling his torso. My face hovers above his, a gasp of air away, both of us are out of breath—
And I’ve got a knife’s blade pressed to his throat.
The haze of desire fades from his eyes. His mouth drops open in shock.
He can’t see my face, but I smirk. I lean, masked mouth tohis ear. “I believe this means I win.” I deepen my voice, so he doesn’t recognize it. And just to rub it in, I add, “Bastard Vale.”
The rest of the world comes sharply into focus.
The arena is screaming around us. Even louder than before, because there’s a winner and it’sme.
The remaining soldiers drop their weapons. A few peel off their masks, looking relieved.
I count them. We started with twenty-one. There are eight bodies scattered across the field, either dead or too injured to stand.
I scramble off Kaidren. He’s still panting, looking shocked, but I ignore him. My eyes search for Luc, wishing I could remove my mask so he can see my grin.
That brief swell of pride wisps away. My heart falls.
Luc is on the other side of the arena, joined by Tarek Fain, General of the decurio. He grabs one of Luc’s arms and raises it, heralding him as the winner, calling on the audience to cheer for their Praeceptor, champion of the first trial.
As the General shouts to the crowd, going on and on about Luc’s impressive victory, and the audience shrieks and stomps their feet in the stands, Luc doesn’t glance back at me. Not even once.
Blood and fervor pulse through me, fiery enough to burn.
I keep staring, willing my brother to look at me. Willing him to meet my gaze with a secret smile that says that heseesme. That he knows this moment, this victory, is because of me.
He doesn’t.
Icy tears of hurt and fury sting my eyes.
The survivors of Luc’s team gather around him. They jump, celebrating him, applauding him, right along with the rest of the crowd.
Luc cheers with them. Smiling wide enough to split his face open. And still, he doesn’t look at me.
My heart cracks in two. Both halves shatter in the snow.
I don’t move. I just watch. My throat burns with words I want to scream, but I can’t, because I’m not a person with a voice. I’m a shadow in the rafters, and shadows are, above all else, silent.
Icrafted him a plan for victory.Iforced him to memorize it.Itook the mortal risk of disguising myself as a soldier.Icharged across a field of war and blood.Iwrestled a man trying to kill me to win Luc this victory.
And none of it matters. He doesn’t care, and when this is over, after I’ve won him his Tournament and stolen him his throne, nothing will have changed. Not for me, anyway.
Ice and steel. You’re made of ice and steel.
Normally, if I repeat it to myself enough times, I can force myself to feel it. Freeze my heart, hide it behind a steel wall, and fake a smile.
Here, surrounded by snow and screaming spectators, my rage doesn’t cool.
I am a cheat, a sneak, and a thief. All I have to show for it is a temporary place in Luc’s shadow. It isn’t fair. Nothing is. Fairness is the childish fantasy of a starheaded little girl who used to dream of this life I’ve grown to hate.
For the past five years, I’ve dedicated my life to being anything and everything that Luc needs me to be. Stealing power, trading secrets, all to suit him—and he can’t even spare me a glance after I’ve risked my life so he can have it all.
“You’re either useful to me, or you’re nothing.”
