She and Felix edged farther from the lion as they slowly circled each other, panting, feet swishing the sand. Neither making a move toward the other.
What did the game master expect now? For them to fight each other still? Or the lion? Both?
Tears burned in her eyes, in the bridge of her nose, at the injustice of it all. To be killed by an animal was the worst humiliation Rome could inflict. How had she gone from the most beloved gladiatrix to this? How could she have lived this life and expected anything more?
God forgive me.
The screaming mob in the stands had never loved her. They’d only been a cheap distraction from the truest Love that had never left her. The One who died for her, sent friends to pursue her heart, rescue her. If that was not evidence of the love she’d craved, then what was?
Felix shuffled back a step and turned as a deepthudand snarl sounded behind him.
The game master must be getting impatient. The scene was set for the next battle.
Time to end this.
Felix shouted something indiscernible from the confines of his helmet, his body tensing toward her as a chain rattled out of the trapdoor.
Adel pressed her lips together, tears threatening, anger rising at what she was made to do for sport, for fun. For an afternoon’s conversation that would be forgotten by the next week. She angled the blade and thrust as Felix lunged forward.
Her sword met his ribs and disappeared.
A sharp pain bowed Felix forward, but not before he caught the glimmer of terror and anger etched in Adel’s face. He’d done his best to defend her blows, to make the match last without attacking outright. And what did any of it matter? The beasts circled, tethered for now, but that could change in a moment. And yet, this had been the plan all along. Adel was the victor, wasn’t she? He dropped his gladius and felt for her blade, grip protruding from his ribcage.
“I’m sorry, Felix.” Her words emerged broken and cracked. She released the blade into his hands and stumbled back a step, arms sagging at her sides, chest heaving.
Air. He needed air.
Knees shaking in a way that betrayed the coming fall, he reached up and clawed at the leather strap beneath his chin. Warmth dribbled from the hand pressed against his side. Adel stepped forward, freeing the strap and ripping the helmet from his head in a motion that sent the crowd cheering. It dropped to the sand and rolled against his ankle. He should be able to breathe now but the air seemed too thick for his lungs.
Adel swayed. He reached for her, as if to steady her, but fell to his knees instead. She hit the sand beside him, her arms wrapping around his chest as he turned to nothing but weight. Her hands shook as she touched his side, stroked his face. “Why is there so much blood?Felix.” A thread of panic laced her words.
The gag prevented him from speaking, from sucking in a full breath. She cradled his head in her lap and choked back a sob as her shaking fingers worked ineffectively at the knots. Had the lions retreated? She needed to leave him, stand and raise her sword as victor. This would not help her. He tried to push her away but she persisted, bending overhim, tears coursing down her cheeks. The knot gave beneath her prying fingers and he drew in a short breath. Coughed.
“I’m sorry.” Adel glanced at the gladius, then drew her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes rolling and fluttering slightly.
“Adel. Look at me. Look at me.” He reached up and cupped her chin, tilting it up until her gaze met his. “We did it. You’re safe. You’re the victor. Don’t tell me the most vicious gladiatrix in Rome wobbles at a little bit of blood.”
She swallowed hard, her chest beginning to rise and fall in rapid breaths. “You should not be bleeding at all.”
“Shhh. It’s nothing.” He winked, reached up and brushed his fingers over her cheek, exchanging her tears for a streak of red. He’d do it all again a dozen times if it meant she’d walk out of this arena alive and free. “Stand up. Take my sword. Claim your victory.”
Adel’s fingers firmed against the sides of his face and she hesitated only a fraction of a breath before she dropped her mouth to his. The crowd roared, nearly but not quite drowning out the scrape of wheels and the rush of footsteps thudding toward them across the sand. He reached up, fingers threading into her loose hair as he cradled the back of her head, drawing her closer, her lips warm and desperate against his. She pulled away too soon, her thumbs sliding over the ridges of his cheekbones.
“Thank you.” Her voice broke. “For... for everything.”
“Go,” he whispered and gave her a gentle push. Adel rocked to her feet and scooped up his gladius, turning away from him and raising it over her head.
“Does this amuse you?” She raised her chin to the stands, shrieking in a voice that shook with anger and tears. “Is this what you wanted?”
The scraping of wheels stopped. Felix turned his head, noticing that the lions had been withdrawn. Two arena slaves dropped the handles of a body cart and moved toward him, one at his shoulders and the otherat his feet. With more finesse and less gentleness than the undertakers, they heaved him atop it and jolted into a run, yanking and jerking the cart behind them. Felix gritted his teeth against the pain and looked back, meeting Adel’s gaze as she held the gladius over her head in a pose of half-hearted victory.
He breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was going as planned after all. She would live, he would—
“You look awfully happy for a man about to have his throat cut.”
“She won,” Felix grunted, as they hit a bump, nearing the gate of death. “She’s safe.”
The slave laughed. “For a few minutes.”
