The needle slides through my skin again. I stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the stone, trying not to picture Marco’s face when the Emperor’s guards came for him. Trying not to imagine those hands—the same hands that held me tightly against him last night—being chained behind his back.
Please, please let him be able to talk his way out of this.
Chapter thirty-eight
Marco: Pledge
It feels like an hour since Bishop and Cross left. An hour of game architects muttering, wandering off to discuss me, Julius pacing, and the Emperor silently glowering from his big chair.
I know it can’t have been that long, but every second feels like eons.
From up here, I can see the spectators still wandering out of the stadium, finishing their drinks, making plans for where they’ll go next.
They’re happy. They got what they came for.
The sponsors aren’t so pleased, certainly not any of Jason’s sponsors, but they’re not allowed in here anyway. Nothing happens until Cross and Bishop get back. Then it will be compensation in whatever way. Repaying investments. Smoothing feathers. Maybe even an eye for an eye.
I can’t say I regret killing Jason. It felt incredible. It still does, even with his dry blood sticky on my fingers. And it’s not like I had a choice. I couldn’t drag Robin out there and murder him. Not like that.
But the understanding of the consequences is sinking in.
The thought of them investigating Robin is topmost in my mind. I hate the idea they might drag him over here, aching and broken. Surely even they can see he couldn’t walk, let alone play the game.
But mercy doesn’t figure in their calculations. I know that as well as any other man.
I’ve made it clear to them already, Robin had no say in this. Robin didn’t know what I was going to do.
Ididn’t know what I was going to do.
A voice drifts over my shoulder, thick with contempt. “Does he really mean so much to you?”
“Father!” Julius hisses.
“What if he does?” I return. Maybe I shouldn’t answer him with such a brutal truth, but what difference can it make now? Our fates are being decided down in that dungeon, and my feelings toward Robin can hardly figure in their deliberation.
The Emperor’s lip curls, and his disapproval amuses me for some sick reason, prompting me to ask, “I’m sorry, were you planning to marry me?”
Julius stills, his face growing pale, probably at the very thought of it. His father’s cheeks flush red, and I turn away from the window to address him properly. “Were you planning to raise me out of slavery? Convert me from poverty to royalty? Present me to your people as their new ruler?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he seethes.
I laugh. “It is ridiculous, isn’t it? A stupid notion. Men like me are only playthings for men like you. According to all your history books, it was ever so. And it always will be. So what do you even care what I do in that filthy little dungeon you keep your pets in?”
“You’ll hold your tongue, captain,” comes Julius’s sharp, clipped speech.
“For what purpose? Did you not hear that crowd?” My arm extends, sweeping over the view of the vast and silent arena. “They want me to be free. They have chosen me and begged for your seal of approval.” My hand curls into a fist, and I point across the room at the Emperor. “More than that, you have promised me my freedom.” Julius’s head cuts toward his father, but I speak on. “Five years, you said. Five years, and I was the ultimate fighter, was I not? Didn’t I put on a show for you, and for all your people? Didn’t I keep them happy? Didn’t I keep you happy?”
His chin rises, haughty, as though I haven’t seen him at his most vulnerable a thousand times over.
“Yes. I did. Endless nights, hundreds of nights, I kept you happy. Made you feel like a man. Made you believe it was all my choice, didn’t I?”
His hands tighten on the arms of his chair, fingers turning white.
“Didn’t I?” I shout at him.
Julius takes the stairs fast, his soles hitting the floor with a sharp resonance, then my head snaps across, the sharp sting of the back of his hand exploding through my cheek.
It’s almost comical. This soft little man, slapping me, twice his size, defending the father I know he hates. I don’t even feel the urge to hit him back. We both know it would be instant death for me if I did, but more than that, it just feels so… ludicrous.
