The sheer ridiculousness of this entire situation hits me, and I break into laughter, the palm of my hand coming up to soothe the small pain on my cheek.
But Julius’s eyes stay fixed on mine, and something in them strikes me. An intensity about his brow, a depth I didn’t know he was capable of. And as the warning sinks in, the smile dies on my lips.
It’s not for his father. Something in that look tells me it’s not.
It’s fleeting. He turns away as the door opens on the far side of the room. Kane Bishop and Silas Cross proceed into the room with all the pomp of their self-importance.
Bishop delivers the news immediately. “He’s telling the truth. There’s no way Shore could have played the match.”
Some intense lightness at the justification almost brings that smile back to my lips.
But then he speaks on. “He’s in a coma. There’s no waking him.”
The words hit me with full, horrifying force.
Robin. In a coma.
Julius is back on his perch, shouting about what that means for the remaining matches, about how their Crown Shipping contract is too important to jeopardize.
Because Jason is dead.
Because Robin can’t play.
Because Robin is in a coma.
I curl my fingers against the sweat on my palms.
I shouldn’t have left him. What if that was my last chance to speak to him? Ever? And I ran out of there without so much as a goodbye. And now his sister, who’s in my care…
Fuck. I’ve fucked everything up so badly.
“He’ll play,” says Silas. “That doctor said he’ll fix him in time. Otherwise, just get Marco to do it.”
My heart skips a beat, then feels as if it stills entirely when Julius’s quiet, “No,” draws every head toward him. He doesn’t look at me or at them, only stares distantly at the wall. “No, they want Verus’s freedom. That’s clear.”
The Emperor is evidently even more shocked than I am to hear those words. “He disobeyed! Surely, Julius, you can see what precedent this sets, letting the men run rampant down there.”
“There’s only one man running rampant as far as I can tell,” Julius sneers. “He’s your captain. You chose him to make decisions like these, and it’s apparent you made the right choice. The public has no idea there’s any mess, so long as we don’t let on. He’s left us in a good position.” His face tilts up, voice turning authoritative as he addresses the head architect. “Keep us posted on Shore’s condition. He’s got two weeks to heal. If he can play the final match, all will be well. If not…” He lets out a long sigh, his gaze lingering on me. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Bishop and Cross bow, understanding that’s their cue to leave.
Meanwhile, I wait, the Emperor’s rage barely suppressed, his eyes digging into me. “I should feed you to the butcher ants.”
It’s on my lips to tell him that maybe he should. That if Robin dies, I’ll kill him, if he doesn’t kill me first. That nothing would give me more pleasure than to gut him, hang his entrails from the palace balcony for all of Victora to see.
Only one thing stops me. The oath I made to Robin to care for Esme.
I drop to my knees, eyes on the floor, always and again his slave. “Forgive me, my lord. I thought it was the best course of action. Had there been more time, I would have consulted you and sought your approval. My actions were born of responsibility to the game and to you.”
A disgusted snicker leaks from him. He doesn’t believe the words any more than I do. “Give me one reason I should let you leave this room alive.”
Because I have earned it. I have earned it with every drop of sweat, every liter of blood, every cut and slash and death that’s on my calloused and soiled hands.
But I don’t say any of it.
Because Julius speaks first. “He needs to attend the final ceremony. A lot of people will be coming to see him made free. So you won’t touch a hair on his head until that’s done.”
Relief sweeps me. Some anxious relief, all guilt and fear for Robin and the madness of the situation—what it means for any of us.
