“Birdie.” I squeeze Robin’s hands tight in mine. “This is it. They want you to play Jason’s match, against Harlan. They’re going to make it the finale. If you can beat him, this is it. You can make it through this season. You can make it through this game. I’m living proof—”
“Baby,” he quiets me, “I’m so happy for you.” But his tone is edged with sadness, like this is some sort of goodbye.
“No, you don’t understand. You don’t. Robin…” I drop to my knees at his side. “I will keep my promise to you. I will see your sister safe back home on Atrea. I will do that. But then…”
He loves me. I love him. But I don’t think I’ve ever felt more vulnerable than I do right now, about to suggest this to him.
Yet I know I cannot live without him.
“Robin, I’m coming back. I’m going to live here. I’m going to work here. And I’m going to stay with you. Until the day you walk out of here a free man.”
His answer takes too long. Like I’ve just told him I can fly, or that I’m made of solid gold. When it finally comes, it’s on a faltering gasp. “You’re mad.”
Maybe I am. But I don’t care.
I bring his precious hands to my lips and kiss them. Then I promise him, “I’m taking you home, birdie. I’m taking you home if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
Chapter thirty-nine
Robin: Home
The medical bay feels like a prison within a prison. Five days of Evander’s watchful eye, five days of pretending my ribs don’t scream every time I breathe too deep.
“Out.” Evander points at Cas, who’s perched on the edge of my bed for the third time today. “I’ve had enough of you hovering like a mother hen.”
“But—”
“No buts. Robin needs rest, not your constant chatter about arena strategy.”
Cas shoots me an apologetic look before shuffling toward the door. I know he’ll be back within the hour. He always is.
Cas and Marco have been keeping me fully informed on life outside Evander’s room. Marco has continued to train Cas and the other men—Max, Mikhail, Harlan—who are apparently giving Marco a very wide berth since he slaughtered Jason.
Marco killed Jason. Risked the Emperor’s wrath. For me.
He’s mine. He’s claimed me in blood and violence in that arena.
“Ready to go home?” Marco appears in the doorway, still sweaty from training.
Home. The word hits me sideways. When did his villa become that?
I push myself upright. “What? Is Evander finally releasing his prize patient?”
“Don’t push it,” Evander mutters from his desk. “You’re still healing. And really, you shouldn’t start training again for a while, but…”
Marco catches my eye. We’re both thinking exactly the same thing—I have only a handful of days to recover my strength before I fight Harlan. While I’ve been lying here letting my ribs heal, he’s been honing his strength, staying sharp.
Our escorted walk to the villa passes quickly. After not exercising for days, the chance to stretch my legs is blissful. My thigh pulls with each step, the knife wound still tender beneath Evander’s neat stitching, but it’s a dull ache. Before I know it, Marco opens his front door.
A blur of blonde hair launches itself toward me.
“Robin!”
The world stops.
My brain can’t process it. Can’t reconcile the impossible sight of my sister hurtling toward me when I’d accepted I’d never see her again. When I’d been preparing to die in that fucking arena without ever seeing her smile again.
“Esme—”
