He clears his throat, addresses Marco directly. “Champion. The Emperor is waiting for you?”
Everyone stares at Marco, confusion written across their faces.
Then I catch it—the slightest flinch that crosses Marco’s features before he schools his expression back to perfect composure. A micro-expression of something that might be dread.
“Oh yes! Of course. I forgot.” Marco’s voice is satin smooth, controlled. “I’ll come immediately.”
Forgot? How could he have forgotten? How does someone forget a meeting with the Emperor?
He rises to his feet, movements steady despite the wine. But he stills for just a moment—just long enough that I notice. Like he’s gathering his strength for something. Steeling himself.
Then he follows the guard out. Not in chains, I note. Not dragged away like I was. Walking of his own accord, chin high, every inch the willing champion.
But willing doesn’t mean eager.
The door clangs shut behind them, and the silence stretches until Max breaks it with a crude laugh.
“I wonder how the Emperor will punish him for being late? Maybe a few extra rounds tonight?”
He’s sniggering like it’s the funniest thing in the world, but the joke falls flat. Elijah shifts uncomfortably. Cas stares into his wine.
Jason looks away sharply, his cheeks flushing red.
The sick feeling in my stomach spreads, cold and nauseating.
I hadn’t realized it was likethat.
And I almost wish I still didn’t know.
Because it only makes me care more than I should.
Chapter ten
Marco: Caged Bird
Iwalk home slowly in the humid night air. Victora is beautiful like this, when the stars are brighter than the houses, and the stadium is silent and dark. You can’t even see the wall that surrounds the city, or the vicious sentries perching in its crevices, alert to all the horrors of the outside world.
But eight hours from now the blistering sun will rise again, tearing the illusion apart street by street. Poverty, grinding work, the stink of dirty roads and the blood on the pavement. A meat grinder for all but the wealthy—the chosen class, of which I’m temporarily a part.
The men who walk two steps behind me, the guards, don’t talk to me. I’m not of their world. They do their work, they get paid, and they go home. They never speak a word of the things they see when they’re in my company.
I wonder what they think of me. After all, I’m a worker too, nothing more, albeit one wrapped in silk and gold.
When I was first let out of the dungeon, when the Emperor offered me the role of captain, I couldn’t imagine a day I’d choose to go back there. But now, knowing what awaits me in my grand villa, the exchange I agreed to make, I’d give almost anything for a few more hours with the team.
Light talk and a drink with Evander.
The company of the few men who treat me as an equal.
Robin…
Robin, listening to my story of home, that wistful look in his eyes. Did he recognize Atrea in my description?
It was stupid to say it, the wrong side of bold, but some part of me, spurred on by alcohol and misplaced hope, thought he might recognize it. Might recognize his kin.
Robin, who’s one of mine.
Robin, dripping wet, steam budding on his swollen arms. His nipples, pink and pert… and that big, hardening cock…
