In the darkness. In the silence. With nothing but the sound of our breathing and the distant roar of the crowd still celebrating in the fighting pits.
Something was wrong. Something had changed.
Ahrick's body was tense beside me—not the relaxed tension of a fighter coming down from adrenaline, but the coiled readiness of someone preparing for action. I felt it in the way he held himself, in the set of his shoulders, in the way his eyes kept flicking toward the door.
Minutes passed. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Each one feeling like an eternity.
I wanted to ask him what was happening, but I stayed silent, trusting him.
Then, finally, the sound of boots moving away from the door. The scuff of footsteps growing fainter and fainter until they disappeared entirely down the corridor.
Ahrick waited another full minute before he moved.
Then his whole body seemed to exhale, the tension draining out of him in a rush. His arms came around me properly, pulling me against his chest, and I felt him tremble.
"Ahrick?" I whispered, my hands coming up to frame his face. "What's wrong? What happened?"
He didn't answer immediately. Just held me, his face buried in my hair, his breath warm against my neck. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were haunted.
"Hewes called me to his office before the fight," he said quietly. "He knows about us."
Ice flooded my veins. "How?"
Anyone with eyes saw we cared about each other, but only here, in the prize room, alone together, did we let our true feelings show. Only here did we touch like this, speak like this, let the masks fall away completely.
But knowing Declan—the bastard probably had the place bugged.
The thought made my stomach turn. How many of our private moments had he witnessed? How many whispered confessions had he recorded? Every touch, every kiss, every time thinking we were safe—
"Merrilee." Ahrick's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "Don't. Whatever you're thinking, stop."
"He could have been watching us this whole time," I said, the words tasting like ash. "Listening. Recording everything."
"I know." His hands cupped my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. "I've known it was a possibility from the beginning. These rooms—they're designed to give the illusion of privacy, but men like Hewes don't leave anything to chance."
"Then why—"
"Because I needed you," he said simply. "Because some things are worth the risk. Because even if he heard every word, saw everything—I don't regret a single moment with you."
"Neither do I," I whispered.
His lips brushed against mine, soft and gentle—so different from the fierce warrior who fought in the pits. This was just us. Just Ahrick and Merrilee, stripped of everything else.
I kissed him back with the same tenderness, my hands sliding up to rest against his chest. I felt his heartbeat beneath my palms, steady and strong. The kiss deepened slightly, but remained unhurried, almost reverent. When we finally parted, he rested his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips.
"Whatever happens," he murmured, "remember this."
"Always," I promised.
"Hewes gave me an order," Ahrick continued, his voice rough. "He told me to throw the fight. To let Korroth win."
My breath caught. "Korroth. The Draxian."
"Yes." His hands tightened on my arms. "Hewes wanted information about shipping routes that Korroth had. So Hewes ordered me to allow him to win you as payment."
The implications crashed over me like a wave. "But you didn't—you won—"
"I couldn't let him have you." The words came out fierce, absolute. "I couldn't let that monster touch you, Merrilee. I don't care what it costs me."
