Page 17

Intrigue sparked in Moros’ eyes, his grip on her neck tightening.

He wasn’t the only one.

Adrastos’ dark gaze drifted lazily toward the woman at their feet. The witch was already watching her with interest. I looked up at Kennon.

“O can take any form she wants.”

“Shifters are drawn to power above all things, and you are teeming with it,” Odessa purred, drawing my attention back to the stage. “So, do you prefer men or women? Because I’ll be whoever you want me to be. Picture your deepest fantasy, Your Majesty. I’ll see that it happens.”

For a moment, the shadows in his eyes made me think he’d tighten his grip and choke her out for the power she possessed.

But then the king… laughed.

A real laugh—deep within his chest, ragged at the edges of his voice.

His gaze shifted to the nearest guard, and with a magnanimous wave of his hand, he summoned the man forward to seize Odessa’s arm. Kennon tensed, but then the king announced, “We shall have fun, you and I.”

Branoc was next. My stomach knotted as guards led Odessa away to gods knew where and dragged him onto the platform by his shackled wrists.

Bold.

Ballsy.

And just as easily an execution order if the king hadn’t received her shameless approach well. It still could be, if he was truly as sadistic as we believed. How would she cope? How would she wrap her mind around becoming that monster’s concubine?

The commentator—treasure giver, whatever he was—announced the warrior’s statistics like he was reading from a baseball card. “Six feet, nine inches. Trained by the vanishing Terramyst wolves. Destined for the fighting pits, I’d wager.”

The crowd roared its approval.

Was that what this place was? A fighting pit?

“What do we say we start the bidding for this brute at ten thousand pounds?”

A life.

A human being.

Offered for the price of a used car. And this warrior—this celestial being—was going to be thrown into a fighting pit?

Cotton filled my ears, the ancient crack and skitter of ice calling from the depths of my mind, offering salvation. The numbness only the cold could provide.

I didn’t hear how much the Renown missing a chunk of his ear paid for Branoc. Only the roar of the crowd’s laughter when the wolf head-butted his alleged master.

Fuck. He’d pay for that later, no doubt.

As Kennon stepped ahead of me—as if he could shield me by falling on the sword first—my stomach sank. I had no strategy. The king could hardly entertain two of us, and I couldn’t fathom he’d allow such a display twice in one night. I eyed the witch and found her already watching me, her lips tipped up at one corner. I averted my gaze toward the hollering onlookers above us, clapping and jeering at Kennon’s final price.

My stomach tightened. Flipped.

Seven sisters, this was so fucked.

I’d barely stepped onto the stage when the witch called, “Madame Lukene, I have a feeling this one will fetch you a pretty penny from eager patrons.”

The surrounding men went mad. Some sort of chant erupted, but I couldn’t make out the words as my mind caught up with hers.

Madame.

As in…