Page 47 of Kingdom of Tomorrow
“Round over,” the HP said as I took my first step.
“No!” The denial burst from my tongue. I couldn’t have lost in round two.
My world righted as I lifted my lens. Oh, I’d lost all right. The cubbies were filled, several teammates eyeing me with sympathy.
Jericho winked. “No meal vouchers for you and your new bump buddy, eh, Ardie. Bet you lost your shot at top soldier too. Not that you ever had one.”
I ground my teeth, angry, disappointed and embarrassed.
“Roosa, you’re out,” High Prince Dolion announced, devoid of emotion. His arctic expression proved worse than my injuries. “Get her to an exam room.”
A medic rushed over to press a piece of cloth beneath my stinging nose and help me to my feet. I stumbled out the door as the HP began his explanation of round three. For some reason, leaving him was the last straw, and I teared up. It wasn’t that the HP was a comforting presence. I just—I missed my mom more than ever. And my plants. And Shiloh and Mykal. The HP was the next best thing. Someone I had begun to kind of, sort of trust.
The medic ushered me to the medical sector. He tried to whisk me into exam room one, but I recalled Shiloh’s promise the day I’d run out of Archduke Heta’s class and entered the second instead.
“Is Shiloh around?” I asked as my companion collected a vial of blood.
He walked out of the room, silent, no doubt afraid of being recorded. Alone, I checked the gurney for a message from Shiloh. Dang. Nothing.
I sat again, acting totally normal as the tech wheeled in a large machine. He x-rayed my hands and face, then gently palpated my nose. Sharp stings flared and subsided.
“Well?” A second try wouldn’t hurt. “Is Shiloh around or not?”
“Do not leave this room,” he said, exiting with the machine, then closing the curtain.
I lay back. Sat up. Walked around. Sat down. Hours passed before High Prince Dolion entered as if he owned the place, easing a tight knot of tension between my shoulders. Except, hmm. A fresh cut marred his branded cheek, a bead of blood leaking from the edge.
“Anything broken?” he demanded. He hadn’t changed since I’d last seen him, yet he looked completely different. Frayed to the point of exhaustion, maybe.
“No, sir.” The medic rushed up behind him. “She’s cleared for transport.”
I gripped my knees. Shouldn’t I be the first to hear news about the condition of my body?
The medic motioned to the HP’s wound. “Should I bandage your—”
“You are dismissed.”
The medic beat feet.
The HP pulled the curtain, excluding our third wheel, and collected my reader. “How do you feel?” he asked, looking over the information. No emotion infused his voice.
“Isn’t that a question you should ask my doctor?” I batted my lashes at him.
“Probably. But I asked you.”
Honestly? “I’m fine.” Mostly. “How about you? What happened?” I motioned to his wound. “You’re bleeding.”
He hiked his shoulders, unconcerned. “I hit a door on my way here.”
“No, really. What happened?” I asked. His lips pursed, and I barked out a laugh. How unlike the always-observant HP. I wonder what had distracted him. “Who won the competition?”
“Who do you think?” His dry tone told me all I needed to know.
“Roman.” Of course.
“It came down to him and Titus. Roman reached the cubby first but offered it to Titus in exchange for a truce. Titus refused.” Satisfaction flashed over the HP’s features as he admitted, “Jericho is the one who hit you, and he lost the round after yours.”
I didn’t like Jericho, but I couldn’t blame him for the hit. Who knew how many soldiers I’d injured during the game.
