Page 103 of Bonds of Pain
Logan nods grimly. “Let them try.”
As Ares navigates the car through a private entrance, I steal another glance at Poe. His dark eyes are focused on something distant, his expression carefully blank. But when he catchesme looking, something flickers across his face—not anger or betrayal, but a deep sadness that cuts me to the core.
I want to reach for his hand. To whisper an apology. To explain that I didn’t really understand what I was doing to him.
But the words stick in my throat.
Because the terrible truth is that I did know. I understood exactly what I was doing when I tricked him into facing his abusers alone. I wanted him to suffer as I had suffered. To feel the same helplessness, the same violation.
And now, looking at what I’ve done to him, I’m not sure I recognize myself anymore.
The car stops, and palace guards immediately surround us. As we exit, Logan’s hand finds the small of my back, guiding me toward a private entrance. The touch is possessive, a reminder to everyone watching that I belong to him.
Poe falls into step behind us, his footsteps barely audible. I can feel his presence like a physical weight, a reminder of my own capacity for cruelty.
I thought revenge would be sweet. Instead, it tastes like hot ashes in my mouth.
At the entry doors, an official in elaborate regalia steps forward to block our path before we enter.
“Prince Logan,” he bows deeply. “His Majesty has requested I inform you that today’s challenges will be faced without seconds.”
The tension in the car, already thick enough to cut with a knife, suddenly becomes suffocating. Logan’s jaw tightens, the muscle there twitching visibly. Cillian sucks in a sharp breath beside me. Even Poe, who has maintained careful visage of calm since we left the palace, stiffens.
Ares is the one who finally speaks. “You’re fucking kidding.”
The official keeps his eyes downcast. “Attendants are waiting in the pit to ensure that all combatants surrender their weapons.”
“I understand,” Logan grunts. “You’re dismissed.”
As the man retreats, I look between the men’s grim faces. “What does that mean? Without seconds?”
Cillian’s voice is hollow when he answers. “It means any formal challenges to Logan will be fought to the death. No substitutes, no yielding, no intervention.”
My stomach drops. “To the death? But that’s?—“
“Ancient tradition,” Logan interrupts, adjusting his formal uniform with practiced precision. His golden eyes are cold, calculating. “My father is making a point.”
A chill runs through me as the full implications sink in. Logan could die today. The thought should bring me satisfaction—isn’t that what I’ve wanted? His downfall, his suffering? But instead, panic claws at my throat.
“Poe. Ares,” Logan’s voice is commanding, leaving no room for argument. “Take Maya to our viewing box. Cillian will help me prepare.”
“Logan—“ Cillian starts, but Logan silences him with a look.
Before I can process what’s happening, Logan and Cillian are striding away toward the amphitheater’s inner chambers, leaving me with Poe and Ares. My mind whirls with conflicting emotions and terrifying possibilities.
What happens if Logan dies? The bond between us may be secondary, artificial even, but it’s still there. Would his death sever it completely? Would it tear through Cillian first, then me? I’ve heard stories of Omegas who don’t survive the death of their bonded mate—their bodies simply shutting down from the trauma, their minds unable to bear the sudden emptiness.
And what of Cillian? He’s been bonded to Logan for over a year. Their connection runs deeper than mine. If Logan falls today, would Cillian survive? Would I?
“Let’s go,” Ares says gruffly, his hand at my elbow guiding me toward an ornate staircase. “The prince’s designated box has the best view.”
The best view. As if we’re about to watch entertainment rather than a potential execution.
Poe follows silently behind us, his presence a weighted shadow. I want to ask him more questions, to understand the gravity of what’s happening, but the words stick in my throat. My anger toward him feels suddenly petty in the face of what’s about to unfold.
As we climb the stairs to the viewing box, the roar of the crowd grows louder. Thousands have gathered to watch their princes battle for supremacy. Do they know they might witness death today? Do they care?
“Maya,” Ares’s voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts. “Breathe.”
