Page 16 of Her Manticore Master
Zara is right. Hope is a poison. And yet, the memory of Ronan’s defiant eyes, of a spirit that refuses to kneel, has been like a single drop of that poison, spreading through my veins, reminding me of a time when I, too, had a fire in my soul.
“She’s not wrong, you know.”
I look up to see Lysa standing in the doorway, her expression a mixture of fear and a desperate, fragile resolve. “About hope?” I ask.
“About everything,” she says, her voice a low whisper. She takes a step into my room, her gaze darting nervously toward the corridor, as if the walls themselves have ears. “We all feel it, Corrina. The rage. The emptiness. You’re just the only one brave enough, or perhaps foolish enough, to show it.”
“I’m not brave,” I say, the words tasting like ash. “I’m just tired of pretending.”
“We’re all tired,” she says, and in her eyes, I see the same desperate longing I feel in my own heart. A hunger for something real, something more than this gilded, suffocating death. “He is everything we’re not allowed to be,” she whispers, her gaze far away. “He is free.”
Her unspoken words shatter my defenses; I'm not alone in this gilded cage. We are all prisoners, yearning for freedom. This shared, silent hope among the harem women is the palace's true danger—a spark that could ignite the city.
7
RONAN
The banquet continues long after the gladiators' formal presentation, wine flowing like water while nobles indulge their curiosities. Instead of returning me to my cell, guards drag me to an alcove near the harem seating area and chain me to a marble pillar.
"Special request from Master Valdris," Thane explains with cruel amusement. "You're to be... available for closer inspection."
The chains are ceremonial rather than practical—polished links that gleam in the candlelight but won't hold me if I truly wish to break free. This is theater, not security.
"How thoughtful," I observe, testing the bonds with casual interest.
"Don't get ideas, beast," Korven warns. "Half the guards in this room have crossbows trained on you."
I glance around and count at least six weapons pointed in my direction. Valdris takes no chances with his investments.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
I'm positioned near the nobles' tables, a living sculpture for curious, wine-emboldened guests to examine.
"Magnificent specimen," one portly merchant breathes, circling me like he's evaluating livestock. "Those scars tell quite a story."
"Each one a victory," his companion adds. "Or perhaps a failure to die properly."
They mock, yet I maintain a dangerous stillness. Their judgment, however, as I'm paraded for their amusement, stings more than any past shame.
"Such intensity in those eyes," Lady Miriel observes from her nearby couch. "Like he's planning our murders."
"Perhaps he is," her husband chuckles. "How deliciously dangerous."
I let my gaze slide over them with predatory consideration, noting the way they shiver despite their brave words. Good. Fear keeps fools honest.
From the corner of my eye, I see movement in the harem section. Emerald silk catching candlelight. A familiar figure rising with fluid grace.
Corrina approaches like a storm wrapped in beauty, and I know this night is about to become infinitely more complicated.
"How fascinating," Corrina purrs, coming to stand just outside my reach. "The famous beast, chained for our amusement."
Her tone drips honeyed venom, designed to provoke. The nearby nobles turn to watch our interaction with eager anticipation.
"Careful, my dear," Lord Caelum warns. "Wild animals are unpredictable."
"Oh, I'm quite safe," she replies without taking her green eyes off mine. "This one's been properly... domesticated."
The insult hits its mark, sending heat through my veins. "Have I now?"
