Page 19 of Her Manticore Master
CORRINA
Valdris's voice cuts through the banquet hall's chatter like a blade through silk, commanding absolute attention from his drunken guests.
"My dear friends," he announces, rising from his throne with theatrical flourish, "I have decided on a most... entertaining arrangement."
The hall falls silent, wine-bright eyes focusing on their host with eager anticipation. I feel ice crystallize in my veins as his pale gaze settles on me with predatory satisfaction.
"Our fierce manticore will continue his arena performances by day," Valdris continues, savoring each word like fine wine. "But his evenings... ah, his evenings will be spent in more intimate company."
Nervous laughter ripples through the assembled nobles, but I see the cruel intelligence behind his smile. This is no random whim—this is calculated torment designed for maximum psychological impact.
"Corrina, my precious jewel, will share his accommodations each night. A chance for them to... explore their obvious chemistry in private."
The words hit painfully. Share his cell? Sleep beside that savage beast, vulnerable and exposed?
"Master," I begin carefully, "surely you don't mean?—"
"I mean exactly what I said." His tone brooks no argument. "Perhaps close proximity will teach you both valuable lessons about proper behavior."
"And if I refuse?"
His laugh is soft as silk, deadly as poison. "Oh, my dear. You misunderstand entirely. This is not a request."
Around us, nobles murmur with excitement, already imagining the delicious drama that will unfold. They see entertainment where I see only nightmare.
"How long?" I ask through numb lips.
"Until one of you learns humility. Or breaks entirely." His smile widens. "Whichever comes first."
My hands clench in my silk skirts, knuckles white with suppressed rage. But there's nowhere to run, no escape from this fresh hell he's devising.
"It should prove most... educational."
The pit master's cruel amusement deepens as he surveys his captive audience—nobles hanging on every word, eager for scandal and suffering served alongside their wine.
"Of course," Valdris continues with silken menace, "our proud warrior might prove... resistant to his new arrangements. Some beasts require firmer handling."
He turns his attention to Ronan, who stands motionless in his chains, steely-blue eyes burning with barely contained fury.
"Feel free to fuck the defiance out of her," Valdris says casually, as if discussing the weather. "I confess, I've never managed the task myself. Perhaps a more... primitive approach will succeed where refinement has failed."
His audacious suggestion struck me hard. Shocked gasps and nervous laughter rippled through the hall as nobles processedhis words. My face burned with humiliation, rage flooding my veins; he was offering me to his gladiator like a piece of meat.
"You bastard," I breathe, but my voice is lost in the crowd's murmur.
Ronan's response is more dramatic. He lunges against his chains with feral savagery, metal links singing under the strain as he snarls like the beast they claim he is.
"Careful, warrior," Valdris warns with false concern. "Such violence might damage my property. And I do so hate waste."
"Touch her and die," Ronan growls, his voice carrying despite the general noise.
The threat should terrify me. Instead, something hot and dangerous unfurls in my chest—surprise at his unexpected protection, fury at needing it, and beneath both, a traitorous flutter of something I refuse to name.
"How gallant," Valdris purrs. "Though I fear you'll find your noble intentions tested by extended... proximity."
He's enjoying this, I realize. Every moment of our shared humiliation feeds his sadistic appetites like fine wine.
"Guards," he calls with theatrical timing, "escort my guests to their new accommodations. I'm sure they're eager to begin getting... acquainted."
