Page 63 of Her Manticore Master
I expect another sharp retort, another piece of sarcasm to rebuild the walls between us. Instead, she offers me a small, sad smile. “Good thing I don’t want your trust, then.”
Her words, a familiar shield, can no longer hide the loneliness and desperate longing in her eyes. She needs my trust, just as I, surprisingly, am beginning to need hers. This fragile connection between us in this dark cell is a terrifying weakness, yet it might be our only hope for survival.
28
CORRINA
The cell door clangs, waking me. Ronan is shoved in, stumbling, a fresh cut on his temple and raw knuckles from training. He sinks to the floor, grimacing. Since our last encounter, a suffocating silence fills the cell; we train, eat, and exist in tense quiet, the unspoken things a chasm between us.
“Are you hurt badly?” I ask, my voice sounding small and unfamiliar in the stillness.
“I’m fine,” he grunts, not opening his eyes. It’s a dismissal, a clear signal that he wants to be left alone to brood in his dark corner.
Usually, I would take the opening, fire back a sarcastic comment about his stubbornness or his penchant for getting beaten. But the words die on my tongue. The tension of the last few days, the ever-present fear of the coming melee, and the confusing, tumultuous feelings he stirs in me have worn my defenses down to almost nothing. I can’t fight with him right now. I don’t have the strength.
“You’re bleeding on the floor,” I say instead, my voice flat.
“The floor has seen worse,” he retorts without moving.
I watch blood trickle from his temple. He needs care, but a wall stands between us. Our intimacy is now a weapon he uses to keep me away. He revealed a small part of himself and now regrets it, leaving a cold ache in my chest.
The prolonged silence frayed my nerves. I rose from the cot, retrieved clean silk strips and water, and cautiously approached him like a wounded wolf, expecting a snarl.
He opens his eyes as I kneel in front of him, and his gaze is wary, guarded. “What are you doing?”
“You’re dripping all over my bedroom floor,” I say, the attempt at sarcasm falling flat. “And you’ll get an infection if you don’t clean that.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“I’m sure you have,” I say softly. “Let me.”
He usually protests, but he silently watches as I dip silk in water, my heart pounding. This quiet moment in our cell, free of his usual barbs, feels profoundly different.
I gently dabat the cut on his temple, cleaning the wound with focused precision, trying to ignore the heat radiating from his skin. Next, I move to his hands, carefully cleaning the blood from his split knuckles.
The hostile silence transforms into a fragile, shared space. He watches me intently; I wonder about his thoughts and if he feels this terrifying shift too.
This is no longer a battle. It’s a truce.
Finishing his knuckle wraps, my hands linger. The fear I'd suppressed unravels. The melee is tomorrow; time is short.
“What if you win?” I whisper, the words escaping before I can stop them. My gaze is fixed on his hands, so large and scarred compared to my own.
He looks at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. “That’s the point, Corrina. To win.”
“No,” I say, finally lifting my eyes to his. My voice is thick with unshed tears. “What ifyouwin… and I don’t? What if I die out there?” The question hangs between us, raw and terrifying. “Or worse… what if you win your freedom, and I’m still here?”
The confession pours out of me then, a torrent of all the fears I’ve kept locked inside. “You’ll be free, Ronan,” I say, my voice cracking. “You’ll leave this place and go find your brothers. And I’ll still be in this cage.
Valdris will give me to the next champion. To someone who… who won’t be like you.” I look down, unable to meet his gaze as I admit my deepest shame. “That scares me more than dying. The thought of being left behind… it’s a fate worse than death.”
My vulnerability impacts him. He is still, his gaze fixed on my face. "Look at me," he growls.
I slowly lift my head, my vision blurred by tears. The intensity in his smoldering blue eyes is overwhelming, a raw, protective fire that seems to burn away all the shadows in the cell.
““I will not abandon you,” he vows, his hand covering mine. “We leave together or die together. There is no other way.”
His sincere promise broke my defenses. Overwhelmed by his fierce loyalty and willingness to sacrifice his freedom for me, I sobbed.
