Page 74 of Her Manticore Master
Valdris just smiles, a cold, serene expression of a god enjoying the tantrum of an insect. “I said thechampionwould be free, my dear. And there can only be one.”
“You sadistic bastard!” I shriek, the words a torrent of venom I can no longer control. Every curse I have ever heard, every vile insult whispered in the dungeons and the harem, comes pouring out of me. “I hope you rot in the deepest, darkest hell! I hope the Serpent himself feasts on your lying soul!”
The captive audience watches as the "harem girl" breaks. I, however, am consumed by hatred, desperate to attack him. My rage fades, leaving me breathless and sobbing from impotentfury. We are trapped. I turn to Ronan, expecting his mirrored fury, the beast ready for battle.
He isn't looking at Valdris, but at me. His expression, one of profound heartbreak, steals my breath. His usually fiery, steel-blue eyes are filled with devastating despair, and his broad shoulders are slumped in defeat. The thought of fighting me has broken him, something no beast, gladiator, pain, or humiliation ever could. The warrior who faced monsters and promised we'd leave together is gone. In his place is a man facing an impossible choice, his spirit tearing apart, looking at me as if I'm already a fading ghost.
“Ronan?” I whisper, my own anger forgotten, replaced by a cold, creeping dread. “Ronan, what do we do?”
He stares, silent and agonized. He survived storms, capture, and countless battles, but Valdris’s final cruelty breaks him. He cannot survive this; he would rather die than harm me.
“Your time is running out!” Valdris’s voice booms from above, sharp with impatience. “Fight! Or my archers will put you both down like the dogs you are!”
The threat is the final catalyst. Ronan’s gaze breaks from mine. He looks at his sword, then at my dagger. His movements are slow, deliberate. He steps toward me, his eyes filled with silent apology.
“Ronan, no,” I say in a choked whisper, though I don’t yet understand what he intends to do.
He silently takes the knife, the one he sharpened and I used to kill, from its sheath. It appears small in his large, calloused hand as he gazes at the gleaming blade.
“Only one of us needs to die, Corrina,” he says, his voice low, full of pain and finality. “Let it be me.” He then turns the knife on himself, aiming for his heart. This is not despair, but the noble sacrifice of a warrior choosing his own end to grant Corrina freedom. He gives her the only thing he has left: his life.
Time seems to slow to a crawl. The noise of the crowd, the smug face of Valdris, the heat of the sun—it all fades away. There is only Ronan, the blade, and the single, impossible heartbeat before he plunges it into his own chest.
“No!”
I lunged, screaming, grabbing his wrist. The blade, an inch from his tunic, promised death.
“Don’t you dare,” I snarl, my voice a feral thing. “Don’t you dare do this.”
He looks down at me, his expression confused, as if he can’t understand why I would stop him. “Let go, Corrina. This is the only way.”
“No!” I shake my head, my grip on his wrist unyielding. Tears stream down my face, but they are tears of fury, not of sorrow. “Your freedom means nothing without you! Do you hear me? If you die, I will simply follow you. I will not live in a world you are not in.”
“My brothers…” he starts, his voice breaking.
“What about your brothers?!” I demand, shaking his arm with all my might, trying to shake him out of his sacrificial despair. “You think they would want you to die like this? For me? You made me a promise, Ronan Vastan! We leave together, or we’re going to die together!” I meet his gaze, my own eyes blazing with a fierce, unbreakable will that he himself helped to forge. “I am not a prize to be won with your death. I am your partner. And we are not done fighting.”
39
RONAN
Her words are a lit match thrown into a powder keg.We leave together, or we die together.They strike the dying embers of my despair and ignite them into a roaring inferno of defiant rage. The thought of a noble sacrifice, of giving my life for hers, turns to ash in my mouth. It’s a coward’s solution, an easy escape from an impossible choice. She will not let me be a coward. She will not let me die for her. She will only let me fight forus.
The despair recedes, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. She is right. We are not done fighting. Valdris wanted a show. He wanted a champion. He’s about to get one.
“He thinks he controls the game,” I say, voice a low, dangerous growl. I look from the fierce, tear-streaked face of the woman who has just saved my soul, to the towering arena wall, a sheer cliff of impossible stone. My gaze travels up, up, to the opulent box where the pit master sits on his throne, watching us like a god judging insects. The wall is the cage. He is the keeper.
“Ronan, what are you thinking?” she whispers, her hands still gripping my wrist, her knuckles white.
“I’m thinking the rules have changed,” I say, a desperate, impossible plan forming in my mind, a strategy born of pure, unadulterated fury. There is no winning his game. So I will break it. I will break it all. I look back at her, and she sees the shift in my eyes, the moment the broken gladiator is replaced by the beast.
“He wanted one champion,” I tell her, a feral grin spreading across my face. “He can have me. But I’m taking my prize with me.” I gently but firmly take the dagger from her hand and slide it back into the sheath on my thigh. “We’re leaving, Corrina. Right now.”
“How?” she breathes, her eyes wide. “The gates are sealed. The guards?—”
“We’re not using the gates,” I say, turning so my back is to her. I crouch down, every muscle in my body coiling with a power I haven’t felt since before I was captured. “Get on my back. Now. And hold on like your life depends on it. Because it does.”
She doesn’t hesitate. There is no question, no argument. She scrambles onto my back, her arms wrapping tight around my neck, her legs locking around my waist. Her trust in me is absolute, a silent, binding vow that settles the last of the chaos in my mind. She is with me. That is all that matters.
