Page 14 of Her Manticore Master
"Make me."
He weakens from blood loss. I seize my chance, opening his throat. The arena falls silent, then erupts in applause. I stand victorious, another step closer to freedom. I meet Valdris's gaze, my eyes promising more violence. He studies me, calculating my value.
"Well fought!" his voice carries across the arena, magically amplified. "Truly magnificent!"
The crowd takes up the cheer, though I know their loyalty is as fickle as morning mist. They'll cheer my death just as loudly when it comes.
But for now, I'm their champion.
Lord Caelum says something that makes Valdris laugh, and I catch the gesture he makes—fingers rubbing together in the universal sign for profit. That's all this is to him. Entertainment and coin.
My eyes drift to Corrina, draped in midnight blue, her skin like pearl, dark hair spilling. Despite exhaustion and blood, I notice the fabric clinging to her curves, and I hate it. Our gazes meet; no admiration, excitement, or bloodlust in her green eyes, only cold, sharp loathing. Good, the feeling is mutual. She sees me as a beast, a crude killer. I see her as a pampered whore. We're probably both right.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" Grokthar's voice is a wet whisper behind me.
I spin, shocked to find the orc still alive despite his ruined throat. Blood bubbles from his lips as he grins with the last of his strength.
"The dark-haired one," he continues. "Valdris's favorite. Many fighters have tried to claim her."
"And?"
"All died. She is... protected." His eyes grow distant. "But oh, what a prize she would be."
"Die quietly," I suggest.
"Already am, manticore." His grin widens. "But you... you interest her. See how she watches you."
I glance back at the viewing box despite myself. Corrina is indeed watching, her green eyes fixed on me with an intensity that almost makes my skin crawl.
"She hates me," I point out.
"Does she?" Grokthar's laugh turns into a bloody cough. "Or does she hate... what you represent?"
The orc dies, but his last words about what I represent haunt me. Guards arrive. I look up at Corrina in the viewing box; herface shows controlled hatred. I decide her hatred is simpler, cleaner, and less dangerous than anything else.
The walk back to my cell gives me time to think. Grokthar's words keep echoing: "She is protected." Protected how? By Valdris's jealousy? By his guards? Or by something else entirely?
And why should I care?
"Thirsty work, killing orcs," Korven observes as we descend into the dungeon levels. "Maybe we should get you some water."
"How generous."
"Don't be smart. You did well today, earned your keep. That counts for something."
Does it? I wonder if earning my keep means anything beyond prolonging this nightmare. Still, I'm alive, and while I breathe, there's hope of finding my brothers.
They shove me into my cell with less force than usual. Respect, perhaps, or simply the knowledge that I could probably kill them both before they could draw steel.
"Rest up, beast," Thane says, but there's less venom in it now. "Tomorrow's another day."
Jailed but unchained, I recall Corrina in the arena—her eyes, a mix of hatred and something like longing. I dismiss it, knowing she's Valdris's pet, yet her past words, "Better to die a man than live a pet," hint at genuine pain. Still, she's a distraction from my survival, escape, and mission to find my brothers. Despite my resolve, her image, beautiful and complex, haunts my dreams. I know I'm lying to myself; she's under my skin, and I, hers—two prisoners recognizing a dangerous connection. It's going to make everything so much more dangerous. And despite myself, I'm looking forward to it.
6
CORRINA
The great hall glitters like a jeweled cave, candles casting dancing shadows across marble columns draped in silk. Valdris's banquet is a display of obscene wealth—golden platters heaped with exotic delicacies, servants refilling crystal goblets with wine that costs more than most people see in a lifetime. And we, his harem, are the centerpiece.
