Page 9 of Her Manticore Master
"Don't." Her voice cuts like a blade. "Don't you dare pity me."
"It's not pity."
"Then what is it?"
I stare into those green eyes, seeing the fire that burns beneath her carefully constructed facade. The intelligence that she hides behind silk and seduction. The strength that she's forced to disguise as submission.
"Recognition," I admit.
Something shifts between us, electric and dangerous. We're both trapped, both fighting to survive in our own ways. Both refusing to break despite the weight of our chains.
"You think we're alike?" she asks softly.
"I think you're stronger than you let anyone see. Including yourself."
"And I think you're going to die tomorrow, leaving nothing behind but bloodstains and broken dreams."
The words should hurt, but they don't. Because I hear what she's really saying—that she doesn't want me to die, that the thought of my death disturbs her in ways she can't afford to acknowledge.
"Maybe," I concede. "But I'll die as myself, not as someone else's idea of who I should be."
"How noble. I'm sure your corpse will appreciate the distinction."
"Will you?"
The question hangs between us like a blade. She opens her mouth to deliver another cutting remark, then closes it without speaking.
"I have to go," she says instead.
"Running away?"
"Surviving. You should try it sometime."
She leaves defiantly, her measured steps belying her retreat. Despite my predicament and her embodiment of all I despise here, I watch until she vanishes. This pampered pet has claws, making her far more dangerous than any orc.
4
CORRINA
Ipace my chambers like a caged leopard, silk slippers silent against marble floors. The afternoon sun streams through stained glass windows, casting rainbow patterns across Persian rugs that cost more than most people earn in a lifetime. It should be beautiful. It should be enough. It's not.
"Mistress?" Lysa appears in the doorway, concern creasing her brow. "You've been pacing for an hour. The other girls are worried."
"Are they?" I don't stop moving, my feet tracing the same path over and over. "How thoughtful."
"The manticore's fight is today."
I freeze mid-step. "I'm aware."
"Against the minotaurs."
"Yes."
"Three of them."
"So I've heard." I resume pacing, but the rhythm is broken now, jagged with an emotion I refuse to name.
"No one survives three minotaurs, Corrina."
