Page 33 of Prisoner of Steel and Shadow

Ronan was no stranger to a courtly lifestyle, but even he was not immune to his surroundings. Massive chandeliers hung from the mural-painted ceiling, and the white and gold marble floors twinkled with reflected light and created the sense of walking across the surface of the moon. Especially with the night sky displayed so prominently through the wall of glass along the back of the room. He couldn’t quite make out the crashing waves in the inky depths, but they were an unexpected accompaniment to the orchestra’s sweeping melodies.

Everywhere he looked, there were tables laden with food and drink. The guests were in the hundreds, some dancing, most clustering in small groups to gossip or enjoy the High Lord’s hospitality.

Does no one else find it unnerving that we’re all here to celebrate the future slaughter of their heroes?

“I told you you were underdressed,” Bast hissed as they joined the throng of people already gathered in the ballroom, taking up a spot in one of the far back corners.

“And I told you I didn’t care.”

Ronan glared at his guide from beneath the hood of his cloak, taking in his turquoise and gold tunic with a slightly darker blue pair of leggings and a matching ostrich feather adorning his cap. He’d told Sebastian to dress for discretion, and this was what he’d come up with. As for himself, he’d opted for all black, though he was currently concealed by his cloak. He wanted to remain undetected for as long as possible. After the impression he’d made the other day, he wasn’t in a hurry to be singled out by the High Lord or his staff.

“You should. These people will be rooting for you. Rooting requires supporters. Supporters mean funds. No one wants to root for the dirty street urchin.”

So that’s how they planned to finance the competitors’ room, board, and extras—through donations made by public supporters. Ronan sighed. He really wasn’t in the mood for schmoozing.

“First, you tell me I smell, and now I’m dirty too? Do I have no redeeming qualities, Bast?”

“Your face is tolerable. And you showered today.”

“Remind me again why I haven’t rid myself of you yet?”

Ronan waved away a server with a tray of sparkling alcohol, but Bast reeled him back in and plucked two glasses from the offering. Neither of which he shared with Ronan.

“You need me,” he answered, draining the first of his two flutes.

“That can’t possibly be true.”

“Oh? And do you suddenly know who the High Lord’s closest advisors are? How to spot them? Because I assure you, there are far more pleasurable ways I can spend my evening than playing your escort.”

“You are not my escort, Bast.”

“I am hereescortingyou, am I not?”

“What you are is a pain in my arse.”

“Not yet, but you keep giving me those eyes and I can be.” He winked and made short work of his second drink.

“Bast,” Ronan said with an annoyed growl.

Sebastian laughed. “You’re far too uptight. We would never work out,mon ami.”

“It’s a miracle you’ve lived this long.”

“I was going to say the same of you.”

A begrudging laugh rumbled in his chest. “In that, you’re probably right. Now come do your job and point out the people of note to me.”

Sebastian heaved a weary sigh but obediently scanned the crowd. He’d been horrified when he’d heard Ronan had signed up for the contest, but after Ronan had explained about Reyna and why he was here in the first place—an admission he still wasn’t certain wouldn’t come back to bite him in the arse—Bast had gotten on board with helping him. Ronan had asked about the sudden change of heart, only for the blond man to clutch his chest and give a dramatic sigh.

“I am a disciple of true love.”

“Is that why you find yourself jumping into every bed—and beneath every skirt—you come across?”

“But of course.”

And that had been it. They’d spent the rest of the night reviewing every bit of knowledge Sebastian had acquired about the High Lord and his court since coming to Glimmermere nearly a month prior.

Now it was time to put faces to the names.

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