Page 35 of Prisoner of Steel and Shadow

“Parade.”

“Then you are disqualified.”

Ronan’s pulse roared in his ears. So much for not drawing any attention to himself tonight.

“Fuck.”

“I believe in you,mon ami. I’m sure even you can manage to walk without preparation.”

Ronan was about to curse him further when the Master of Ceremonies spoke again. “Contestants, if you would please line up along the far side of the stage so we may begin.”

Bast gave him a cheeky grin, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll wait for you here, shall I?”

“Oh no, you’re going to wait in the queue with me.”

“Why? Do you need me to hold your hand?”

“You are enjoying this entirely too much, Bast,” he ground out, following the fifty or so others making their way to the front of the room.

“Not nearly enough, I assure you.”

Ronan groaned, taking in the sea of faces, wondering who among them would be his biggest competition. “See anyone you recognize?” he asked under his breath.

“A few,” Bast said as they took their spot near the back of the line. “The tall woman at the front, with the braid and the muscles? That’s Marin.”

“Her specialty?”

“She’s an expert marksman and highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat.”

“Who else?”

“There, the woman in the black veil, see her?”

“She’s hard to miss.”

Bast snickered. “Only because she’s not trying. That’s Dichen. The things she can do with her blades. Legendary. Before your Shadow arrived, she was the most infamous rogue in the realm.”

Ronan tucked the information away. If she was anywhere near as skilled as Reyna, she was one to keep an eye on for sure.

“What about the men?”

Bast hummed and pointed two men out in quick succession. “The mountain of a man is Bannock, and the misshapen lump to his right is Calix.”

“Specialties?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Would I waste my breath asking you if it was?”

For a second he contemplated whether he could get away with grasping Sebastian by the neck and smashing his face into the wall, but ultimately decided against it. Despite the amusement it would bring him to force Bast to walk around with a broken nose for the rest of the night, the move would also garner too much attention. He settled for imagining it instead.

Bast must have known something was up because his smile slipped. “Well, the wall of muscle is a brawler who tends to pummel his opponents into a pulp. And the ugly sonofabitch beside him is a master poisoner.”

Ronan immediately discounted the fighter. He wasn’t worried about overcoming brawn. The poisoner, however, would be crafty. That bore remembering. People would dismiss him because of his size, which he would use to his advantage to slip by unnoticed. He was willing to stake both his reputations that the man would be a finalist.

Before he could quiz Bast further, the crowd erupted into cheers. The High Lord had arrived, but Ronan only had eyes for the light-haired woman at his side.

Just like the first time his eyes landed on her, everything around him fell silent. She was as beautiful as ever, her sharp edges softer somehow. He’d seen her in gowns plenty of times before, but not like this. Tonight she wore a dress the color of starlight. It hugged her curves, and one side bore a slit that exposed her from hip to ankle with every step. Her hair was a waterfall of curls down her back, and something shimmery had been dusted across her cheeks and eyes, the effect meaning she positively sparkled.

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