Page 36 of Prisoner of Steel and Shadow

For a woman who’d risen to fame as an assassin, she didn’t look dangerous, but Ronan knew with absolute certainty she was the biggest threat in the room. The one who, with a single look, could absolutely destroy him.

“What I wouldn’t give to have someone look at me the way you look at her,” Bast murmured.

Ronan jerked to attention, clearing his throat and running a shaking hand along his neck. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Sebastian patted his shoulder. “Of course you do, for you are also one of true love’s warriors. That makes us brothers, don’t you see?”

“No.”

“Ronan, deny it all you want, but we are the same.”

His lip curled as he eyed the popinjay beaming up at him. “We absolutely are not.”

Bast rolled his eyes at Ronan’s vehement denial. “Lie to yourself then, if it pleases you.”

As they watched, the High Lord and Shadow took their seats in the center of the room, Dovina and Dominic poised protectively just behind them. The Reyna he remembered would have been insulted that someone felt she required additional protection, but Shadow seemed used to the twins’ presence. The High Lord smiled and waved while she stared straight ahead, looking bored but sexy as hell as she crossed her legs. Ronan drank in the sight of all that exposed flesh and swallowed. Hard.

“Down, boy,” Bast whispered as Ronan clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides. “She is not yours. Not yet, and certainly not here.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? Because your face says otherwise.”

“My face?”

“It’s promising death to the High Lord if he so much as breathes in her direction.”

That sounded about right.

“It does not.”

“Doesn’t seem like the appropriate expression for a champion to wear while gazing upon his future master.”

Ronan glowered at his guide.

“Better. At least now you aren’t staring daggers athim.”

The wall plan was sounding better by the second.

“Now that the guests of honor have arrived, we may begin.”

The crowd fell silent again, and the Parade of Fools—sorry, honors—officially commenced. One by one, men's and women’s names were announced. From there it was much as Bast said; the contestant would walk across the stage to differing amounts of applause and ‘honor’ the High Lord with a bow, curtsy, or some other display of fealty.

Besides the handful of people Bast had already pointed out, there were two more in the procession Ronan took note of. The first stood out because he was the oldest and most grizzled in the lot. According to the announcer, he was a blood mage named Cedric Aldair. He’d never come across the man’s like, but thanks to Bast’s voice in his ear, he now knew the man used his blood to perform incredible feats of magic. As the only other magic user—not that anyone here knew about his skill with Fire—the mage was a wild card, much like the poisoner. Ronan immediately marked him as someone to watch out for.

The second was a man named Loren. He was clearly a crowd favorite. The moment the gilded warrior set foot on stage, they let loose a cheer rivaled only by the one given to the High Lord himself.

“What’s his specialty?” Ronan asked, eyeing the man’s robes, which perfectly matched his golden hair and amber eyes. He exuded a charisma that spoke to great familiarity with winning over crowds. The wink he tossed as he finished a sequence of acrobatic flips and spins said he enjoyed it too.

“Everything,” Bast said, doing nothing to hide the appreciation shining in his gaze.

“Don’t forget whose team you’re on,brother.”

Sebastian actually blushed. “Never.”

Despite the number of contestants, it wasn’t long at all before Ronan found himself at the front of the line.

“Name?” the scribe from the day before asked.

---