Page 29 of Prisoner of Steel and Shadow

“Colvers.” Ronan mentally thanked Bast for his incessant rambling. Outsiders might be welcome here, but he didn’t need to draw any more attention to himself than he already had by claiming to be from Elysia.

The other man’s brows disappeared into his hairline. “You do not have their accent. Or their coloring.”

Ronan grunted. “My mother was a whore. We traveled a lot.”

That much was true, and he’d learned early on people didn’t ask too many questions when confronted with an answer as uncomfortably blunt as that.

“Right.” Clearing his throat, the scribe shuffled some papers. “I just need you to sign the waivers.”

“Death, maiming, bodily harm, yes, I was here for your last explanation,” Ronan muttered, snatching the stack of papers and getting to work signing them. As he did, the scribe continued prattling on.

“There will be an opening ceremony tomorrow night at sundown to introduce all the participants to the High Lord and go over the specifics of the first trial. There will be five trials total, each separated by a day of rest. If you do not have accommodations in the city, they will be provided for you for the duration of the contest. Any living expenses will likewise be covered during this time, including any special attire that might be required. You are, of course, responsible for your own armor and weapons. The winner will be determined at the final trial and will be granted a single boon in addition to the position of the High Lord’s Champion and all the benefits that come with such a title.”

Ronan nodded along, barely listening to a word. He was eager to find Sebastian and prepare for his next run-in with the High Lord’s Shadow.

“Any questions?”

“No.”

“Excellent. May the stars—”

“I don’t rely on luck.”

He turned and stalked away before he had to do more than note the flush of outrage his dismissal caused. Unless it was about Reyna—Shadow—he wasn’t interested in anything the man had to say. Least of all his insincere offers of goodwill. He’d been killing men since he’d been old enough to hold a blade. His rivals didn’t have a fucking prayer of taking him out.

Nothing would get between him and the woman he’d come so far to save. Not a few burly men with swords. Not a madman’s contest. Not even the woman in question herself.

If that meant he had to win the whole damn thing, so be it. He hadn’t come this far to return home empty-handed.

More than a few curious stares followed him as he stormed back through the marketplace in search of Bast, but Ronan didn’t care. He was single-minded in his focus. He and his guide had work to do.

There were a number of things he intended to uncover before tomorrow’s ceremony, namely the ins and outs of the High Lord’s court. He had a feeling Bast would be a veritable treasure trove of knowledge in that regard. If the man hadn’t already fucked his way through at least half of them, Ronan would be shocked, but he’d also bet Sebastian’s entire debt that the man already had a plan in place to rectify that as soon as possible. Which meant he had all sorts of sordid details locked up in that pretty head of his.

Details Ronan intended to learn and use to his advantage.

Sebastian might be a shit tour guide, but his penchant for courtly gossip was about to make him worth his weight in gold.

Spying the red door he’d watched the blond man disappear through earlier, Ronan followed suit. After a somewhat uncomfortable conversation convincing the procuress he was not a prospective client but rather in search of one, he followed the woman’s directions to the room at the very back.

Ignoring the vigorous thumping and exaggerated moans, he kicked the door open. Three women squealed and grabbed for anything to help conceal their nudity. Bast, however, continued to pump away, his bare arse on full display.

“Give me five more minutes, then they’re all yours,” he panted without turning around. The woman beneath him looked torn between pushing him off and letting him finish as she shyly met Ronan’s gaze over Bast’s shoulder.

“He could join us,” she offered.

Ronan shook his head and stepped aside as the other two women not currently being serviced rushed out of the room.

“Am I not doing enough for you on my own,montrésor?”

She squealed as he leaned forward and bit her breast, showing Ronan entirely too much ball sack for his liking.

“Sebastian, get your fucking pants on.” He scooped them off the floor and flung them at the other man’s head. “We have a tournament to win.”

Bast finally glanced behind him, face flushed, eyes wide. “What have you done?”

“Let’s go. I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Not before I finish.”

---