Page 37 of Prisoner of Steel and Shadow

“Butcher.”

The man looked up from his scroll. “I remember you.”

“I get that a lot.”

When his name was announced, the room buzzed with whispers but none of the excited applause the better-known contestants received.

Bast clapped him on the back. “Enjoy your big moment. Don’t trip.”

“Why would you say that?”

Sebastian’s only answer was a shit-eating grin. Knowing he didn’t have time to waste, he shook his head and started to ascend the small flight of stairs, but when he took his step forward, Bast held fast to his cloak, pulling it off.

Every eye in the ballroom was aimed his way as he moved across the stage. He’d never felt more exposed in his life. Usually the looks were filled with awe or a little fear. This time, most were openly hostile. He didn’t have the benefit of his name and reputation to do the heavy lifting for him. If he wanted to make a statement, if he wanted to set himself apart as a real contender and secure the support of a few big spenders, he needed to do something significant.

His original plan had been to do the opposite, to lie low and do the bare minimum to get to the next round, but it was clear that wouldn’t be enough.

Bast was right—not that he’d ever tell him so—he needed the support of the crowd.

Ronan stopped when he reached the center of the stage, lifting his gaze until he stared not at the High Lord, but his Shadow. He knew her well enough to read the interest hidden in her expression. To most she would appear mildly curious, but she hadn’t blinked once since his identity had been revealed. Her full attention was locked on him.

It wasn’t exactly a declaration of love, but it was a start.

Beside her, the High Lord silently fumed. Ronan could read it in the slight curl of his upper lip and the whitening of his knuckles on the arms of his chair. He wasn’t pleased to see him again.

The feeling is mutual, you rutting gobshite.

More whispers broke out when Ronan continued to stand there. On the far end of the stage, Dmitri cleared his throat, discreetly prompting him into action.

It’s now or never. You want to make a statement? Do it.

Without stopping to think about the consequences, Ronan slowly raised his right hand, palm up. Then, for the first time since arriving in Empyria, he called on his Fire. Shocked gasps rang out as the orb swelled, and those gasps turned to cries as he hurled the ball directly at the High Lord’s head.

He caught the scrape of metal being pulled free of scabbards and the hiss of boots rushing across the marble to intercept him. Ronan bit back a laugh. Did they really think they could get to him in time if his intention was to cause harm?

The High Lord and Shadow hadn’t managed to do more than rise from their seats when Ronan twisted his hand and snuffed all the air out of the molten ball of flame, extinguishing it a split second before it would have connected with Erebos’s face.

Stunned silence met the display before the entire room broke into shaky applause. The High Lord had no choice but to follow suit in order to save face.

Ronan smirked, giving the barest inclination of his head in the place of any sort of bow and then lazily strolled off the stage.

Bast was already waiting for him, his face pale and eyes wide. “Do you have any idea what you just did?”

“Aye, do you?”

“Put an even bigger target on your back?” he hissed. “Because if that was your intention, mission accomplished.”

“No, Bast. I just secured our supporters.”

“How?”

“By ensuring not a single person in that room will ever forget my name. Watch, by tomorrow, everyone in Glimmermere will know it.”

“You’re a brave bastard, I’ll give you that.”

Ronan clapped him on the shoulder and risked a glance back into the crowd, where a pair of multihued green eyes were still trained on him.

He’d made a splash all right.

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