Page 2 of Queen of Whispers and Mist

He never did make sense of it. Her rationale for joining the contest. She was Erebos’s champion in all but name, so was it just the official title she was after? Or something else?

And if so,what?

This was hardly the appropriate time for him to try to solve the enigma that was Shadow, but he couldn’t help but think the answer to that question was imperative to his own mission. How could he help her if he didn’t understand her?

Ronan took two running steps, intent on following the guards as they bodily pulled the High Lord’s assassin from the arena, but stopped when chants of his name echoed through the stadium. The chorus of ‘Butcher’s was much more enthusiastic than he'd heard thus far in the competition, the crowd finally won over now that he’d been declared the official winner.

There was nothing he could do about it. Not with all these eyes on him. He had to continue playing the game, at least for a little while longer.

Inwardly resigned, with his persona’s cold-blooded mask firmly in place, Ronan turned away from Shadow’s retreating figure to look toward the dais where the High Lord and his flock stood. Erebos’s gaze found his, and true amusement made Ronan’s lips quirk upward. Behind the regal façade and slight smile, fury burned in those jade orbs. This was not the outcome Glimmermere’s leader wanted, but he was handicapped by rules of his own making. Forced to honor a man he'd intended to see slaughtered before his very eyes.

Good. Ronan shared his disappointment. Not because he was still breathing, but because Erebos was. Maybe he could solve that little problem during his hopefully brief tenure as the man’s champion.

After a slight nod from his liege, Dmitri rushed down the narrow flight of stairs connected to the stage, taking them two at a time. Reaching Ronan’s side, he took his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and lifted his arm high into the air.

“People of Glimmermere, it is my most humble honor to present to you, Empyria’s newest protector, the High Lord’s Champion.”

Ronan found it telling that his identity was now dependent on the other man’s. He was no longer Ronan or the Butcher, but the High Lord’s Champion. No longer a person in his own right, but the High Lord’s shiny new possession. Much like Shadow was.

In Elysia, he was known as the Shield, but he’d never stopped being Ronan. He’d never been reduced to existing solely as Helena’s plaything, which was why the distinction was so notable now. Instead of empowering, his new title was demeaning. One of ownership rather than respect.

No one’s existence should hold value only because of their ties to someone else.

Unaware of his dark musings, the crowd erupted into a new round of cheers while Ronan was forced to endure it. He was more thankful than ever he’d entered the contest as the Butcher. At least this way, the mercenary wasn’t expected to do something as polite as smile. Which was for the best, really. Any attempt at forcing his lips up in a believable display of pleasure wouldn’t be mistaken as anything other than the grimace it was. Then everyone would know he felt none of the pride he should have for such a perceived honor.

Issues with the title aside, why should he?

Truth was, he’d lost this contest. There was little doubt in his mind he could have ended it and won for real, but that had never been the game. Not for him. The only reason he was standing here at all was that Shadow couldn’t take his life, and everyone knew it.

Though, from the audience’s cheers, no one seemed disappointed in the outcome. If anything, the drama only seemed to spur on their enthusiasm.

Tipping his head so Ronan could hear him over the roar of the crowd, Dmitri murmured, “Come with me.” It wasn’t a request but a coldly delivered command.

Ronan followed his lead, trailing after him in the opposite direction Shadow had been taken, something inside him protesting each step that took him farther away from her.

Soon. Bide your time. Make the best of this opportunity. Learn your enemies so when the time comes, you’re ready to destroy them.

The reminder went a long way to easing the storm raging through his veins. So much had happened in the last hour. Bast. Loren. The games. Certain death. Shadow’s choice. Winning. Any one of those things was a mindfuck. All of them back-to-back? He was just lucky he remembered his damn name.

The only way to cope was to focus on the present moment. Anything else was impossible.

Instead of leading him up to the stage, Dmitri escorted him through an archway that turned into a series of tunnels. When the Peacock smacked a random brick set into one wall, causing it to swing open, Ronan could only assume they were taking a secret passage to the palace.

It didn’t surprise him that Erebos had a way to move through the city unseen. Helena had similar passages throughout Tigaera, which granted her the flexibility to walk about freely when she didn’t want to risk being caught in public. In his tenure as her Shield, he quickly learned that rulers couldn’t be amongst their people without garnering unwanted attention or demands on their time. It was rare to go more than a few steps without being stopped.

Given his new celebrity, herding Ronan from the arena to the palace without being waylaid by overzealous townspeople would be impossible. So, while the warrior in him balked at the notion of venturing into a darkened corridor with someone who was essentially his enemy, he understood the value of such a walkway. This route ensured they could get him where they wanted him as expediently as possible.

His suspicions were confirmed when, without a word, the Peacock led him through a dank underpass that opened up into a receiving chamber of sorts. The lack of furnishing immediately stood out. While the checkered black-and-white marble floors were polished to the point Ronan could make out his reflection as clearly as if gazing into a mirror, the blood-red walls were practically macabre in their nudity. With only a handful of wooden benches—albeit intricately carved ones—lining the space, there was little to detract from the sheer majesty of the three figures standing in the far corner of the room.

Which was likely the point.

Three sets of eyes fixated on him the second he set foot in the room. After sparing a second to acknowledge the other two members of the flock and finding nothing friendly in either of their expressions, Ronan met Erebos’s gaze head-on.

Now that Dmitri was present, the only member of the inner circle notably absent was Shadow. The realization had the little hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

She should be here.

On the heels of that thought came another, more sinister one.

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