Bloodguard

chapter 42

Maeve

Leith claimed my body with aching tenderness.

He’d ridden for hours without rest or sleep, yet he made love to me as if I was the only thing that mattered in the world.

I held him and tried to show him how much I loved him, but then the pale rays of morning arrived, bringing reality with them.

Father insisted on escorting Leith to the arena, and I followed an hour later with Caelen and Giselle.

We were all exhausted, all broken and beaten down with worries and regrets. I sat in the royal box, my body strung taut as a bow, watching as each banner was raised. Soro toasted me each round, no doubt enjoying the torture.

But Leith didn’t fight that day.

Or the next.

Or the next.

It’s deliberate cruelty on Soro’s part. Each day finds me sitting in the stands, my stomach churning as my fear for Leith makes it almost impossible to breathe.

My position as princess requires I sit and watch as fighters die, and it sickens me. I was able to avoid it for a time but not as long as I’d wished.

I cringe at the cheers and fervor of the crowd, their focus more on the coin they wager than the lives lost in the arena. Each night, when we return home, Neela has food for us and a hot tub of water waiting.

We bathe. We make love. We hold each other and sleep. Or at least try to.

It’s hard to rest when we both know that the next day could sever us forever. Leith frets over his family and how to ensure their safety.

Everything he does is for them…and knowing the truth as I do… It ruins me.

There’s a harsh knock followed by a pause. I know it’s Caelen. Just like I can guess why he’s here. “Gladiator, you’re being summoned to the arena.”

Again.

Leith is already dressed. I slip into my nightshirt as I watch him fasten his sword to his hip. He smiles at me—that crooked, confident smile that I know so well. I don’t smile in return. The guilt of knowing his mother and sisters are dead is eating me alive. I’d decided to tell him, despite Father’s warning, because I thought it was the right thing to do, but then I couldn’t.

I just couldn’t .

“Hey,” Leith says, returning to me. He cups my face and brushes away a tear with his thumb. “Are you still not feeling well?”

I nod. The guilt of hiding this secret has ravaged me. And ever since Father told me Papa killed his own mother, I barely sleep or eat anymore. Bad dreams—that’s my big excuse for the mess I’ve become.

“Gladiator,” Caelen calls. “We haven’t much time.”

Leith kisses me, caressing my face gently. “Two more matches,” he reminds me.

“Two more,” I say. “Don’t forget—there’s supposed to be fire. Lots of it. The guard I spoke to warns that it’s crucial you don’t engage your opponent directly. Even he seemed scared of whatever they have planned for you.”

“What of the weapons?” he asks.

“He kept the ones I intended for your previous matches and promised to sneak as many into the arena as he can.”

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Thank you.”

“Leith,” Caelen says. “If we’re late…”

Still, Leith takes a moment to embrace me tightly.

It’s only when I force a weak smile that he finally releases me.

I watch him and Caelen trot away on their moon horses. Caelen tosses his braids behind him as he looks back at me, his features troubled. I suspect he’s heard of the fire at the aviary by now.

I wonder if he’s figured out the full extent of it.

I should be riding with Leith, and it annoys me that I’m not, but the fewer who know about us, the better. And the less likely it is that Soro’s hand will be forced.

My stomach rumbles, but the thought of food makes me nauseous. And forget how terrified I’ll be seeing Leith go through whatever those monsters have designed for him.

Father and Giselle plan to see Papa after the match, unless I need help with Leith. I’d love to see Papa, too. If Leith fares well, maybe we both could visit him. And maybe, just maybe, I can somehow get Papa to tell me what happened. Or at least possibly admit his guilt. Could I maybe believe it then?

“Hello, Maeve.”

I startle.

Soro is here.

In my cottage.

Dear sun above, where the hell did he come from?

I take several steps back. “What are you doing here?”

He’s leaning against the counter as if he has all the time in the world. His gaze takes in the whole room, including Leith’s clothes and mine tossed all over the place.

My face heats.

“Why do you think I’m here, Maeve?” His thin lips press into a line. “You’re nearly twenty-one. I’m here to marry you before Vitor convinces you that someone else would make a better king.”

“Come now, Soro. I’d think Vitor would welcome any delays. He remains Regent of Arrow, and you continue to lead as High General. I can’t imagine that Vitor would ever want the status quo to change.”

My reasoning seems to strike a chord. But Soro doesn’t look wholly convinced. “No?” He taps his chin. “Vitor has taken a liking to your gladiator…”

He’s referring to his father as Vitor again. It’s not a good sign.

Soro drums his fingers along the edge of the counter, posing as if he’s relaxed even as his gaze fixes on mine. “You know what he told me just last night?”

His peculiar calmness unnerves me more than any mood I’ve ever seen him in. “Soro, tell me what you’re doing here.”

He ignores me. “He told me, his son, his general, the lord at his side, the constant in his life, that I don’t deserve the throne.” His laugh carries enough bitterness to taste. “Vitor actually said that should something happen to him, some uneducated brute could lead Arrow better than I ever could.”

“ Is something going to happen to him?” I ask, barely getting the words out.

His darkening eyes travel from my face to the front opening of my nightgown. I clutch it and step back.

“Shall we sit?” he asks.

He’s not really asking. Vitor has pushed him to the brink, and I think the rest of us are meant to pay for it.

I nod, trying to steady my nerves as I lower myself onto a wooden chair at the kitchen table. Soro sits opposite me, brushing the eucalyptus leaves I meant to mash today onto the floor. “He doesn’t believe in me, Maeve. After all I’ve done for him…” He reaches for my hand. I give it to him, only to keep him calm. There’s something very wrong with him.

“You believe in me, don’t you? You know that I’m better than Filip ever was and that I’ll always be better than anyone else.”

“Soro, we already discussed this. I need time. We don’t need to rush into this.” I try to give a carefree laugh, which fails miserably. I stop myself from looking in the direction of the door. Does he know Leith just left? Of course he does.

He spreads his hands. “You’re out of time, my wife. Say you’ll marry me, and I’ll have your papa released from jail. Hell, I’ll free Andres myself.” He leans forward. “Now, say it.”

I hold my breath. How am I going to get out of this? I only need to hold him off until Leith wins two more matches, but by the look on his face, I doubt Soro is willing to wait.

I jump back when he whips out a dagger.

He arches an eyebrow and grins, then slices his palm. Words of the blood oath he intends for me to take flare and spiral along his arm. “No more games, Maeve.” The shadows darkening his eyes leave me cold. “Swear on your life that you’ll marry me.”

I rise. “I’m not marrying you unless you free my father first,” I tell him.

Time. I need to buy Leith and me more time.

“And not before my birthday,” I add.

Soro pushes away from the table and slowly rises, lifting his sliced hand to his face. He swirls his tongue against his palm until the blood is licked clean and the words from the oath disappear into his skin. I shudder with disgust.

His demeanor is disturbingly hollow, but the way the corner of his mouth delivers a sudden twitch scares me in ways Soro has never done before. “I’m no longer asking, Maeve,” he says. “Tell me yes. Last chance. Or I’ll make you fucking regret it.”

There goes another odd twitch in his otherwise ghostly features. It’s haunting. No…it’s evil.

“Soro, listen to me—”

“I am done listening. I am done waiting. You no longer have a choice, and neither do I.” He walks around the table. I walk, too, keeping the slab of stone between us. “How else will you sit on that throne? How else will you free your papa…” He closes his eyes, leans back on his heels, and smiles. Sin cuts into that grin. “Never mind. You mustn’t worry about him anymore.”

I feel the blood drain from my face.

“One royal hand washes the other, Maeve,” he says. “But if…” He shakes his finger at me. “If it doesn’t, it’s time to cut that hand off.”

“Soro, what did you do?” I think that he’s threatening me, that he hasn’t acted yet, but I can’t be sure.

“Consider it motivation to become my bride,” he says. He watches me for a moment, quiet, calculating in a way that has me stepping back in search of a weapon. “And consider it a taste of what’s coming if you deny me. Now say it. Say you’ll marry me, or I swear to the great phoenix you will regret it.”