chapter 11
Leith
This woman…
A veil of inky lashes rests over blue eyes as exquisite and fathomless as the most perilous ocean. They swallow me whole, drowning me in want, desperation, and need. Strands of her mahogany hair tease the delicate skin of her face, the thickest piece crossing the scar along her jaw. She’s flushed from work and maybe more. She’s beautiful, perfect, and in-fucking-sane.
“Hell no,” I tell her.
Her jaw drops open. “You don’t have to say it like that. Believe it or not, I’m considered a catch.”
Without a word, I turn around, ready to walk back to the barracks.
She rushes to block my path and rams her hands on her hips. “Leith, you need me.”
Is she trying to be funny? “For what?” I ask.
“To become a Bloodguard,” she insists. “You can’t do it without me.”
“Like hell I can’t.” I stomp toward her. I can break her in two, and she knows it, even though I’d never harm an innocent. And pain in the ass or not, she is definitely an innocent. If any royal can be, that is. I take another look at her.
Maybe an innocent.
Maeve saw me take out her man in less time than it took him to land his feet in the arena. She saw me win that match with a dragon…and kill my friend. Remembering Sullivan and what he was to me—father, brother, family —pisses me off even more.
She doesn’t move, holding her ground.
“I don’t need you to become a Bloodguard,” I growl. “I don’t need you for anything. For three beastly years, I’ve managed fine all on my own.”
She scans my body from the top of my head to my feet. “Yeah. It shows.”
I ram my face in front of hers, the fury today stirred in me licking each word. “I’m alive, and I’m three matches away from being crowned. I did that. Me. With no help from anyone, especially a royal like you. I’m going to earn the money to save my family, and not just without your help—I’m going to earn it in spite of your kind.”
Maeve’s jaw tightens. I’ve offended her. Well, sugar breeches, just returning the favor.
Chunks of wet hair splatter water down my back when I whirl and reach for my discarded clothes. I barely have my pants tied when she speaks.
“Vitor won’t let you become a royal,” she says softly.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I grunt. “Lord Dick and Baby Dick have tried to take me out for years.”
They came to the barracks once and chatted up the fighters. A few of the ogres and humans and trolls kissed their asses. Most of us—myself included—refused to look at them. I pointedly turned away when they strolled past. I recall Sullivan spitting at their feet.
Maeve brushes off her hands and draws closer, her steps cautious despite the determination in her dainty features. “So far, they’ve failed,” she finishes for me.
“You’re damn right they failed,” I mutter. “And they’ll fail again. I’ll make those evil bastards weep blood for what they did to us.”
“They won’t fail forever, Leith,” she tells me quietly. “In the last three years, those who became Bloodguards are absurdly loyal to Vitor. And those who weren’t… Well, there are none.”
I freeze, ready to accuse her of lying, but I think back to the last two crowned Bloodguard—both were barely winning until they weren’t. Then my mind shifts to the four who were on their way to winning their freedom—to Sullivan and the others—all dead now. An owl hoots in the distance. Farther away, another answers its call. The distraction provides just enough time for the healer’s words to hit me harder than they should. She inches closer but just out of my reach.
The games are about money and power. I know that. I’m not ignoring what she said—I just can’t get past those men who thought they were close to achieving their dreams and yet had no idea how far they really were.
Sullivan… He was supposed to become a Bloodguard. He was that close, and this is what they did to him. For daring to believe his fate was his own to claim. Pain floods my chest, and I grit my teeth.
Through the open window, the night breeze blows across my wet skin, but it’s not the temperature icing my veins. “Liars. You’re all liars. You take everything from us, even the right to decide our own fate in the end.”
Compassion, or maybe pity, softens Maeve’s expression. “I’m sorry, Leith.”
She edges back, giving me more space, and I need it. When I finally do speak, hate has stripped me raw. “What can you do for me that I can’t do for myself?”
Her eyes widen, but there’s no hesitancy in her voice when she answers. “I can pay for information. I can get you the best weapons to give you the best opportunities—”
“How?” I ask.
She grimaces, but in a way that says I’m missing the obvious. “I have gold. I can buy favors from those who set up the games.”
“The match makers?” I question.
“No,” she admits. “I can’t trust people that high. Uncle Vitor controls them.”
I narrow my gaze to slits. “ Uncle Vitor?” I growl. “Just who the hell are you, Maeve?”
She shakes her head. “He’s not really my uncle, of course. I’ve just known him my whole life. He was my grandmother’s favorite general, and more like family, so I guess the appellation stuck.”
My body is so still, it feels like I’m made of granite. “And who exactly was your grandmother ?”
“The queen,” she says, like it should be obvious. She lifts her chin. “I don’t understand. You called me ‘Princess’ earlier. I was certain you knew who I was.”
“I wasn’t being literal,” I bite out, and her eyes widen.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Neither of us says anything else for several minutes until I run a hand through my wet hair. “So let me get this straight—the princess of Arrow wants to help a commoner become a Bloodguard so he’ll be of high enough station to marry her royal ass… why exactly?”
She stiffens, her posture rigid and as regal as a queen. Yeah, I see it now.
“I have my reasons,” she says. “Reasons that will benefit you as well.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Prove it.”
Quick as a snakebite, she takes the knife from her basket, pulls up her sleeve, and drags the blade across her forearm. The letters of her blood oath ignite and skim across her brown skin. “Promise to marry me, and I’ll get you through. You’ll win and earn your million gold coins. I swear it.”
This is a blood oath. Breakable only by death.
She’s willing to throw her lot in with mine, despite the terrible odds. Why? “What do you ask in return, besides a husband to keep you warm at night?”
“You don’t get to keep me warm,” she answers, voice firm but face flushed. “This is business, not pleasure.”
“Then tell me what you want,” I say with deadly calm.
She bites her bottom lip.
Does she want me to tear this place apart? “Just tell me.”
“I want the throne, Leith. Do this, and I’ll become queen.” Her bright eyes challenge me.
“You want revenge? You want to bring the arena down…be my king .”