Chapter 7 Ronan
RONAN
The banquet continues long after the gladiators' formal presentation, wine flowing like water while nobles indulge their curiosities. Instead of returning me to my cell, guards drag me to an alcove near the harem seating area and chain me to a marble pillar.
"Special request from Master Valdris," Thane explains with cruel amusement. "You're to be... available for closer inspection."
The chains are ceremonial rather than practical—polished links that gleam in the candlelight but won't hold me if I truly wish to break free. This is theater, not security.
"How thoughtful," I observe, testing the bonds with casual interest.
"Don't get ideas, beast," Korven warns. "Half the guards in this room have crossbows trained on you."
I glance around and count at least six weapons pointed in my direction. Valdris takes no chances with his investments.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
I'm positioned near the nobles' tables, a living sculpture for curious, wine-emboldened guests to examine.
"Magnificent specimen," one portly merchant breathes, circling me like he's evaluating livestock. "Those scars tell quite a story."
"Each one a victory," his companion adds. "Or perhaps a failure to die properly."
They mock, yet I maintain a dangerous stillness. Their judgment, however, as I'm paraded for their amusement, stings more than any past shame.
"Such intensity in those eyes," Lady Miriel observes from her nearby couch. "Like he's planning our murders."
"Perhaps he is," her husband chuckles. "How deliciously dangerous."
I let my gaze slide over them with predatory consideration, noting the way they shiver despite their brave words. Good. Fear keeps fools honest.
From the corner of my eye, I see movement in the harem section. Emerald silk catching candlelight. A familiar figure rising with fluid grace.
Corrina approaches like a storm wrapped in beauty, and I know this night is about to become infinitely more complicated.
"How fascinating," Corrina purrs, coming to stand just outside my reach. "The famous beast, chained for our amusement."
Her tone drips honeyed venom, designed to provoke. The nearby nobles turn to watch our interaction with eager anticipation.
"Careful, my dear," Lord Caelum warns. "Wild animals are unpredictable."
"Oh, I'm quite safe," she replies without taking her green eyes off mine. "This one's been properly... domesticated."
The insult hits its mark, sending heat through my veins. "Have I now?"
"Of course. Look at you—chained like a pet, performing tricks for treats." She gestures dismissively at my bonds. "How the mighty have fallen."
"Fallen?" I lean forward as far as the chains allow, bringing us almost face to face. "From what great height, exactly?"
"From whatever delusion of grandeur you harbored before reality educated you."
The nobles murmur excitedly at our verbal sparring, but I barely hear them. All my attention focuses on the woman before me—beautiful, sharp-tongued, and radiating the kind of controlled fury that calls to something dark in my soul.
"And what reality is that?" I ask softly.
"That you're property now. A thing to be bought and sold and used for entertainment." Her smile is cruel as winter. "Just like the rest of us."
The last words slip out before she can stop them, revealing more than intended. I see the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes before she masks it.
"Ah," I murmur. "But there's the difference between us, pet. I remember what freedom tastes like."
Her face goes pale, then flushes with genuine anger. "How dare you—"
"Call you pet? But that's what you are, isn't it? Valdris's favorite ornament, polished and displayed for admiration."
"I am not—"
"What? His property? His plaything?" I laugh, the sound harsh in the perfumed air. "At least I'm honest about my chains."
She steps closer, close enough that I catch her scent—jasmine and rage and something deeper that makes my heart rate quicken despite my anger.
"You know nothing about me," she hisses.
"I know enough. You've traded your soul for silk sheets and safety."
"And you've traded your life for pride. Tell me, warrior, which of us is the fool?"
Our loud exchange drew the attention of the nobles in the great hall, who eagerly watched. However, my focus remained solely on the woman, captivated by her barely controlled emotions, fiery green eyes, and the elegant line of her throat above the sapphire collar.
"You think pride is foolishness?" I ask quietly, my voice pitched for her ears alone.
"I think pride is a luxury that gets people killed."
"And what about dignity? Honor? The right to choose your own death?"
"Pretty words that mean nothing when you're rotting in the ground."
"Better the ground than your knees."
She draws back as if I'd slapped her, hand rising instinctively toward her throat. For a moment, her mask slips completely, and I see raw pain in her eyes.
"You bastard," she whispers.
"Truth often is."
"Truth?" Her laugh is as bitter as ashes. "What would you know about truth? You're nothing but violence and ego wrapped in righteous fury."
"And you're nothing but fear dressed up in silk and jewels."
"I am not afraid—"
"Aren't you?" I lean forward again, chains singing with tension. "When was the last time you made a choice that wasn't dictated by survival? When did you last say 'no' to something that mattered?"
"When did you last say 'yes' to something that mattered?" she shoots back.
The question hits unexpectedly deep. Because the answer is simple and devastating: the night I chose to save a girl in Oshta. The night that led to this cage, this chain, this moment.
"Every time I refuse to break," I tell her.
"Refusal isn't the same as choice."
"It's the only choice slaves have."
"Then we're both slaves, aren't we?"
Our exchange, a palpable tension, captivated the noble audience. Valdris, understanding our anger and attraction, rose from his throne, his cruel, intelligent mind already calculating.
"My dear Corrina," Valdris's voice cuts through our heated exchange like silk over steel. "How animated you've become."
She freezes, the color draining from her cheeks as she realizes how public our argument has grown. Every noble in the hall watches with avid fascination.
"Master," she says carefully, settling back into her practiced composure. "I was simply... greeting your newest acquisition."
"Indeed." He glides closer, moving with predatory grace. "And what a greeting it was. Such passion. Such... fire."
I don't like the way his pale eyes gleam with satisfaction. There's a look in them I recognize—the same expression he wore when calculating my worth in the arena.
"Forgive my poor manners," Corrina continues, her voice steady despite the tension radiating from her frame. "The wine has made me... spirited."
"Spirited," Valdris repeats thoughtfully. "Yes, that's precisely the word." He turns his attention to me, studying my face intently. "And you, my fierce warrior. What do you think of my most precious jewel?"
The question is loaded with dangerous undertones. I sense a trap but can't see its shape.
"She has a sharp tongue," I answer carefully.
"Indeed she does. Sharp enough to draw blood, wouldn't you say?"
"If that was her intention."
"And was it?" He looks between us with growing amusement. "I confess, I've never seen such... chemistry between strangers."
The nobles murmur appreciatively, scenting drama. But there's something else in Valdris's expression now—a calculating gleam that indicates he’s out for blood.
"Perhaps," he continues slowly, "we might explore this fascinating dynamic further."
"Master?" Corrina's voice carries the faintest tremor of uncertainty.
"You've both proven so... entertaining tonight. Such delicious antagonism." His smile turns razor-sharp. "I find myself curious about how this story might unfold."
I see the exact moment the idea crystallizes in his mind. The way his pupils dilate slightly. The subtle shift in his posture as inspiration strikes.
Whatever he's planning, it's going to be cruel. Creative. Designed to amuse him while tormenting us both.
"Guards," he calls without taking his eyes off Corrina's pale face. "I have new instructions for our manticore's accommodations."
My blood turns to ice. Because I know—with the certainty of a condemned man watching the noose being tied—that our verbal sparring has just sealed both our fates.
Valdris has found a new game to play.
And we're going to be his pieces.
"This should prove most educational," he murmurs, and his laughter follows us both into whatever fresh hell he's devising.