Chapter 19 Ronan
RONAN
The guards escort us back through the stone corridors, but the arena's roar still echoes in my ears. Freedom. The word tastes like poison on my tongue because I know it's a lie.
Men like Valdris don't give away their prizes. They dangle hope like bait, watching their victims scramble for something that was never real to begin with.
"Quite a show," Thane comments as we descend toward the gladiator quarters. "Freedom for the survivors. Generous offer."
"Very generous," I agree, keeping my voice neutral.
But my mind races with darker possibilities. What's the real game here? What does Valdris gain from this spectacle beyond entertainment?
The other gladiators buzz with excited conversation, already forming alliances and plotting strategies. Fools. They're so desperate for freedom they can't see the trap being laid.
"You don't seem excited, beast," Korven observes. "Not interested in earning your liberty?"
"I'm interested in staying alive."
"Same thing, isn't it?"
"We'll see."
They herd us into the large holding area where gladiators wait between matches. The space erupts with voices as fighters debate team formations and assess potential threats. Everyone's calculating odds, measuring strengths, planning for the fights ahead.
Everyone except me.
Because I know this entire exercise is designed to break us in new and creative ways. The promise of freedom is just another chain, heavier than iron because it weighs on the soul.
Still, what choice do we have? Play Valdris's game and hope to find an opening, or rot in these cells until death claims us.
Some choice.
The moment the guards leave us alone, Corrina whirls around and her fist connects with my jaw in a wild, unpracticed swing.
The impact is negligible—she has no idea how to throw a proper punch—but the fury behind it is absolute. Her green eyes blaze with rage that goes deeper than simple anger.
"You bastard!" she hisses, shaking out her hand. "How dare you!"
"How dare I what?"
"Stand up there and talk about me like I'm some prize you've won! Like I'm a horse you've broken to saddle!"
Other gladiators turn to watch our confrontation with interest, but I barely notice them. All my attention is focused on the woman before me, trembling with righteous fury.
"I was protecting you."
"By humiliating me? By implying to thousands of people that you've... that we..." She can't even finish the sentence, too furious for coherent speech.
"By giving Valdris what he wanted to hear."
"What he wanted to hear?" Her laugh is sharp as broken glass. "You sounded just like him! Just like every other male who thinks women exist for their entertainment!"
The comparison hits like a slap. "I am nothing like him."
"Aren't you? Standing there with your chest puffed out, bragging about taming the wild harem girl?"
"I never said that."
"You didn't need to! 'She's quite the fighter' with that smug male satisfaction? What was I supposed to think?"
Heat flares in my chest—part guilt, part defensive anger. Because she's right. In trying to protect her, I reduced her to a conquest, a prize to be claimed.
But I'll be damned if I admit that now.
"Maybe if you weren't so quick to assume the worst, you'd understand what I was trying to do," I snarl.
"Oh, I understand perfectly. You were marking your territory like any other beast."
"I was keeping you alive!"
"By treating me like property? By confirming every crude assumption those animals have about me?"
"What would you have preferred? That I let them think you're available? Let them know exactly how much you mean to—" I cut myself off before I can finish that dangerous sentence.
"How much I mean to what?" she demands.
"Nothing. You mean nothing."
The lie tastes like ash, but it's safer than the truth. Safer than admitting that watching other males eye her with hunger makes me want to paint these walls with their blood.
"Good," she snaps. "Because you mean nothing to me either. I never should have let you touch me."
"No one forced you."
"Didn't they? Locked in that cell with a rutting beast, what choice did I have?"
The words cut deeper than any blade. Because part of me wonders if she's right—if our proximity and circumstances coerced her into something she didn't truly want.
"You seemed willing enough at the time."
"I was desperate. Lonely. Stupid enough to think you might be different from every other male who's used me."
"I didn't use you."
"Didn't you? Then what do you call what just happened up there?"
"Survival."
"Whose? Yours or mine?"
The question stops me cold because I'm not entirely sure of the answer. Was I protecting her, or protecting my own possessive instincts?
"Both," I say finally.
"Liar."
She turns away from me, silk rustling with sharp movements. But not before I see the hurt beneath her anger, the genuine pain my words caused.
I should apologize. Should explain what I was trying to do, even if I failed spectacularly.
Instead, I let my own wounded pride drive me away.
"Fine," I growl, stalking toward the far side of the holding area. "Think whatever you want."
"I will!"
"Good!"
"Excellent!"
We glare at each other across the space filled with curious gladiators, both breathing hard, both radiating fury. The air between us crackles with unfinished arguments and deeper grievances.
Other fighters wisely give us both wide berths.
I settle against the far wall and try to focus on the conversations around me—team strategies, opponent assessments, survival odds. Anything but the way Corrina looked when I confirmed her worst assumptions about my character.
But her voice carries despite my efforts to ignore it.
"I want more than this," she says, though I'm not sure if she's talking to me or herself.
"More than what?"
"More than silks and chains. More than being passed between masters like expensive property."
There's something in her tone—a desperate longing that cuts through my anger like a knife. When I glance back, she's staring at the stone walls with an expression of profound emptiness.
"I want to matter," she continues quietly. "To be valued for something other than my body or my ability to smile prettily while my soul dies inch by inch."
The raw honesty in her words steals my breath. Because that's what I saw in her from the beginning, isn't it? Not just beauty, but strength. Not just survival, but defiance.
Everything I just reduced to crude male bragging.
"Corrina—"
"Don't." She doesn't look at me. "Whatever you're about to say, just... don't."
So I don't. I let the silence stretch between us while around us, gladiators plot and scheme and pretend they have any real control over their fates.
But her words echo in my mind like a prayer: I want more than silks and chains.
Maybe, if we survive whatever hell Valdris has planned, I can help her find it.
If she'll ever trust me enough to try.