Chapter 33 Ronan
RONAN
His steel-blue eyes find mine, a silent, frantic question. I shake my head, unable to speak. The first round is over. We are still alive.
Two more fights. Two more victories scraped from the blood-soaked sand.
We’re still alive, but the cost is mounting.
My body is a roadmap of fresh aches and deep, bone-weary exhaustion.
I lean against the grimy wall of the holding pen, my sword heavy in my lap, trying to catch my breath while the cacophony of the arena fades.
Corrina nurses a gash on her forearm from a stray axe. I saw it coming but was too slow to intercept. The sight of her injury and blood caused an unfamiliar, debilitating terror, unlike any fear for myself.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intend.
She doesn’t look up from her work, carefully cleaning the wound with a strip of cloth. “Of course it hurts, you idiot. I was just cut with an axe.” Her voice is steady, but I can see the slight tremor in her hands.
“You did well,” I say, the words feeling inadequate. “You saw the second attacker coming from my blind side. You shouted. You saved my life.”
“And got this for my trouble,” she mutters, but there’s no real venom in it. She ties off the makeshift bandage with a practiced knot. “We’re a mess, Ronan.”
“We’re alive,” I counter.
“For now.” She finally looks at me, and I see the exhaustion in her eyes, the dark smudges of dirt and blood that can’t hide the deep-set weariness.
Her struggles in the arena are a torment, weakening me. Each fight breaks a piece of me, a dangerous vulnerability.
We sit in silence, drained. Halfway through the melee, freedom seems a distant mirage. Corrina stares at her bandaged arm, her composure cracking. Her shoulders begin to shake, tears tracing paths through the grime. She tries to hide a choked sob of profound frustration and pain, but it's too late.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, the words broken. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” I ask, my own voice quiet. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I’m a liability,” she says, the words a torrent of self-recrimination as she finally turns to face me, the tears now flowing freely. “Every fight, I’m just… in the way. Dodging and running while you do all the work. You could have won this by now if you weren’t burdened with me.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is!” she insists, her voice rising with a desperate, hysterical edge.
“I’m not a warrior, Ronan! I’m a harem girl you’ve dressed in leather.
I try to remember the training, I try to be strong, but the moment those gates open, I’m just…
terrified. I’m not what you need me to be.
” She buries her face in her hands, her sobs raw and ragged.
“You’re going to die because of me, and I can’t bear it. ”
Her despair is a tangible thing, a wave of misery that washes over me. I’m used to her anger, her sarcasm, her fire. This complete and utter brokenness is something new, and it shatters the last of my own carefully constructed walls.
My usual harshness, the gruff dismissal I use as a shield, is gone.
It feels utterly useless in the face of her raw pain.
I move from my spot on the floor and kneel in front of her, my movements slow, deliberate.
I gently take her hands, pulling them away from her face.
Her skin is cold, her fingers trembling in my grip.
“Corrina,” I say, my voice softer than I can ever remember it being. “Listen to me.”
She won’t meet my eyes, her gaze fixed on the bloody floor. I place a hand under her chin, forcing her to look at me. Her green eyes are swimming with tears, her expression a mask of self-loathing.
“I am not upset with you,” I say, the words a raw, honest truth. “Do you hear me? Your survival is all that matters. Nothing else.”
“But I’m not helping,” she sobs. “I’m a weakness.”
“No,” I say fiercely, my grip on her chin tightening almost imperceptibly.
“You are not a weakness.” I take a breath, the confession feeling like I’m tearing a piece of myself open for her to see.
“Watching you in danger… it makes me sick to my stomach. It makes it hard to breathe. The only thing I care about on that sand is keeping you alive.” I lean closer, my voice dropping to a low, intense whisper.
“So you do whatever you have to do. You dodge, you run, you hide behind me. I don’t care.
Just stay alive. Let me handle the killing.
That’s my job. Yours is to see the next sunrise. ”
My words pierced her despair, her sobs quieting as she stared, stunned. She saw my sincerity, transforming our battlefield into a sanctuary.
A harsh laugh shattered the peace. The Bone Crushers, two hulking orcs, eyed us with avarice and contempt as they passed.
“Look at that,” the larger one sneers, his yellow eyes fixing on Corrina’s tear-streaked face. “The little princess is crying. Is the big, bad arena too much for you?”
I tense, my hand going to the hilt of my sword. “Keep walking,” I growl, my voice a low warning.
“Or what?” the orc challenges, puffing out his chest. “You’ll fight us both?
You’re half-dead already.” He spits on the ground near Corrina’s feet.
“You should have chosen a better partner, manticore. A real warrior, not a soft human pet. Don’t worry,” he adds, his grin turning lewd as his gaze rakes over Corrina’s body.
“After we kill you, we’ll enjoy teaching your little princess what a real beast can do. ”
The comment, so vile and dismissive, ignites my rage. But it’s not the hot, reckless fury I’m used to. This is something different. Something cold and sharp and utterly merciless. The protective fear I felt for her just moments ago crystallizes into a deadly, focused promise.
I don’t rise. I don’t shout. I simply meet the orc’s gaze, and I let him see the promise of his own death in my eyes.
“When we meet on the sand,” I say, my voice quiet, almost conversational, yet carrying a chilling finality that cuts through the noise of the pen, “I’m not just going to kill you.
I’m going to take you apart, piece by piece.
And the last thing you see before you die will be the face of the woman you just insulted. ”
The orcs laugh, but it’s a nervous, uncertain sound. They walk away, casting uneasy glances back over their shoulders. They don’t understand. They think it’s a boast. It’s not. It’s a vow.