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She carefully thought over her response, knowing that he would buy it. “Roland puts the prettiest girls in the highest levels, and they usually make morebecauseof it. It’s a vain, superficial thing, I know, but it helps pay for what we need.”

“I’ve always hated him. He reminds me of an eel, or a slimy slug with the way he treats the young men and women under his employment.” He informed her as they reached the Bronzed Goblet.

“Some of us don’t have any other options, since we live below the Bronze Gate.” Crimson brazenly spoke, not caring if it upset him. “When life deals us a shit hand, all we can do is make the best of it. Even if it means working for the assholes of this world.”

With that, she left him by himself.

He hadn’t meant to insult her.

Not at all.

He admired the tenacity that she kept fighting in a position that she was stuck in. But as she left him there and entered the tavern to prepare for the night, he caught a glimpse of the items in her satchel that she kept close.

Crimson fighting leathers, and the handle of a blade with a heart on it. With the information that she unknowingly handed over to him about her father and the birth of her brother, the details slid into place without so much as a flick of his hand to help them along.

She was most definitely Heartache’s daughter, and by proxy, Red Lyric.

Nine

West mentally chidded himself for causing her to run off faster than he intended for her to. He also told himself to find her after her round, right after if he wished to catch her. He needed to figure out what to do with her before Altivar figured her secret out too and dragged her off for whatever secret task he was determined to involve her in.

As he found the Prince along the Gold Balcony tonight, he noticed that he wasn’t alone. The perfumed male sat on a cushioned couch that was raised to the perfect vantage point to see down in the arena. It was emerald green, with soft buttons that held the velvet fabric in place. Bulbous, citrine legs held it upright, with round cushions along the corners.

But across Altivar’s scandalously clad lap, which was spread out far wider than it should have been considering the very public company they kept, and the prying eyes that could land on him at any moment, was a younger boy.

He at least was over the age that was considered inappropriate, but the way that Altivar’s sneaking hand kept dipping below hiswaist was not. West was all for public displays of affection, but this was something else entirely. It wasn’t like the Prince held a relationship with the man anymore than for the evening.

Nor did he think the Prince would.

As West approached the heir, he could already sense the dread that knotted firmly in his lower abdomen. The conversation with Crimson already left him feeling all sorts of ways, but this was something else entirely.

Altivar rotated his diamond head to his left, barely glancing at him. “Ah, Captain, you came after all. And here I was wondering if you’d even show.”

“I had things to attend to in my apartments.”

“Forever busy, you always are.” He skimmed across the pale skin of the boy in his lap. “Why not take a break every once in a while? Enjoy all thepleasuresandpretty thingsthat life has to offerus?”

West contained his disgust, but barely.

He didn’t care who ended up in whose bed, regardless of what was between their legs. That was for no one but those two to decide. Or three. He leaned more one way than the other, preferring females for himself but there was no judgement in any who sought out their pleasure in either sex, or neither. But it was the blatant way that the Prince used their statues as Saints without care or caution.

“You’re a Saint, too?” The male’s eyes widened, the turquoise appearing near sea foam blue with a curious shimmer. “Which one?”

“Guess, Torrhen.” Altivar bent forward and began to nibble on his ear, licking up the curve of it in a way that some might find seductive. “Look at his handsome face, the way his hair is almost as black asnight. The way his skin almost shimmers with golden light, or how his eyes are the richest blue to ever be seen. Do you see the illecebrousstarshidden within them?”

“The Northern Star!” Torrhen gasped out as the wandering fingers found something as hard as rock below his lavender skirt. It wasn’t like the Saints-damned thing was covering anything, considering how sheer it was.

“Correct. You’ve guessed right. Shall I give you your prize now?” The Prince murmured with the voice of a drunken lover, lowering his mouth to his.

West had seen enough.

Red Lyric would be up soon enough, if his guess was good. The last match had just finished, and the body was in the middle of being removed as the gate swung open and the announcer came out. If he wanted to catch her in the act, then he needed to be on the first level. It would be easy enough to demand access to the back hallway where the fighter came from with his status of Captain of the Watch.

Even if Grimm owned the Pits.

Their last encounter nearly resulted in his death, which was the reason for the scar that West bore on his neck. And why Grimm disappeared for a couple of years.

He zigged past the second balcony, finding the stairs to the first and heading down as the announcer spoke to the gathering mass of people that all held their breaths anxiously for the next match to start.