Page 33 of Her Manticore Master

"I was old enough to know right from wrong."

The bitter self-recrimination in her tone makes my chest tighten with unwanted sympathy. "You survived. That took strength."

"It took cowardice."

"It took intelligence."

"Don't." Her voice cracks like a whip. "Don't you dare try to make my choices noble. I am exactly what those guards said I am."

"You're a survivor."

"I'm a commodity. Pretty, trained, expensive, but still just something to be bought and sold."

She turns away from me, silk rustling as she moves to her usual corner. But I catch the tremor in her hands before she can hide it.

"I don't need your pity," she adds quietly.

"Good. You're not getting it."

"Then what was that display about?" she demands, whirling to face me again. "The threats, the snarling, the protective male posturing?"

"I don't like bullies."

"How noble. The gallant gladiator defending helpless women."

"You're not helpless."

"No? Then why did you feel the need to threaten them?"

The question stops me cold because I'm not entirely sure of the answer myself. Yes, I hate bullies. Yes, their crude comments disgusted me. But there was something else underneath the rage—something possessive and protective that I don't want to examine too closely.

"They were out of line," I say instead.

"They were honest. I am harem trash, Ronan. I've been Valdris's whore for three years."

"That doesn't define you."

"Doesn't it? What else am I? What other value do I have?"

"You're sharp-tongued, stubborn, intelligent?—"

"All excellent qualities in a bed slave, I'm sure."

Her deliberate crudeness is designed to push me away, to restore the safe distance that anger provides. I recognize the tactic because I use it myself.

"You're also brave," I add quietly.

"Brave?" She laughs, the sound hollow. "I hide in silk and jewels while other people fight my battles."

"You tend my wounds every night despite hating me for getting you into this situation."

"That's not bravery. That's practicality."

"Is it? Or is it the only way you know how to fight back?"

She goes very still, green eyes wide with something that might be surprise. As if no one has ever suggested she might be fighting at all.

"I don't fight," she whispers.