Page 54 of Her Manticore Master

She studies my face with uncomfortable intensity, as if trying to read thoughts I'm not ready to share. When she speaks again, her voice carries a determination that makes my pulse quicken.

"I want to be on your team."

The unexpected request catches me off guard. "What?"

"For the grand melee. I want to fight beside you."

I stare at her for a long moment, waiting for the punchline. When none comes, I can't help but laugh.

"You're not a gladiator, Corrina. Hell, you're not even a fighter."

"I killed Zephyr."

"You surprised one overconfident snake. That doesn't make you a warrior."

Her jaw clenches with stubborn pride. "It's a start."

"It's suicide. The grand melee isn't going to be ambushing distracted opponents. It'll be chaos, violence, skilled killers trying to murder each other for sport."

"Then teach me."

"Teach you what?"

"How to fight. How to survive. How to be more than just a pretty decoration that gets passed between masters."

There's something raw in her voice, a desperation that cuts through my practical objections. This isn't about the grand melee, I realize. It's about agency. About having some control over her own fate.

"You want to get yourself killed."

"I want to get myself free."

"Those might be the same thing."

"Maybe. But at least I'll die on my feet instead of on my knees."

The fierce determination in her green eyes reminds me why I was drawn to her in the first place. Not the silk or the beauty—though both are undeniably appealing—but the unbreakable spirit that refuses to be crushed despite everything she's endured.

"You have no training. No weapons experience. No idea what you're asking."

"I have you."

"I'm not a teacher."

"You're a killer. Teach me to kill."

The blunt honesty of it steals my breath. Because that's exactly what she's asking for—not self-defense or martial arts, but the tools to take control of her own destiny through violence.

"This is insane."

"Probably."

"You'll most likely die in the first five minutes."

"Better than living the rest of my life as someone else's property."

I study her face, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. Find nothing but steel-hard resolve wrapped in silk and stubbornness.

"The training would be brutal. No mercy, no accommodation for your comfort."