Page 13

Alaysia

Alaysia shifted in her plush seat. The green silk dress clung uncomfortably to her skin in the stuffy arena air. The private viewing box offered the best vantage point of the fighting ring as always, but it felt more like a gilded cage today than a privilege.

“Stop fidgeting,” Marcella whispered. “You’ll wrinkle that gorgeous dress.”

“I can hardly breathe in this thing.” Alaysia tugged at the tight bodice. “Was the plunging neckline really necessary again?”

“You know how Fyret likes to display his prize.” Marcella’s eyes darted to the arena entrance. “Though I noticed you didn’t complain this much until you knew who was fighting next.”

Alaysia’s cheeks reddened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course not.” Marcella’s knowing smile made Alaysia’s cheeks burn hotter.

The crowd’s roar drew their attention as Dernin entered the ring.

Alaysia’s breath caught in her chest. His golden scales gleamed brighter than ever under the arena lights, rippling across his powerful muscles as he moved.

The memory of last night—his gentle voice describing his past, the warmth of his presence—made her heart flutter.

“Oh my,” she muttered, pressing her hands to her heated cheeks.

“He sure is something to look at,” Marcella said. “Especially when he moves like that.”

Dernin’s opponent charged at him. But he dodged with fluid grace, his tail sweeping in a devastating counterattack. Alaysia’s fingers dug into the armrests.

“I’ve never seen someone so big move so...” She trailed off, mesmerized by the deadly dance below.

“Gracefully?” Marcella supplied. “Though I suspect you’re noticing more than just his fighting style today.”

“Marcella!”

“What? I saw how you two looked at each other yesterday. And now you’re practically glowing whenever he’s around.”

“He’s just...” Alaysia swallowed hard as Dernin executed a particularly impressive maneuver. “He’s different. He sees me as a person.”

“And it doesn’t hurt that he’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“That’s not—” Alaysia’s protest died as Dernin glanced up at their box. Their eyes met across the distance, and for a moment the rest of the arena seemed to fade away. Her heart thundered erratically in her chest.

“Not what?” Marcella asked innocently.

Alaysia sank deeper into her chair, unable to tear her gaze from the warrior below. “Oh, hush.”

The match suddenly took a brutal turn as Dernin’s opponent, a massive Jorvlen with arms like tree trunks, landed a devastating blow to Dernin’s ribs. The crack echoed through the arena.

“No!” Alaysia’s gasp seemed to cut through the crowd’s roar. Her fingers dug further into the armrests, her knuckles turning white with tension. Every muscle in her body screamed to rush down there, to help him somehow.

Dernin staggered, his golden scales dulled with sweat and blood. His jaw clenched in that way she’d come to recognize, fighting through the pain. The sight of him hurting made her chest constrict.

“He’ll be fine,” Marcella whispered, patting her arm. “He’s taken worse hits.”

“That’s not helping.” Alaysia’s voice cracked. She couldn’t tear her eyes away as Dernin barely dodged another punch. When had she started caring so much? When had his pain become her pain?

The Jorvlen fighter took the advantage, forcing Dernin against the arena wall. Each impact made Alaysia flinch. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest.

“Come on,” she whispered, leaning forward in her seat. “Please move.”

“You really care about him. Don’t you?” Marcella’s voice was gentle.

Alaysia wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop shaking. “I just... I can’t watch him get hurt like this. He doesn’t deserve it. None of us do.”

But it was more than that. The thought of Dernin being seriously injured made her feel sick. The way he looked at her like she mattered, how he spoke of honor even after everything he’d been through, his gentle strength when they talked in secret—it all meant more to her than she wanted to admit.

Another brutal hit landed. Blood ran from a cut above Dernin’s eye. Alaysia’s breath caught in her throat, tears threatening to spill.

“Please,” she whispered.

Just when it seemed Dernin couldn’t take another hit, he twisted his massive tail, sweeping the Jorvlen’s legs out from under him. The crowd roared as Dernin pinned his opponent. His muscles strained as he held the struggling fighter down with all his might until the bell rang.

Alaysia slumped in her chair, her legs weak with relief. The silk dress clung to her sweat-dampened skin as she watched Dernin bow to the judges before limping from the ring.

“Breathe,” Marcella reminded her. “He won.”

“Barely.” Alaysia’s hands still trembled. “I’ve never seen him take so much damage before.”

The walk back to their quarters felt endless. Every step reminded Alaysia of the bruises forming on Dernin’s body, the blood trickling from his wounds. She tugged at the suffocating bodice of her dress.

“I need to get out of this thing.” Her voice cracked as they entered the slaves’ sleeping area.

Marcella helped unlace the back. “You’re taking this harder than usual.”

“How can I not?” Alaysia stepped out of the silk puddle, grabbing a simple cotton shift. “He’s fighting like this because of me. Getting hurt because of me.”

“He’s fighting for his freedom, too.”

“That almost makes it worse.” Alaysia climbed onto her thin mattress, running her fingers through her tangled red hair. “What if he dies trying to protect me? I couldn’t bear—” She cut herself off, pressing her palms against her eyes.

“You care a lot for him.” It wasn’t a question.

“I shouldn’t.” The admission felt like glass in her throat. “Caring about anyone in this place only leads to pain.”

Marcella leaned in closer to her. “Sometimes caring is worth the risk.”

“Is it?” Alaysia dropped her hands, staring at the rough stone ceiling. “Every time he steps into that ring, my heart stops. Every hit he takes feels like it’s landing on me instead. I can’t… I can’t watch him die, Marcella.”

“Then we better make sure our escape plan works.” Marcella squeezed her shoulder. “Because from what I’ve seen, that warrior of yours isn’t going to stop fighting for you anytime soon.”

“He’s not my warrior,” Alaysia whispered, but her racing heart betrayed the lie.

Alaysia’s bare feet barely made a sound against the cold stone floor as she crept through the dimly lit corridors.

Without her usual disguise, she felt too exposed in her simple cotton shift.

But she hadn’t had time to change before slipping past the guards during shift rotation.

Her heart beat faster with each step toward the fighters’ infirmary.

Another slave had told her that he spotted Dernin in there.

The metallic scent of blood hit her before she reached the doorway. She paused and steadied herself against the rough wall. Through the gap in the door, she spotted Dernin stretched out on one of the low cots.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, spotting her in the doorway. “Especially not without your disguise.”

“Neither should you be lying here hurt.” She slipped inside, closing the door behind her. The sight of his bruised torso made her chest ache. “Let me help.”

His golden eyes fixed on her with an intensity that stole her breath. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” She grabbed clean cloths and a bowl of water from the nearby table. “That Jorvlen hit you hard enough to crack ribs.”

“Nothing’s broken.” He tried to sit up but winced, his jaw clenching in that familiar way.

“Stop being stubborn.” She dipped the cloth in water and approached his cot. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the gash above his eye. “This needs cleaning at least.”

He caught her wrist gently. “Alaysia—”

“Please.” Her voice cracked. “Let me do this. You’re getting hurt because of me.”

“Not because of you.” His thumb brushed over her pulse point. “For you. There’s a difference.”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. She pulled her hand free and focused on cleaning the cut.

“Still.” She swallowed hard. “I hate seeing you take hits like that. When he had you against the wall, I thought—” She broke off, dabbing more carefully at the wound.

“You were that worried about me?” His voice held a note of wonder.

“Of course I was.” The words tumbled out. “Every time you step into that ring, I—” She pressed her lips together, focusing on a particularly stubborn spot of dried blood.

His tail shifted on the cot, slightly closer to where she stood. “I won’t lose.” He grabbed her free hand. “I promise you.”

The warmth of his grip sent tingles up her arm. She stared at their joined hands, unable to look at his face.