Page 56 of The Devil May Care

“And what does protected look like here? Chains? Fireproof boots? Or a really fancy ceremonial sword I’m not allowed to use?”

I almost smile. But I don’t.

“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “But I will do what I can.”

A beat of silence.

“That’s not nothing,” she says.

I nod once—Formal. Clipped—and turn to leave, hand brushing the doorway.

I pause. Not for drama. Not for effect. I feel it—this thread between us. Something pulled taut. Barely seen, not even fully felt. Something real.

“You surprised them,” I say again, voice softer now. “The court. The others. My father.”

She exhales a dry breath.

“Good.”

A beat.

“Did I surprise you?” Her voice isn’t teasing now. Not soft, either.

“Yes,” I say finally. “And no.”

Her brow furrows. She stands near the basin, hair dark with sweat, the curve of her spine betraying how tired she really is. But her chin is lifted. Her eyes steady. And I know my answer. I knew she’d be difficult.I knew she’d be inconvenient. I knew she wouldn’t be restful, or pliable, or easy to remove. But I hadn’t expected this tug. How much she would get under my skin, burrowing deep into the soft squishy heat of my organs. How much her presence in the ring would feel like a blade pressed against my throat, or maybe something else.

Something I thought long cauterized.

“You entered the ring. You fought. You bled. I—”

“You didn’t think I would?” She nods, slowly, like that’s the answer she expected.

“I hadn’t decided one way or another, but I did suspect,” I add, “that you wouldn’t make it easy for anyone.”

That gets a huff of a laugh from her.

“No. I’m not great at easy.” She turns back to the basin and wrings out the cloth again, then sets it aside.

“Aren’t you?”

Her smirk causes the muscles in my belly to contract.

“Careful Ember Heir. Questions like that? Where I’m from? They get a man slapped.”

The flame must be losing the translation somewhere. “I meant you seem remarkably calm under pressure. Is that not easy?”

Laughter bursts out of her. Shimmering in the room between us. “That makes more sense. Easy back home means…” her gaze drifts to me and she grins again. It’s a wicked twist of her lips and something lurches in my chest in response. “Something else.”

“Like what?”

Her head tips to the side, her hair still stuck to her head with sweat as she jams her hands on her hips. The cut on her arm is still fresh, raw, but the bleeding has slowed.

“It’s another way to say someone gets around.”

The flame isn’t any better with that phrase because my instinct is to ask if they have chariots in her world too? Portals that open and shut at the flame’s will, but that also doesn’t fit.

“A slut,” she continues, clearly reading my confusion. “Loose, wanton.”