Page 9 of Bloodguard

His admonishment makes my hands curl into fists, but I continue in an even tone. “I’m not asking to bend the laws or suggesting we break them. My father isinnocent.”

Papa would never have harmed Grandmother. He loved her. We all did.

Vitor’s eyes soften. “I know this is hard, Maeve. But we didn’t just cast Andres into a cell without consideration. And in the end, the prince confessed to striking down our great Queen Avianna. You know this, dear.”

“No,” I disagree for the hundredth time. Only the council was present during my father’s supposed confession, but I will deny he ever said it at all until he admits the deed to my face. My father is a gentle and decent man, and I cannot imagine him capable of murder, much less murdering his own mother.

“I understand your doubts,” Vitor says. “The truth can be painful.” His expression turns pensive before he glances back at me. “I know you love your papa, but can’t you extend that love to Arrow, too?”

I gasp. “Of course I love my country. I was willing to marryFilipfor Arrow,” I remind him.

But Vitor just stares down his nose at me. “Covering yourself up? Hiding your face in the stands?” He tips my chin up with his finger. “Avoiding these games as if you have something to hide? The people need to see you, to embrace you and know you are capable…”

He isn’t trying to be callous or cruel. While Vitor isn’t a blood relative, growing up in the castle with him made him as close as family. As acting Regent of Arrow, he rules in my stead.

He’ll stay in that role until such time as I come of age and marry within my class. Should something happen to me, as heir to the throne, the crown would revert to the five noble houses to be shared equally. And that…that would be anarchy.

“Now, come back into the arena with me,” he says. “And by the great phoenix, try to smile and at leastactlike you enjoy the games.”

Vitor believes this is best for me—and for the kingdom. I recognize why…because these games are a tool.

He’s a smart man, my uncle. He uses the arena to entertain the people—allthe people—showering them with food and drink and a chance to change their fortunes. It’s made him popular among the classes and solidified his position as Lord Regent. Everyone buys in. The nobles spending their time and money on this “sport.” The common people betting in the hopes of a better life. The fighters willing to die to win the riches that Bloodguard brings and citizenship for their families, not to mention its coveted royal title.

My eyes widen as the words “royal title” ricochet in my chest, my heart racing.

Vitor’s eyes sharpen. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” I lower my gaze and try for a meek expression. “You’re right, Uncle.” I tuck my arm through his and lean into his shoulder. “If I want to be queen, I must act like it.”

He nods approvingly and kisses the top of my head.

“Come home,” he tells me. “Marry Soro, as your grandmother would have wanted, and I will believe she would understand if—sometime after the wedding, of course—I pardoned your father. The kingdom is flourishing under my rule. What Arrow needs is stability and strength, and I can continue to give it to them with my son and you by my side.”

Part of me is willing to do it—I would doanythingto save my father. But as much as I love him, I know he would never forgive me if I married Soro. There’s something just notrightabout that man. He was cruel when we were children, and he’s only grown worse over the years. As much as I want to believe Vitor would still be able to control him were Soro and I to wed, Soro would beking—and able to do so much worse. I can’t risk it.

Besides…I have a better plan.

Uncle Vitor’s grip tightens around my hand to steady me as we return to the arena, but I barely notice. I can’t even hear the roar of the crowd over my heart pounding in my ears when we take our seats in the royal box.

I find the young gladiator, his boots digging into the sand, his body poised to sprint, and I refuse to look away. Hewillwin today.

He owes me a fiancé.

chapter 5

Leith

A horn blows, and I take off.

Fifty yards separate me from the nearest pile.

My boots dig into the sand as I race across the uneven ground, my arms pumping so hard I grimace when the axe wound in my shoulder rips open again.

Forty yards.

The ogre behind me curses half a second before the air shifts from hot to scorching.

I cut right.

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