Page 25 of Bloodguard

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I grunt. “Lord Dick and Baby Dick have tried to take me out for years.”

They came to the barracks once and chatted up the fighters. A few of the ogres and humans and trolls kissed their asses. Most of us—myself included—refused to look at them. I pointedly turned away when they strolled past. I recall Sullivan spitting at their feet.

Maeve brushes off her hands and draws closer, her steps cautious despite the determination in her dainty features. “So far, they’ve failed,” she finishes for me.

“You’re damn right they failed,” I mutter. “And they’ll fail again. I’ll make those evil bastards weep blood for what they did to us.”

“They won’t fail forever, Leith,” she tells me quietly. “In the last three years, those who became Bloodguards are absurdly loyal to Vitor. And those who weren’t… Well, there are none.”

I freeze, ready to accuse her of lying, but I think back to the last two crowned Bloodguard—both were barely winning until they weren’t. Then my mind shifts to the four who were on their way to winning their freedom—to Sullivan and the others—all dead now. An owl hoots in the distance. Farther away, another answers its call. The distraction provides just enough time for the healer’s words to hit me harder than they should. She inches closer but just out of my reach.

The games are about money and power. I know that. I’m not ignoring what she said—I just can’t get past those men who thought they were close to achieving their dreams and yet had no idea how far they really were.

Sullivan… He was supposed to become a Bloodguard. He wasthatclose, and this is what they did to him. For daring to believe his fate was his own to claim. Pain floods my chest, and I grit my teeth.

Through the open window, the night breeze blows across my wet skin, but it’s not the temperature icing my veins. “Liars. You’re all liars. You take everything from us, even the right to decide our own fate in the end.”

Compassion, or maybe pity, softens Maeve’s expression. “I’m sorry, Leith.”

She edges back, giving me more space, and I need it. When I finally do speak, hate has stripped me raw. “What can you do for me that I can’t do for myself?”

Her eyes widen, but there’s no hesitancy in her voice when she answers. “I can pay for information. I can get you the best weapons to give you the best opportunities—”

“How?” I ask.

She grimaces, but in a way that says I’m missing the obvious. “I have gold. I can buy favors from those who set up the games.”

“The match makers?” I question.

“No,” she admits. “I can’t trust people that high. Uncle Vitor controls them.”

I narrow my gaze to slits. “UncleVitor?” I growl. “Just who the hell are you, Maeve?”

She shakes her head. “He’s notreallymy uncle, of course. I’ve just known him my whole life. He was my grandmother’s favorite general, and more like family, so I guess the appellation stuck.”

My body is so still, it feels like I’m made of granite. “And who exactly was yourgrandmother?”

“The queen,” she says, like it should be obvious. She lifts her chin. “I don’t understand. You called me ‘Princess’ earlier. I was certain you knew who I was.”

“I wasn’t being literal,” I bite out, and her eyes widen.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Neither of us says anything else for several minutes until I run a hand through my wet hair. “So let me get this straight—the princess of Arrow wants to help a commoner become a Bloodguard so he’ll be of high enough station to marry her royal ass…whyexactly?”

She stiffens, her posture rigid and as regal as a queen. Yeah, I see it now.

“I have my reasons,” she says. “Reasons that will benefit you as well.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Prove it.”

Quick as a snakebite, she takes the knife from her basket, pulls up her sleeve, and drags the blade across her forearm. The letters of her blood oath ignite and skim across her brown skin. “Promise to marry me, and I’ll get you through. You’ll win and earn your million gold coins. I swear it.”

This is a blood oath. Breakable only by death.

She’s willing to throw her lot in with mine, despite the terrible odds. Why? “What do you ask in return, besides a husband to keep you warm at night?”

“You don’tgetto keep me warm,” she answers, voice firm but face flushed. “This is business, not pleasure.”

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