Page 23 of Her Manticore Master
"Chose?" Her laugh is hollow. "You think any of this was choice?"
"Staying alive always is."
The words hang between us like a blade. She stares at me for a long moment, something vulnerable flickering in her green eyes before the walls slam back into place.
"I hate you," she whispers.
"I know."
"You've ruined everything."
"Everything was already ruined. I just made it visible."
She turns away, shoulders rigid with suppressed emotion. When she begins to speak again, her voice is carefully empty.
"This conversation is over."
"Fine."
But the silence that follows feels heavier than words, thick with everything we haven't said.
The night deepens around us, torchlight fading to dim embers. In the distance, I can hear other prisoners shifting in their cells, the occasional groan of someone lost in nightmares.
Corrina has claimed the far corner, settling onto the straw-covered floor with her silk dress arranged around her like armor. She looks impossibly delicate against the rough stone, a jewel thrown into mud.
The single cot dominates the narrow space between us. Crude but functional, it would be luxury compared to bare stone. I don't move toward it.
"You're not sleeping?" she asks without looking at me.
"Not tired."
"Liar. I can see the exhaustion in your shoulders."
She's right, of course. Days of fighting have taken their toll, and my ribs still ache from the troll battle. But the bed would put me closer to her, and I'm not ready for that kind of proximity.
Not when the air between us simmers with anger and something darker.
"The floor's fine," I say instead.
"How noble. The gentleman gladiator refuses to claim his privileges."
"It's not about being noble."
"No? Then what?"
I lean back against the cold stone, letting my eyes drift closed. "It's about not giving him what he wants."
"And what does he want?"
"To break us both."
She's quiet for so long I suspect she's fallen asleep. Then, barely audible: "What if we're already broken?"
I open my eyes to find her watching me, silk pooled around her like spilled wine. In the dying light, she looks young and lost and absolutely stunning.
"Then we find new ways to be whole," I tell her.
She turns away without responding, but I catch the shiver that runs through her slight frame.
