Page 94 of White Horse Black Nights

Roland surprises Marcus with a well-timed inside leg kick that sends him off-balance. But my fighter lunges forward with a flying knee, striking Roland in the chest. The crowd shrieks—I don’t think Rian and I are the only ones with a wager riding on the outcome. Marcus is clearly the superior fighter, and I smile as I think of what prize I’ll ask Rian for—one that he might actually grant.

A long ride on Myst beyond the city walls?

One of the new puppies that was recently born to a sentinel hound, which I could raise into an ally?

Or maybe a tour of the real Duren, including the Sin Streets, and everything he’s been hiding from me?

But then Roland, worn down and near defeat, surprises Marcus with an explosive punch to the jaw. Marcus’s head is thrown back, and he does a backward swan-dive to the floor. As soon as his back touches the polished wood, Roland lifts his fist in victory.

Excitement erupts as bets in the crowd are settled—and my eyes go wide as I realize what this means. Improbably, Rian’s fighter won. Did he catch a lucky break? Yeah, unlikely. Chances are far better that Rian ordered whichever fighter I chose to throw the fight.

My dress feels too restricted as I shift uncomfortably in my seat, realizing I’ve been played. My cheeks burn crimson. The costume wings at my back dig into my spine.

I shoot Rian a glare. He smiles back wolfishly.

Damn the Valveres.

After Rian congratulates the winner and invites Roland to sit at the high lord’s table—the far end next to the less favorable nobles—the energy in the crowd shifts. The masked attendees, sated by wine, no longer crave bloodlust. Now they only desirelust.

“A kiss!” Someone shouts. “May the Winged Lady give our lord a kiss!”

“Yes, keep your promise, good lady!”

My fists ball in my lap. Behind my mask, my eyes scan the crowd with rising panic. How can I get out of this? On instinct, I fall back into the old habit of unconsciously seeking out Basten for help.

He’s standing by the ballroom’s rear entrance. His arms fold tightly over his breastplate. Lantern light gleams off his brass shoulder plates. His eyes bore into Rian as Rian settles back into his chair. Yeah, I’m not the only one who figured out that Rian rigged the game.

“What do you say, my lady?” Rian asks loud enough for the crowd to overhear. “Of course, far be it for me to think a rogue like myself has earned a carnal kiss from such a goddess; I’ll settle for one blown from your sweet lips.”

It’s surprisingly generous of Rian to offer me this way out of a real kiss, and while I’m certain he has ulterior motives, it does relax my tightly set muscles.

Glaring across the tops of the costumed attendees, I snag Basten’s eyes.

He laid with a whore? Well, two can play that game.

“Fair is fair, my lord,” I announce loudly, pushing to my feet and flouncing my harnessed wings theatrically before dropping my ass into Rian’s lap, glad my feathered mask hides my nerves.

The crowd oohs and titters at my cheeky move. Rian’s hands grip my hips, adjusting me in his lap with a touch of both suspicion and intrigue on his face.

Reaching behind my head, I unfasten the satin ribbon holding my mask on. Now, barefaced, I address the crowd—address Basten—in measured words. “I honor my wagers, my lord. You’ll have your kiss.”

OUT. OUT NOW.

The voice. It’s back. It’shere. My attention whips around the room, seeking its source. Picking up on my sudden distraction, Rian places a hand on my thigh to draw the crowd’s attention back to us.

It works.

His calloused hand runs along my bare thigh, exposed by the dress’s high slit, until more immediate matters eclipse my concern over the voice.

He shifts his hips in a way that makes me bob precariously in his lap. My heartrat-a-tats. His hand strokes my thigh languidly, in no rush. Leaning back in the throne-like chair, he gazes at me with half-lowered eyelids.

He’s manipulating me. Makingmekisshim, not the other way around. Forcing me into the initiator role so it will seem to the crowd that I’m desperate for it.

A perfectly willing bride.

I channel the fighters’ theatricality and tell myself this is only an act.Basten is watching. His eyes are the only ones I care about. I wanthimto think I’m willing. That he isn’t the only person putting Rian above all others.

I want to hurt him as badly as he wounded me.

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