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A fool.
But not for long.
Clara squared her shoulders against the hushed murmurs of the gathered crowd and silently watched as the competitors marched bare-chested into the arena.
The shock of auburn hair pulled tight into a small bun at the back of Bronze’s head gave her the confidence to proceed with what she had planned. And even though she willed those hazel eyes to find hers so she might implore a different, far more earnest truth into them than the one she’d spewed before out of panicked foolishness, she didn’t let her disappointment show when they skimmed past her. Though it still stung, it was the least she deserved. She just hoped her cunning was enough to convey the full measure of her heart instead of the errors of her words.
The king stood next to Clara and, once again, raised his hands to silence the crowd’s excitement. “We thank all who have gathered to observe the second Betrothal Game. Today’s trial shall test one of the greatest attributes of our lycan heritage,” he said, letting the emphasis on their species distinction linger in Bronze’s direction. “I look forward to shaking the hands of whichever champion can truly exemplify this credo.”
Pascal stepped forward then and unfurled the royal burgundy banner with the words “With strength, we capture” held high for all to see.
Clara’s stomach somersaulted over the knot of worry that had lodged itself there.
A strength challenge. When Lord Raff is almost twice the size of Bronze.
No, she chided herself. She would not discount the angel. If she did, then she was no better than the doubting female who’d broken the spirit of her male mere moments after he’d made hers soar to heights she’d never known before.
Taking the cue from her emotions, her wolf pounced on the kernel of doubt until it was nothing more than the whisper of a bad memory. And then, true to the lupine female’s urges, she replaced her worry with new, far more accurate depictions of just how strong Bronze truly was.
Memories of his chest glowing and cushioned with more than enough strength to hold her trembling naked body above his as he eased and supported her over his thick arousal. Or positioning her with such care as he entered her from behind, much to her she-wolf’s delight, and spearing her slowly, hunting out her release while holding back his own.
Oh, yes, her male had strength in spades, and didn’t deserve an ounce of her pity or doubt.
Please let this work.
“Now, as you may have noticed, one of our champions is no longer able to compete. Sir Byron, Lord Raff’s second, while mostly healed of the injuries incurred during the first Betrothal Game, still remains at a physical disadvantage and has, therefore, withdrawn.” The king extended his hand toward the seat below him, where Sir Byon sat looking altogether indifferent, as if it didn’t matter whether he was eliminated from a schoolyard game or the running for a job promotion. “We wish you all the best in your recovery, Sir Byron.”
“I serve at the will of Lord Raff,” the blond behemoth said with a monotone drawl and a dismissive shake of his fingers.
Meanwhile, Clara was seeing ten thousand shades of red at her father’s use of the word disadvantage.
We’ll see about that.
King Halpin clapped his hands together. “Lord Raff and Bronze the demigod are each wearing two leather armbands secured around their biceps. The goal of the game is simple: the first champion to capture both of the other opponent’s armbands through a feat of strength alone shall be declared the winner.”
But as the king sat back into his overstuffed cushion, Clara shot to her feet. “Before the champions can compete, however, each must be outfitted with a uniform of equal make.”
She finally connected with Bronze’s gaze then, along with Lord Raff’s, her father’s, and every other lycan gathered in the field.
“What are you talking about, Clara?” her father hissed.
Instead of matching his whispered words, she projected her voice even further, ensuring all in attendance could hear her. “I would like to echo the king’s sentiments regarding how important it is that no champion is left to a disadvantage. While both males are to compete bare-chested, as is common among grappling, the looseness of their individual trousers may provide opportunities for injury. But not to worry, I have provided a remedy to the situation.” Clara waved her hands toward two male attendants, who had been standing off to the side, each with a small stack of clothing in their hands. “With your esteemed permission, Your Majesty, the start of the game shall be delayed by five minutes to allow the competitors to change into the uniform fight shorts I have provided. And we must all thank the king wholeheartedly for his endearing determination to ensure that no individual, not even our chosen champions, should be at a disadvantage when competing for something so important as the future of this lycan monarchy.”
With that, she clapped and clapped and clapped some more until every pair of hands had no choice but to follow her lead and weigh down the objection that was firmly poised on the tip of her father’s tongue.
She had him. Oh, by the Moon Mother, she had him. Refusing her would not only go against his earlier words proclaiming fairness but would also undermine the integrity of the games and the cause they fought for.
“Very well,” he muttered, then volleyed a heated gaze between Clara and Lord Raff, who communicated his form of displeasure while swiping the shorts from the attendant.
Clara sank back into her chair and felt the fire of her father’s anger hot against the side of her face, but she didn’t care.
Her part was done. She had succeeded in leveling the playing field, though she was still a bit put off by how stupid her father thought she was. Did he think she wouldn’t notice the way one side of Lord Raff’s trousers draped differently over one leg than the other? Of course the lycan was hiding something within them, and now both the king and Lord Raff knew she knew, too.
She could only hope Bronze would dispatch the lycan quickly so she could go to her angel. If she had to endure one more hour with him hating her, she was liable to leap into that damn arena herself just to win his favor back.
There was only so much denial Bronze could twirl around his noodle before he inevitably settled on two facts: one, his little lycan princess had just outmaneuvered his opponent in far fewer moves than he ever could; and two, they were both playing a very deadly game, one where lies were the currency and advancements were made based on the price of the bargain.
When Bronze had been instructed to remove his shirt and don the leather armbands, his a light brown while Lord Raff’s were black, he wondered where the wild card was going to be hidden, because after realizing he and Clara had both picked up on the same cheater-cheater-pumpkin-eater vibe, it wasn’t a matter of if but when.
