Page 114 of Feralheart

“Take care of yourself, if you please.” He sent me a tortured look. “I’m doing the best I can.”

He eased around to Reece’s other side.

The stands continued to fill. Boxes had been built into the upper tiers, lined with silk cushions and shaded with bright canopies. Servants strode among the crowd with trays of drinks and food.

Children in the elite section waved small glowing orbs mounted on sticks. A vendor near the boxes sold them, his voice carrying across the arena. “Get your commemorative light! Remember this historic day!”

The commons section sat exposed to the sun. Stone benches, no food for sale, and no amenities. People had packed in tight, children asking questions their parents shushed. Betting odds updated on magical boards throughout both sections, numbers shifting as coins changed hands.

I found Reece’s wife again. She’d stopped dabbing her eyes and held the fabric to her chest, watching her husband.

Father would be in the mines by now, gray dust coating his lungs, his cough getting worse with every shift. He’d know that I’d made it to the arena. But he might not know I was dead until they asked for the fee to deliver my body.

Silvie would sit with Tolross, both of them listening for footsteps that might never come.

A horn blasted, and the dragon parade began. Collared dragons were brought out first.

“Shadowmere, bonded to Lord Callix of House Thrain,” the announcer broadcast across the arena. “Winner of the Northern Circuit, descendant of Nightwing, bearer of the Crown’s Flame.”

The crowd cheered. Children waved their light-sticks.

More followed, each pedigree more impressive, and each dragon more polished than anything I’d ever ride. My burned foot throbbed in rhythm with the announcements. The scale at my throat pulsed warm, a secret heartbeat against my skin.

Heartsbrim came next, brought over to stand beside Lady Severine.

Where was Selira? The bond hummed quiet, distant. Not gone, just waiting.

The dragons kept coming until forty-four of them had lined up in formation. Black and ruby, gleaming with dubious health and magic.

A lull descended and conversation stilled.

The herald’s voice boomed across the arena, amplified by magic until it rattled my teeth.

“Aristus, bonded to Prince Fenian Balmaris Lancifer, Crown Prince and sole heir to the kingdom. Champion of the realm.”

The crowd roared.

Aristus flew into the arena, midnight black, his silver undertones catching the sun, sleek and powerful in a way that made the other dragons look like rough drafts. He landed beside Fenian, who wore leathers dyed as dark as his ink-black hair.

Aristus’s wings trembled as he tucked them against his sides, a tiny hitch in the perfection that no one seemed to notice except me.

And Fenian. His jaw tightened enough, the muscle jumped.

Our eyes met and the air burst from my lungs. Last night in the kitchen, he’d stood close enough I could feel his heartbeat under my palm. He’d told me I mattered to him, and he’d packed supplies for me with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.

He was just as aware of me as I was of him. The knowledge made heat crawl up my spine.

I dragged my gaze away before someone noticed.

A woman in the elite section leaned toward her companion, her voice carrying across the sand. “The prince looks amazing, doesn’t he?”

He did. That was the problem. All that controlled power and competence. He looked like something carved from ice and fury.

The gap between the two versions of him made my skin prickle.

Except he stood apart from the others, his hand on Aristus’s neck. He looked alone in a way that made me want to take his hand and squeeze it.

I could walk over there. Ask if he was alright. But that would mean admitting that I cared that no one stood near him. That I’d noticed the tight set of his shoulders.