Page 69 of Feralheart

People like me didn’t get second chances when we broke rules, we got the cage or the pit or we disappeared into the night shift in the mines and never came back.

But they were letting me compete.

And the prince had made it happen.

I’d seen him speak to his mother, seen her expression shift. He’d said something that had changed her mind, and I didn’t know if that made him my savior or something worse.

I couldn’t risk owing him anything.

I found him still standing at the rail. Still watching.

Our eyes met across the sand and smoke and the expanse between commons and crown.

Why?

The question sat in my throat like something I’d swallowed the wrong way. I wanted to look away. Prove I didn’t need his help, his attention, or whatever game this was.

But I didn’t.

We remained in place. Him in silk and ceremony. Me in sand and blood.

Then he turned and disappeared into those pressing forward to collect their bets.

The crowd’s uproar washed over me, half celebration and half fury, nobles arguing about precedent and fairness while retrieval crews waited near the maze entrance with their wagons and shovels.

I’d made it through. I would compete in the race.

My vision swam. I laid my forehead against Lykor’s side to keep from toppling over. The heat radiating up from the ground was nothing compared to the fire in my chest.

I’d just bought myself a few more days of borrowed time.

The thought steadied me enough to breathe.

As for what else happened…

Certainty hummed through my bones. Selira hadn’t asked. She’d already decided.

Commons didn’t bond. Wild dragons didn’t choose.

But the pull in my chest didn’t care about the impossible.

“This way.” A handler appeared, gesturing toward the door where the officials had vanished. Not the one who’d sneered at us before or the one who’d tried to hurt me. This one wore formal livery and looked at us like we were beasts that had learned to walk upright.

“Will we go home to our families?” The gray-bearded man’s voice cracked on the word.

The handler shook his head. “You’re to attend the Scorching Ball.”

We gaped at each other.

“The what?” the red-haired man sputtered.

“The ball. Tonight. You’ve been granted the honor of attending as…participants.”

The way he said it made it clear what we actually were.

Curiosities.

Entertainment.