Page 77 of Feralheart

A man in a black tunic shot through with red threads strode over to Reece. “Tell me, how will it feel to compete alongside your betters?”

Reece’s jaw worked. “It’s an honor, my lord.”

“Good. That’s the right attitude.” The man clapped Reece on the shoulder hard enough the older man swayed. “Keep that up and you might last a whole day.”

Laughter erupted from the nobles standing nearby.

A lord stopped in front of me, his face flushed with wine and his eyes too bright.

“You’re the one who walked through the last trial,” he said.

I didn’t answer.

“You guided your dragon through the fire.” He leaned closer, his sour breath wafting across my face. “That was either very brave or very stupid.”

“Perhaps both, my lord.” I met his eyes.

Servants didn’t do that. Commons especially didn’t.

His smile faltered before he recovered with too-loud laughter.

“I like this one. She’s got spine.” He raised his voice. “I’m doubling my bet. I say this one will make it through the first leg of the race.”

More laughter rang out.

“I say she won’t make it halfway through the first leg,” the woman in the bright pink gown shouted.

They were betting on me. On all of us. While we stood here, pretty things on display, they made wagers on how quickly we’d die.

It made me furious. But underneath the fury, something colder settled in my chest.

They thought I was entertainment. A spectacle.

Good. Let them see a commons woman in a borrowed gown, overwhelmed and out of place.

They wouldn’t see the real me coming until it was too late.

A nearby lord spoke with another, gesturing with his wine. “They say there are five trials this time around. It could take a week or more.”

His companion laughed. “Commons never last past the third. It’s a known fact.”

Was that so?

They weren’t whispering, and they didn’t bother to lower their voices.

My palms itched, and I hid my hands in the folds of my gown.

Reece stood with a plate in his hands, trying to enjoy the warmth, the food, and the brief moment of not being invisible. But his eyes kept shooting to the exits. He was counting guards and calculating threats.

A woman in green silk said something to him, and his face crumpled. A choked sound escaped before he locked it down.

Kerrel had found a corner and was staring at the wall. When he caught me watching, he mouthed, “I’m already dead, aren’t I?”

I didn’t know how to answer.

He nodded and turned back to the wall.

Lyndie stood among a cluster of young nobles, her shoulders tight, thanking them for their kindness. Playing the grateful commons who couldn’t believe her luck. But her eyes remained sharp. She watched everything, memorizing faces, listening to conversations swirling around her.