Page 15 of On Brutal Thrones

“Not me,” Talon says from where he sits on the floor, his back against the wall and his head tipped back. It takes me a moment, but I realize he’s referring to when he drank from me in the cave, and it makes my face flush. Surprising me, Talon sits up, fixing me with a gaze. “Your heritage… that must be why.”

“Why…what?” I ask, throat suddenly dry under the weight of his stare, and the other guys’, too.

“Why you taste so good,” he says simply, as though that statement doesn’t make my entire body hot. Shaking his head and running his hand over his chin, he says, “I noticed it, in the gardens.”

Thorian sits up straighter, his gaze swinging between me and Talon. “What do you mean… in the gardens?”

Talon raises his eyebrows at me, almost like, you didn’t tell him? and I swallow, ripping my gaze from the vampire and re-focusing on the man who already seems to be putting the pieces together.

“It’s nothing,” I tell Thorian. “It was just a tiny prick of blood. After Talon saved me, in the garden.”

With what I know about him, I expect him to be furious, furious that I didn’t tell him, that it happened at all. In fact, Thorian from the beginning of the competition might have claimed that my affection for Talon could be due to the fact that he drank from me before the trials even began.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he just looks at Talon, then at me, then shrugs. When it’s clear Thorian isn’t going to blow up about this, Talon goes on. “When it happened, well, my views on drinking changed. I used to think it didn’t matter where it came from. But you tasted better than anything I’d ever had in my life. I remember it was like straight adrenaline. Like plunging into cold water.”

“That doesn’t sound very pleasant,” Thorian mutters, but Fenric nods.

“I get it,” he says, shrugging. “Sounds like a feeling I know well.”

“So, she tasted different because she’s…?” Thorian asks, glancing at me as though he’s not sure if he should say the world out loud.

Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe it’s dangerous enough to have said it at all, knowing how closely the gods watch the competition. I haven’t been plucked from the ground and turned to dust, though, so hopefully that means they didn’t overhear that particular piece of information.

“We won’t tell anyone,” Fenric says quietly.

Talon nods, all traces of teasing gone from his expression. “Not a soul.”

Thorian doesn’t say anything. He simply reaches across the space between us and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. His thumb moves once over my knuckles, and somehow the small gesture settles me more than any promise could.

Fenric watches our joined hands. “I never imagined I’d marry a lady.”

My eyes snap to his.

His cheeks immediately darken. “That sounded more forward than I intended.”

Talon laughs softly. “Did it?”

“Yes.”

“I thought it sounded about right.”

Fenric gives him a look, but Talon only leans back, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“You’re both assuming she’d have us,” Thorian says. His gaze slides to me, and the humor in his expression softens. “Though I suppose I’ve been hoping she might.”

My heart gives a painful little squeeze.

“I haven’t thought much about what comes after this,” Thorian says.

I turn toward him. His attention is on our joined hands rather than my face.

“For a long time, there was no after. There was Valtor. Revenge. That was as far as I let myself look.” His fingers tighten around mine. “Now I find myself thinking about things I never did before.”

“Like marriage?” Talon asks.

Thorian finally looks up. “Like her.”

Heat rushes into my face.