Shard

THE TAINTED ACCORDS: NOVELLA FOUR

Kelly St. Clare

Contents

About Kelly St. Clare

The Tainted Accords

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Books by Kelly St. Clare

Immortal Plunder

Thank You For Reading

Have You Enjoyed This Book?

Copyright 2019 by Kelly St. Clare

First Published: January 14th, 2019

Publisher: Kelly St. Clare

The right of Kelly St. Clare to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

www.kellystclare.com

About Kelly St. Clare

When Kelly St Clare is not reading or writing, she is lost in her latest reverie. Books have always been magical and mysterious to her. One day she decided to unravel this mystery and began writing.

Her works include The Tainted Accords, The After Trilogy, and her co-authored series, The Darkest Drae.

A New Zealander in origin and in heart, Kelly currently resides in Australia with her ginger-haired husband, a great group of friends, and some huntsman spiders who love to come inside when it rains. Their love is not returned.

Visit her online at

www.kellystclare.com

Or find her on

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The Tainted Accords

Chapter One

Shard sat beside the queen—formerly Frost, formerly Willow, formerly a lot of things—as he listened to Roscoe rattle off the order of proceedings for the Interworld Games.

“The fighters and courts from the Ire and Osolis are arriving as we speak, along with their allotted audience members. The welcome ceremony takes place tonight, with a day for the fighters to rest before the first matches take place in the Dome.”

Lina’s baby gurgled, kicking for all it was worth. On cue, all the advisors in the room turned to stare at the queen and, more specifically, the wriggling six-month-old bundle in her arms.

“She’s hungry?” King Jovan asked, leaning over from his seat to stroke his infant daughter’s cheek.

The queen smiled at him. “Kendra is always hungry.”

The men in the chamber chortled, and Shard did the same for a different reason. The birth of the princess had rendered the entire castle and maybe the entirety of Glacium into a gooey mess. Partially because she was named after Kedrick and partially because she was the perfect mix of her parents, whom the people adored. Shard had an inkling Kendra’s thigh rolls had something to do with why he’d turned into a cooing version of his prior self. Why were babies’ thigh rolls so cute?

He blinked and leaned back, clearing his throat.

The fierce longing that filled him at the sight of Kendra, Lina, and Jovan was beginning to make him maudlin. Truth was he wanted a child of his own. More than one. As many as his future wife would give him. He even knew who the mother would be.

Except for the last year and a half, she’d shown no sign of returning his blatant regard.

She was great at showing everyone else affection—and then some.

He’d tried to be patient—knowing the pressures and expectations of her family—but Shard was at his wit’s end. Was she not attracted to him? He was shorter than the average Bruma male. Did that put her off? Was his position as advisor to the king and queen not good enough? Probably not. For a year and a half he’d believed her hesitation to be born of fear and the effect of her social grooming. Now, after eighteen months on the receiving end of teasing and torture, doubt was taking the forefront.

In twenty-seven years, he’d never loved another. From the first time he saw her, Shard felt the shift within him. He knew, irrevocably, that he’d found the partner of his life.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Lina said in a low voice. She freed one of her breasts from her wrap-around maternity tunic to quiet her kicking babe, whose gurgles had turned to demanding squawks.

Shard absently watched her breastfeed Kendra, half an ear on Roscoe’s rattling instructions. “You know me. Just overthinking everything.”

The ghost of a smile curved her full lips. For all the horrors of her past with her own mother, Shard’s friend had taken to juggling motherhood and queendom like a natural. Jovan had managed to keep her confined to the royal suite for only a day after the birth of their daughter before she started sneaking out to attend meetings. Six months on and the queen intended to compete in the Interworld Games despite the king’s every attempt to persuade her otherwise.

He’d lose. Everyone knew it but the king himself.

“Still nothing from her?” Lina asked.

He sighed inwardly at her neutral tone—the tone she used when she disapproved of something. She’d made no secret of her thoughts on his choice and had maintained a stoic silence each time he tried to correct her judgment. Only his friendship with Avalanche rivalled the queen’s closeness to Shard, yet Lina’s casual dismissal of the woman he’d chosen was a sore point between them. At least on his side.

“Nothing,” he replied in the same tone. “I must be courting her wrong or something. I don’t know. I thought she needed time and patience—and to trust me. But I’m beginning to think she just doesn’t want me.”

The queen reached out a hand, taking his. “You should never feel that way in a relationship.”

“That’s the problem. It’s not a relationship. She knows how I feel and that’s all.” His feelings just hung between them, making him feel like a lost puppy she’d choose to either kick or let in the house.

Lina winced and let his hand go to wrest her daughter’s fist away from her breast.

“I don’t understand how their nails can be so small but so sharp,” she said, staring down at Kendra.

He smiled tightly. One of the rare times he smiled out of obligation rather than regard.

But Shard was letting his personal life enter the meeting chamber, and that was something he always did his best to avoid.

Focusing, he listened to the rest of Roscoe’s report.

The last nine months had been a whirlwind of preparations, and the Interworld Games had been met with enthusiasm. All three worlds possessed something in common. Competitiveness. The first games would take place in the Dome on Glacium, simply because the other two worlds had nowhere adequate to host the event.

Shard had been many things in his life—son of a whorehound, thief, friend, protector, and advisor—but he’d been a pit fighter for over eight years and the thrill of a tournament was just as exciting for him as everyone else, even if he wouldn’t be fighting. Jovan had requested that Shard protect his queen and child during the games. Shard was an advisor now, and that came with different responsibilities. Still, he’d vastly enjoy witnessing the fights between the king and queen, Landon, Rhone, and most of his old team from Alzona’s Barracks.

“Ash,” Jovan said. “How is security around the castle and the Dome?”

Prince Ashawn regarded his elder brother with the seriousness he only displayed in this chamber. “We have sentries throughout the Inner and Middle Rings and double the force around the castle and Dome. There haven’t been any reported attacks on incoming soars in four months. Our intel reports that everything is calm in the Outer Rings. They look forward to the games as much as we do. I don’t expect trouble.”

Shard tapped a finger on his armrest in the thoughtful wake of Ashawn’s report. “Moving the pit fights to the Dome in the last few months was a good choice. Also, including the best pit fighters on our own team has gained much favor with the Outer Rings.”

“And so they should have fighters on the Glacium team if they are good enough,” Lina said, her blue eyes blazing.

Jovan rested a hand atop hers. “I agree, my queen.”

“Now you agree,” she muttered, hoisting Kendra up and patting her back.

The king and queen glared at each other and then grinned.

Shard’s stomach twisted. That was what he wanted. Not the same, but a love that was unique to him and the woman he loved. He could see exactly how things would be between them if she’d just let him in. What did he need to do? Because clearly his current efforts weren’t enough.

What did Arla want from him?

Chapter Two

One year earlier.

Shard exited his chamber on the second floor and glanced each way down the hall before releasing his grip on his concealed dagger. Old habits died hard and slow. Really, there was no reason to stop being careful though he lived in the castle. Even advisors had enemies. Especially advisors from the Outer Rings. And he expected that his fellow Bruma on the king’s council made up the bulk of his ‘watch your back’ list.

Lina and King Jovan were now married and expecting a child—the war over. Shard had resided in the castle for months.

And yet the place still didn’t feel like home.

A curtain of blonde hair caught his attention and heat rippled through his chest at the sight of Arla sitting on the window seat at the far end of the hall.

Beautiful.

He’d thought it upon first meeting her, and his opinion hadn’t changed for knowing her. Now, she was just beautiful and mysterious. A puzzle he couldn’t crack.

His feet carried him toward her, and he let them, feeling the customary mixture of excitement and nerves.

“Arla.” He greeted her, bowing slightly. “Dinner has begun. Are you coming?”

She didn’t turn. “No. Not tonight.”

Her voice was thick. Whatever she was, Arla wasn’t shy.

“. . . Are you okay?” he ventured. “Do you need help?”

“Go away, Shard,” she snapped, pivoting on the window seat to face him.

The words stung. They always did. But Shard saw in her what no one else bothered to see. He saw a hurt little girl who had grown into a hurt, angry woman.

Shard sat beside her and dug into his pocket, offering her a clean wad of cloth he kept handy in case his daggers got bloodied.

She snatched the cloth away and dabbed at her eyes in a way that eased every trace of the sting she’d just caused. Arla was a tangle of endless depth—of ice and warmth groomed and buried away by a life spent in the castle; a complex individual he couldn’t quite figure out and knew he never would entirely.

He couldn’t get enough of her.

And he recognized a soul in pain too well to ignore it.

When he’d first entered the castle, Shard might have felt mere infatuation. When she’d slept with Sin that night instead of him, he might have been jealous. But when he overheard her father, Drummond, yelling at her for not securing a marriage proposal from King Jovan yet, Shard began to love her in earnest. People looked at Arla and saw a person who hurt others for no reason. He saw the why: Drummond. Who was a complete idiot. Anyone with eyes could see that the king was courting Frost. Though how Frost knew the king was a story she hadn’t divulged.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, studying her intently.

She tossed her hair back and studied him right back. “Can you magically make Prince Ashawn fall in love with me?”

Shard gritted his teeth. Not at the jab Arla had placed in the words, knowing how he felt about her. Drummond must be at her again to make an advantageous marriage. Her father made his fucking blood boil.

“I’ll do nearly anything for you,” he told her. “But helping you fall in love with another man will never be on that list.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re still harping on about all that?”

He splayed his hands wide. “What I feel is real. Unless you tell me otherwise, I’m not going anywhere.”

The exasperation faded from her face for a mere second, displaying her vulnerability. Those were the seconds Shard treasured; the moments he told himself that she showed to none other.

Shard hesitated.

He’d never revealed to Arla that he knew her father made such demands of her. His chamber neighbored Drummond’s and the walls were only so thick.

“Arla, is your father pressuring you to pursue the prince?”

She froze, a cool mask slipping into place. Immediately, he knew the question was a mistake.

“What gives you that idea?” Arla said, standing and drawing up to her full height—the perfect match for his own.

He remained sitting, schooling his features as his mind worked. But during their last drunken conversation on the cushions in the food hall, he’d promised that he would always be honest with her. “I’ve overheard Drummond ordering you to pursue Prince Ashawn. And before with King Jovan.”

A deep pink crept into her cheeks and her hands balled into fists. “You listen at the door.”

“No, I—”

“Is that how you know everything about everyone?” she shrieked at him. “You repeat everything to the king and queen. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

For some reason, the assembly had decided Shard was omnipresent. Really, he was just incredibly observant. They would be, too, if they’d spent seventeen years in the company of the worst criminals on Glacium.

Shard sighed heavily.

She placed her hands on both hips. “Sorry, is this conversation boring you?”

Arla was a hurt woman, and she’d learned to cover up her vulnerability in all kinds of ways—from collecting powerful friends like other people collected trinkets, to manipulating her inferiors to make uncomfortable choices. Often as not, she did it by being downright mean.

Knowing that, her childish shoves often lost their intended oomph. “You know that isn’t the case.”

Keen intelligence flashed in her eyes, and fierce attraction struck him. Hard. Normally, when he called her out like this, Arla retreated and settled into conversation with him. Theirs was a battle of the mind, one which had already spanned months, and Shard was determined to win.

But this time, the frantic edge to her gaze had him rising to join her in standing.

“Arla,” he said slowly, raising his hands. “What did your father say to you? Tell me what’s wrong?”

Her lip trembled for a bare second.

Then her scowl was in place. “Nothing, Shard. What gives you the right to question me on such personal matters? We aren’t the same and you appear to have forgotten that. You live in the castle, but you’re not my equal.”

He contemplated her, removing himself from the emotions trying to barge in and cloud his judgment. He hadn’t let emotion dictate his words or actions in a long, long time, and he wasn’t about to start now. “I am an advisor, Arla. Just like your father.”

“My father isn’t the son of a whorehound,” she recited in a dull voice, sitting back down.

Shard studied the deep anger coursing through his chest. “Should a child be judged by the actions of his or her father?”

“The distinction of class should always be preserved,” she answered wearily.

Drummond’s words, if he had to guess.

He wondered if she even realized the thought wasn’t hers. Or maybe it was hers and Shard’s hope had absolutely blinded him to her faults. His brows drew together as he assessed that possibility.

No. With Arla, he wasn’t blind to anything. Shard believed she could be saved; that he could save her.

“I care deeply for you, Arla—” he began.

Arla stamped her foot and shouted, “For fuck’s sake, just stop it already. Why do you keep trying?”

His heart hammered in his chest and he tried to approach her. “Because I see you, Arla. In a way that no one else does.”

She growled at him, jabbing a finger at her chest. “This is me. Stop it with the pathetic chasing and with the pathetic understanding and the pathetic gentleness. If you knew what was good for you, you’d just leave.”

For a moment, Shard couldn’t be sure if one of his daggers had dislodged and slipped beneath his ribs. Doubt flickered deep within him—the first trace he’d felt around her. Normally, the certainty of his feelings and the knowledge they should be together eclipsed everything else.

Shard understood Arla was testing him; reacting in the only way that had worked for her for nearly twenty years.

. . . On some level did she mean what she said?

He hadn’t cried since the night his father and three men raped a woman in the room next door as he pretended to sleep. But Shard wanted to right now. Was that what the woman he loved truly thought of him?

Pathetic?

“Do you ever tire of being so mean?” he asked calmly, holding her gaze.

She swallowed hard and didn’t answer.

He turned away without saying goodbye. Striding down the hall, he let anger and hurt take first place. Decide objectively and feel later. That had been his mantra for nearly his entire life, and he wouldn’t stop abiding by that code even now. Even for Arla.

The queen was sending Shard to round up a drunken Sin, who was sunk in misery over a Solati woman. Unbeknown to Sin, he’d be joining a tri-world party to Osolis tomorrow. Prince Ashawn was meant to escort the party, but perhaps Shard would offer to take them instead.

There was only so much hurt he could take.

So leave he would.

Chapter Three

Present day.

Shard slipped out of his chamber, gripping his dagger tight when the door of the neighboring chamber opened.

“Shard.” The overweight and balding Bruma man greeted him coolly.

“Drummond,” Shard said with a smile. He darted a look at Arla, who had linked arms with her father.

She looked like some kind of ice princess. Even dead, he’d feel aroused by the sight of her in the barely there wisp of a powder-blue dress she’d donned for the welcome ceremony tonight. Her legs were long, her breasts full and tight, her stomach tapered in, and her hips flared at her waist.

Arla’s body was a dream. Her mind was a weapon.

He slid his focus back to her father and frowned. “The queen requested we wear the official advisor sashes this evening.”

Drummond released Arla and patted the front of his tunic. “She did?”

Shard blinked. “You weren’t listening?”

“That is . . . of course—"

“Lucky we saw each other before you entered the food hall.”

Drummond stared at him. “But where is yours?”

“In my pocket,” Shard lied smoothly. “I wasn’t sure how to arrange it, but—” he glanced at Arla again, “—perhaps Arla could help.”

Her father turned back to the room, sniffing. “Better grab it then.”

“Better,” Shard agreed quietly.

He leaned forward and closed the door after Drummond, holding his hand out to Arla.

“You look beautiful. But can you run in that dress?” he asked.

A grin split her face and a glint entered her eyes. She slapped her hand into his and they took off down the hall.

Reaching the curve of the stairs, they slowed and paused to listen back. Shard studied the brightness of her blue gaze as Drummond cursed loudly from outside his chamber.

Arla muffled her laughter and Shard tugged her down the stairs.

He wound his arm through hers when they reached the bottom, sneaking peeks at her.

Heat spread through him. Fuck, she was a goddess. And entirely aware of what she did to him. Nine months had passed since they’d fought and he’d left the castle not knowing if he’d even return.

But then Shard realized that no matter how mean Arla was to him or how she lashed out, she’d never once told him to leave. If you knew what was good for you, you’d leave.

Another test. And one he’d failed, so back he came after kicking himself for falling for her ploy.

She hadn’t ever apologized. Not in so many words, at least. He didn’t think Arla knew how to apologize. But in her own way, she’d shown Shard that she regretted her actions. A smile. One of their intimate conversations he loved so much.

Or was he reading too much into it?

His thoughts from the meeting chamber only hours before came back. What did he have to do to make Arla choose him? He’d tried patience and understanding. He’d offered security and stability. And she rewarded that by taking other men back to her chamber week after week.

He’d never, not even once, received a scrap or hint of attraction or deeper regard from her. She’d softened toward him with excruciating slowness. In moments like these, Arla would display what he could label as affection. But Shard was hesitant to read more into her infrequent smiles and small touches, simply because they were that. Infrequent.

“What are you thinking about so hard?” she asked.

He cocked his head, listening hard, and heard Drummond’s heavy tread.

Shard grinned and pulled her into a dark hallway. He pushed Arla against the wall and covered her mouth, daring her to push him away.

Her eyes danced above his hand. Or was he reading too much into that as well?

Slowly lifting a hand, she covered his own mouth and Shard’s entire body soared to life at the simple touch.

Pathetic, she’d once called him. Now he agreed. And when he’d come back to Glacium, Shard had vowed not to care, but that was a lie he’d told himself enough until he started to believe it.

He did care. And after eighteen months in close proximity with her, Shard had to know one way or the other. Or at least know what he had to do to win her heart.

Drummond passed by, but Shard waited until another two parties followed before removing his hand from her lips.

This was the closest they’d ever been. The most they’d ever touched. The softest she’d ever allowed herself to be in his company.

“Arla,” he started, throat tightening.

“Do you think firelight or darkness came first?” she interrupted him, studying the shadows in the hall where they’d taken refuge.

Shard pulled up short and leaped on the question like the coward he had never been.

“Firelight,” he finally decided. “We only know darkness exists because we see shadows. We see shadows because of light. Without light, darkness wouldn’t be darkness; it would just be a constant state without a name.”

She’d turned to watch him. “The same could be said for light then. You didn’t answer my question, really, but I figure your answer will be the same.”

“The reason?”

“Because some people are born believing in firelight and others in darkness. You believe in firelight.” Shadows flickered across her face.

“And some in both,” he ventured to say. Whether Arla knew it or not, she wasn’t the kind of person to believe in darkness alone. Both resided within her.

But they were on their way to a ball. She should be laughing and dancing, not skulking in some passage with him.

“You know,” he said lightly, “if I’d known the firelight and darkness in your question were metaphorical and not literal, my answer might’ve been different.”

Her lips quirked. They appeared soft. Warm. Not that he’d know.

“Arla,” Shard started again. “I’ve pursued you for the better part of two years.”

She glanced up at him and finally seemed to realize their bodies still touched. She pushed him away with a gentle shove. “Sick of it yet?”

“Yes,” Shard said honestly, equal parts terrified and determined to voice his growing doubt out loud.

Her eyes widened slightly before her face shut down. He’d coined the phenomenon her ‘ice mask.’ The mask that descended right before she lashed out.

He quickly continued. “We know each other well enough now that I hope, if you cannot care for me, you can respect my feelings as a friend. If you cannot love me, I need to know so that I can attempt to accept it. I am a patient man and I’ve accepted that you need to test me and push me, but how you treat me is taking a toll. So please, Arla, be honest and tell me now. Forget everyone else and what you think they’d want you to say. Tell me how you feel.”

He listened as the breath caught in her throat.

“Could you ever care for me?” he asked in a low voice.

Arla swallowed, looking directly into his eyes.

The trill of a violin from the food hall rang out, echoing into the hallway where they stood. She jerked and shifted her gaze to stare over his shoulder at the opposite stone wall. Or through it to the food hall, he suspected was more likely.

“Giving up?” Arla asked, smiling coyly as she glanced at him again. The ice mask was back.

For once the sight of her smile didn’t drag an answering smile from his lips.

“Yes, Arla,” he said grimly. “If you can’t tell me how you feel, I’m giving up.”

“Then do it,” she snapped, rearranging the wispy material over her legs.

Shard reeled back until he hit the wall behind him and hung his head.

“That’s it then,” he said raggedly.

Arla folded her arms, saying nothing. Could she even feel? Or was she truly ice? Had he imagined everything? Arla shifted her weight a couple of times. He could see where her nails dug into the soft flesh of her arms. But she did not venture a single word.

“I wish you a life of happiness and good fortune with the man your father chooses for you,” he said.

She blanched, and he regretted the bitter words. Though perhaps he deserved a chance to lash out at her instead of the other way around. It might be good for her. Perhaps he’d savor these parting words in years to come.

Alone somewhere.

He doubted it. Ice she might be, but love her he did. Brave he’d been, but only regret would remain.

Seeing the shadows without light wasn’t possible. Even the cruel, cold light she’d shone over him.

Guess that only left darkness.

Shard left the passage, wondering how the hell he would ever mend his heart.

Chapter Four

“You aren’t dancing,” Ashawn said, plonking down onto the cushion beside Shard. The prince glanced at him. “In fact, you look a little down in the dumps.”

He should hate the prince for being the chosen object of Arla’s attention. But the prince was likeable, and Drummond’s social ambitions weren’t his. Ten cups of brew into the ball already and Shard was trying to remember that very important distinction.

Arla was dancing with an Ire man. Fucker. Any other time and he might have thought the man a Bruma, but spotting the different worlds was easier now with the colors they’d donned for the games.

Oranges and reds for Osolis. Browns and greens for the Ire. And blues and whites for Glacium. His own tunic was a deep blue over black trousers.

Drummond sauntered past, throwing a glare at him.

Right, the sash lie and running away with his daughter. Back before Shard royally screwed things up.

He lifted his goblet after Arla’s father. “Fuck you, too.”

“You know. . . ,” Ashawn said shrewdly, “you’re as drunk as I’ve ever seen you.”

That would be a yes.

“Probably for the best,” the prince said, humming. “The other two worlds expect us to be drunk. We mustn’t disappoint.”

Shard ignored the sarcasm.

“. . . I assume this has to do with Arla.”

He groaned. “Obvious?”

“The whole castle knows your, uh, heart only has eyes for one woman.”

Shard could safely assume the prince intended to say something other than heart. But surely the entire castle knew he loved Arla with more than what hung between his hips? Wait, was that what she thought? That he loved her with his dick?

“Sorry, what about loving Arla with your dick?” Ashawn asked him. “Not that I blame you. I’m a big supporter of loving others with that body part. I just always pegged you as more of a thinking-heart man.”

Shit. That was out loud? And what was a thinking-heart man? He swirled the amber contents of his goblet and knocked it back in one gulp. “Her father wants her to marry you,” he confessed.

Tonight was a good night for failed confessions. Perhaps if he made enough of them, he’d eventually win one.

“I’m aware,” Ashawn said pleasantly. “Why do you think I play so many pranks on Drummond? There is a rhyme to my reason. I’m curing certain members of the assembly of assholery.”

Shard glanced at Drummond, who’d sat down next to Lina’s brother, Landon.

“I see,” he answered at length. Was assholery a word? “And your pranks on Landon were because. . . .”

A bleary-eyed glance told him the Tatum of Osolis didn’t look nearly as uncomfortable as he had during his last visit here—likely due to the presence of his wife, Greta, by his side, and his baby niece on his lap.

The prince snorted. “Are you kidding? Landon is my greatest success.”

Shard sipped again, glaring at Drummond. “Arla’s father is a git.”

“Hmm. An ambitious fool, I’d agree,” the prince replied after a minute. “Especially ignorant when it comes to females. The rest of the time, mostly intelligent.”

“Ignorance isn’t an excuse for . . . assholery.” Shard grunted, searching for the nearest keg of brew. Maybe he did like that word.

“No, and yet no one ever taught him otherwise.”

What? Shard squinted at him. “What are you saying?”

Ashawn lifted a shoulder. “Not everyone can look at themselves. And even if they can, not everyone can be bothered to change. Drummond probably isn’t capable of either, so why bother?”

Shard shook his head. “Sorry, aren’t you seventeen?”

“Jovan’s advice,” he explained with a shrug. “But don’t tell. I have everyone fooled. The ladies flock for my wisdom. They think I’m a thinking-heart man.”

Which wasn’t too far from the truth from what Shard had seen.

He was closer to Arla’s age, too. And he was a prince and a good man.

“If you marry her, treat her right,” he said hoarsely. “She deserves kindness.”

Ashawn snickered. “You are very drunk, my friend. But if it consoles you, let me tell you that Arla gives my willy nightmares. She’s colder than the blizzards of the Fourth and meaner than the. . . .” He cut a look at Shard and trailed off. “She’s not always nice,” he finished lamely.

Turning to find Arla in the dance area, Shard scowled at her hands roaming over the Ire man. “You don’t see it’s just an act?”

The prince tilted his head, following Shard’s gaze. “You’re asking if I see something other than her boobs?”

Anger speared Shard. He turned his scowl on the prince, whose mouth had stretched into a shit-eating grin.

“You’ve got it bad,” he sang, standing. “Go after her, Shardy. Nothing to lose, is there?”

No, nothing.

Except Shard had already lost.

The prince walked away but turned back. “She does have great boobs, though,” he called quickly, before escaping into the milling crowd.

Did Shard say he liked Jovan’s brother?

He didn’t. Not one bit.

Shard was contemplating the act of getting upright to procure another drink when another person plonked down on the cushion beside him.

What was this? Visiting hour.

“Ashawn told Jovan who told me that you’re getting really drunk,” the queen said, a glimmer of amusement in her deep-blue eyes.

“Correct,” he replied, taking a sip before recalling the goblet was empty.

She held out one of the two full goblets in her hands.

Shard arched a brow at the goblet she brought to her lips.

“Kendra is fed and asleep in Landon’s arms. I have a window of freedom and I plan to savor this single drink that will hopefully not also send me to sleep,” Lina confessed. “Don’t ruin it. What has you worked up?”

He wasn’t having this conversation with her; Shard knew exactly where it led. He darted a look at Arla, seeing she was now pressed up against a Solati. Perfect.

“You are in knots over Arla again,” the queen remarked, ever-so-slightly stressing the word again.

“Ashawn went straight to you,” he shot back.

She smiled widely. “You think so?”

No, he didn’t think so. People didn’t like his company because he ‘saw everything’. That quality was okay in their queen, apparently, just not in him. Not that the assembly’s opinion bothered him. He just . . . fuck, everything was everywhere.

“I asked if she could ever care for me,” Shard admitted, staring into the amber liquid of his drink. “She said no. So I’m giving up. Moving on to whatever happens next.”

“She’s a fool,” Lina said simply, sipping at her drink and tipping her head back.

He and Ashawn had already established that Drummond was a fool and that he could neither see it nor change it. Arla wasn’t like that. She knew better.

Shard covered his irritation with a sip of his own drink. Even after countless rejections, he still wanted to defend her. That was extra annoying.

“She’s hurt,” he said finally.

“You are angry that I dislike her.”

Damn it. One time he’d like to keep his emotions to his damn self.

Lina hesitated. “After you confessed your devotion to her at the last ball—”

“The ball where I offered her my tunic and she dropped it on the ground and walked off?” he asked. “Or the one where I took her a plate of food and she slapped it out of my hand?”

The queen winced. “The latter. If I hadn’t feared the baby falling out of me, I would have wiped the floor with her after that.” Anger trembled in her voice. “Hurt she may be, Shard. But a person shouldn’t treat anyone like that. Out of respect, I’ve kept silent, but seeing you this way, in pain, hurts my heart. I want only the best for one of my greatest friends.”

Shard gritted his teeth. “You haven’t kept silent, though. You might not have spoken aloud, Lina, but I heard you all the same. And I’ll tell you now what I’ve always told you. She isn’t that person deep down.”

“You’ve known her for nearly two years and she hasn’t changed. Or shown you the inclination that she’ll change.”

She had softened toward him. The beginning of this night proved that.

Shard tightened his grip on the goblet, blinking away the slight blurriness of his vision. “I could change her.”

“If people want to improve, they improve themselves. No one can make that decision for them.”

He glared at her. Had she been listening in on his and Ashawn’s conversation?

Forgetting she was his queen and ruler, for a second Shard could only see himself as he stared at her. Because really, Lina was the female version of himself.

“Sometimes people need help,” he said brusquely. “I needed help. Avalanche needed help. Crystal and Alzona needed help. You needed help. Or have you forgotten your own struggles so easily?”

Shit, was that his voice yelling?

He shook his head and downed his eleventh goblet of brew before somehow managing to stand on unsteady legs.

Shard avoided Lina’s gaze.

“Who are you trying to convince?” she asked.

He was swaying. A lot. And looking at her again would be too much like looking at a mirror. If he didn’t walk away now, Shard would do something he despised—make a rash decision.

“Only her,” he said tightly before stumbling away.

Chapter Five

Shard groaned, rolling over in bed. His tongue had cleaved to the roof of his mouth. Something sharp dug into his side. Confused, he cracked open an eye.

Straw.

“What the hell?” he rasped, propping himself up. There wasn’t any straw in his chamber. Where was he?

A plate loaded with eggs, bread, and bacon appeared under his nose. He followed the arm up to the massacred face of Avalanche.

“Food,” his hulking friend said, shaking the plate and making the eggs jiggle.

Shard blew out a breath and sat up, taking the plate.

Avalanche wrinkled his nose, stretching the scars that marred his face. He’d had them since Shard met him at eighteen. He was the reason Shard left thievery behind to join Alzona’s Barracks. A barracks owner could never miss a giant like Avalanche, but someone like Shard, working chiefly from the shadows, could have evaded their notice.

They’d been friends for nearly ten years.

“Breath stinks worse than this kennel,” Avalanche stated, taking a seat on the straw.

Shard chewed on some bacon. “Do I want to know how I ended up here?”

“No.”

Great. “Did I embarrass the king and queen?”

His friend tipped his head back to stare at the low stone ceiling and nodded.

Double great. “I need to know what I did so I can fix it.”

“Started the Interworld drinking games.”

Shard put his breakfast to the side and rubbed his temples. “Go on.”

“Took a woman to your room.”

What? Panic gripped him. “Not Arla?” Though he didn’t want to think about whether that would make things better or worse.

“Opposite. Solati. Brunette. But don’t worry. Kicked down the door and protected your virtue. Carried you down here to sleep.”

Protecting his virtue part aside, Shard was truly grateful. Sleeping with another felt like a betrayal to Arla. No matter that she slept with whoever she wanted and never touched him. Doing the same back felt . . . disloyal. To himself and to her.

Shard dropped his head into his hands. “Avalanche, my friend. I am pathetic.”

“Not normally.”

Shard lifted his head and eyeballed him.

His fighting comrade shrugged a massive shoulder. “Everyone is pathetic sometimes. I was pathetic just last week when my panna cotta didn’t set.”

What the hell was a panna cotta? “It’s just that I love her,” he said with a sigh.

Avalanche warded off Shard’s alcoholic breath with a wave and grimace.

“I suppose you think she doesn’t deserve me, too,” he continued.

Was Lina right? Was Shard taking his pursuit of Arla too far? Was she what people referred to as ‘first love’? Was falling this hard, and in what felt like such a permanent way, normal? He’d watched people get over their first loves, but Shard didn’t think that was possible for him.

This felt like more.

Did he believe his love was greater than it really was? Didn’t everyone feel this way when they were in love?

Ugh.

Avalanche glanced at Shard’s discarded plate. Shard picked the plate up and resumed eating.

“A challenge,” his friend eventually said. “For a normal man, too much of a challenge, but for you? You’re not normal.”

Shard snorted, spraying flecks of bread onto the straw. “Thanks.”

“You think too much. You love a woman who thinks too much. You both think too much instead of doing enough. In this.”

That. . . .

“My head hurts too much for this conversation,” he admitted. How many goblets did he drink last night? The last he recalled was the one the queen handed to him . . .

. . . right before he shouted at her.

Shard groaned again, wincing bodily at what he could recall shouting at her.

He stuffed bread in his mouth and handed the empty plate to Avalanche.

“Where’s the queen?” he asked after swallowing.

“Touring the Dome.”

Something he should be doing with the foreign dignitaries too. “It’s past midday?”

Avalanche nodded.

Time to start apologizing, then.

He glanced down. “Where’s my tunic?” Panic reared up in his throat. If he’d tried to give it to Arla again…

The scars on Avalanche’s face stretched and twisted as he began to laugh. “Gave it to Adnan because he looked cold. He’d given his to an Ire woman. She lost interest when Adnan accepted yours.”

He’d ruined the nighttime efforts of Lina’s half-brother, too? Better add another apology to the list.

After combing his hair back and straightening his trousers, Shard exited the kennel ahead of Avalanche.

A giggle sounded from ahead.

They drew alongside the front kennel, which was empty of hay, but not people.

Rhone glanced over his shoulder, pressed against his new bride, Monikah.

“Well met,” Shard said in greeting, mustering as much energy as he could. “How goes the Ire team?”

“Go away.” Rhone turned from them to the red-faced Monikah and kissed her again.

All right then.

The door to the kennel bounced shut behind them as they left.

“Is it just me or does everyone hate me today?” Shard asked Glacium.

The world didn’t answer as they entered the castle.

The lack of noise from the food hall ahead told him lunch was over and he’d lost more of the day than expected.

“Shard,” someone called.

He turned to face Roscoe, the king’s right-hand man and the queen’s father—though she’d only really accepted his presence in that role after Kendra’s birth.

“How’s your head?” the older man asked, his melodious voice containing strains of laughter.

Shard sighed. “Better than I deserve, so I’ve heard.”

“You can still throw a dagger when you’re well into your cups,” the advisor continued. “Oh, and I’m fine with your courting my son, if you’re still serious. I assume you are because you’re yet to retrieve your tunic. Though you might want to check with Adnan first.”

“You done?” Shard asked him.

The advisor slapped Avalanche on the back and they clearly enjoyed their laughter together at his expense.

Shard scowled darkly.

“Uh . . . yes,” Roscoe said, catching the glare. “King Jovan wants to see you. Royal chamber.”

That did not bode well.

“Got it.” Shard turned left to the staircase that led to the royal suite.

“Might want to put a tunic on first,” Roscoe called. “I want my future son-in-law to make a good impression.”

Avalanche snickered loudly.

Silently, Shard strode in the opposite direction to his own chamber, studiously ignoring their booming mirth at his back.

“Ice dagger, well met,” an Ire man said, clapping him on the back as he passed by.

Ice what now?

. . . What happened last night?

No, scratch that. He didn’t want to know why people were calling him ice dagger. What a mess.

Shard forced himself up the long flight of stairs and approached his chamber, feet slowing when he arrived.

The door hung off one hinge.

Avalanche wasn’t kidding about breaking in. . . .

Shard slipped inside. He should try to get rid of the brew stench before seeing the king.

Undoing the front laces of his trousers, he crossed to the basin, but stopped in his tracks at the sound of rustling coming from the bed.

Avalanche hadn’t lied. The brunette. Naked. In his bed. Definitely Solati. Apparently, she hadn’t left.

He couldn’t deal with that right now. First things first. Shard continued to the basin and splashed water on his face, cursing long and hard in his head.

“Good night, I see.”

Cold filled him, and the liquid freeze wasn’t from the ice encasing her words. Shard reached for the drying cloth and dragged it over his face slowly, working to school his features into something that wasn’t the expression of a schoolboy caught sneaking out of class.

He threw the cloth next to the sink and met Arla’s gaze. Rather, her profile as she stared at the brunette Solati.

In his bed.

Shard’s initial instinct was to defend himself. But he quelled that impulse. Honestly, last night—what he remembered of it and the rest that he didn’t—hadn’t rid him of the anger he still felt from their earlier conversation. He needed to pick his sack up off the floor for the first time since meeting Arla.

“Yes,” he replied. “How was yours?”

She tore her eyes away and perused his body.

He frequently trained without a shirt. He wasn’t showing any more skin than she’d seen before, but Shard dropped his gaze to the loosened fastenings of his trousers. His mouth dried and he glanced back to the brunette.

That looked especially terrible.

“Mine already left,” she said, folding her arms and tossing her hair. “It’s a mistake to let them stay. They get clingy.”

Small white marks had formed where Arla dug her nails into the soft flesh of her arms. She was pissed?

She wasn’t allowed to be pissed when they weren’t together.

“Are you angry because your feelings are hurt? Or because you’re jealous my attention shifted to another?” he said in a low voice, darting another glance at the slumbering Solati.

Okay, maybe he was pissed too.

“How quickly you move on from someone you loved,” she said.

His anger washed away at her quiet tone.

This time, Arla didn’t just grace him with a flash of vulnerability, but a whole five seconds.

He’d hurt her. That made him feel like the lowest of the low—no matter how much the vindictive whispers in his head wanted Arla to feel a sliver of the pain he’d felt.

Shard battled against the urge to clear up the situation. And lost.

“Arla, I—”

A knock sounded on the broken door.

Adnan stood there, washed and dressed, and holding a familiar tunic in hand. “Sorry, is this a bad time?”

Shard bit back on his rising temper. Yes. “Adnan. Come in.”

Roscoe’s son approached and held out Shard’s tunic. “Things got pretty crazy last night,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m sorry if I misled you, but I think there has been a misunderstanding.”

Arla snorted, smirking.

Of course she’d be here for this. “Things did get crazy last night.”

The inventor stopped and studied the slumbering woman in his bed. “Wait, you like women?”

Arla cut in. “Maybe he likes both.”

Adnan nodded. “I see. Well, I’m firmly in the women sector, so I hope your feelings aren’t hurt, but I have to give this back. Thank you, though. It was kind of nice, in a friendly way.”

The stone floor beneath him could collapse and Shard wouldn’t be upset to be swallowed whole. At least the Solati hadn’t woken up. She must’ve drunk as much as him last night. Unless she was pretending to sleep—or was dead. That might be the only thing that could make this day worse.

Shard collected himself. “Thank you, Adnan.”

The inventor made scarce.

“You hand your tunic out to anyone?” Arla sneered.

Shard shook his head, the urge to explain the Solati in his bed disappearing. “At least he handed it back to me instead of dropping it on the floor.”

She tilted her chin and the ludicrousness of their conversation hit him.

“Look, Arla. It is what it is. You were crystal clear last night and I need you to back off while I sort myself out.”

“You hate me that much?”

He regarded her. “I’ll never hate you. Even if I tried.” Which he was actively attempting to do. “But if you can’t love me, I can’t love you. Even if I want to, it’s not healthy. That’s why I need time. It’s nothing to do with hating you.”

The Solati in his bed stirred with a soul-deep groan that echoed his current feeling. He glanced back as the brunette woman sat. The furs covering her slipped away, displaying her bare and ample chest.

He turned back to find Arla peering at the Solati, her lips pressed together.

Shard said gently, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to.”

Chapter Six

“So what happened?” Ice cooed, face propped on his hands.

Shard had elected to sit in the back of the food hall with his Outer Rings friends for dinner. Actually, Jovan had elected it for him, right about the time he informed Shard that he wasn’t to speak to the queen unless she approached him. And that if Shard ever made a spectacle of himself in front of his court again, the king would remove a body part.

“I’m not protecting Lina and Kendra during the games anymore,” Shard answered. No point hiding that from the spy mastermind. Everyone would see it tomorrow.

Blizzard whistled. “You must’ve said something bad to the queen.”

The table glared at him.

They’d known Shard longer, but Lina had a way of inspiring loyalty. Probably because she was so loyal herself. He had treated her badly—even if he’d really been speaking to himself. Now she didn’t want to speak to him. Or Jovan wouldn’t let him speak to her.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t blame them.

Since the age of seventeen, he’d made one calculated decision after another. And now everything was a ridiculous tangled heap that had catapulted into disaster.

“Ready for the first matches tomorrow?” he asked his ex-pit fighter companions, all of whom were fighting for Glacium.

Ice scrunched up his nose. “Ain’t sure how I’ll go in agility. Ire folk are agile sonsofbitches.”

Accuracy, agility, strength, and prowess with bow, dagger, spear, and sword were the seven testing categories selected for this year’s games.

“The group fight is ours,” Blizzard said, slamming his goblet on the table.

“Hey, so Avalanche told us you’re in knots over a girly,” Ice cut in.

Shard glared up at his hulking friend, who shrugged.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Blizzard asked.

“No,” the occupants of the table chorused with a groan.

“I think,” the minister of the people continued loudly, “she wants a display of your manhood.”

Ice snorted. “You think he should flash her?”

He pretty much had a few hours ago.

“No,” Blizzard withered. “I mean a manly display. Like, I dunno. . . .”

Ice straightened. “Pulling her hair.”

“More like killing a boar or something.” Blizzard tapped his lip. “Half-dressed.”

Shard smiled despite himself. He shrugged, saying, “That’s all over and done with. She didn’t want me.”

Weariness piled on his shoulders at the admission.

He didn’t want to be around people anymore tonight. He needed sleep before he had to . . . well . . . his new job was sitting on the sidelines, so he had nothing to prepare for. But at least his bed was empty now.

After Arla had left, he’d woken the Solati woman and sent her back to the watchmen’s barracks in the castle where the guests from Osolis were housed.

“Going to bed,” he said abruptly, standing.

The others were silent as he left.

Shard kept his eyes on the archway of the food hall, willing his gaze not to stray to the front tables where Arla sat. When he reached the exit, Shard breathed a sigh of relief, and started down the main hall.

“Whorehound,” a man sneered at his back.

It wasn’t the first time an assembly member had called him the same, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“I’m talking to you,” the person boomed.

Why him? And why today?

Shard turned and smoothed his features at the sight of Drummond bearing down on him from the food hall.

The older man shook a finger in his face. “You tricked me last night.”

What? Oh, the sash thing.

“An honest mistake,” he answered flatly.

Drummond leaned into his personal space, and Shard narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t think I don’t see the way you stare at my Arla,” her father whispered. “And don’t think I’ll ever allow you to wed her.”

“The fact you see anything is surprising,” Shard confessed coolly. “If you saw more, perhaps you’d see what a controlling sonofabitch you are.”

Drummond blinked at him. “What nonsense are you talking?”

Ignorance was always something Shard had struggled to tolerate. “You turned your daughter into someone who’s afraid to love. Someone who is more comfortable wielding hate to get what she wants.”

“I thought you liked her.” He stared at Shard.

Like. What he’d felt was far greater than that. He laughed harshly. “I did. Still do.”

“In her mother’s absence, I’ve raised her to be strong. She’ll marry well because of me. And herself. You can’t think I’m alone in my plans. Arla has always been an active participant.”

The comment hit hard, simply because he knew it to be true.

“You’ve ensured the failure of the thing you most want to achieve, Drummond. If you’d left her to her own devices, she might’ve been queen. Now, I merely hope that she finds a man who can undo the harm you’ve caused, so she can be happy.”

“Why you—”

Black fury rose in a wave. “You might not be a shit person, Drummond. You may even be a good advisor. But you’re a fucking terrible father.”

Shard’s head snapped back as Arla’s father unleashed a right hook.

Righting himself, Shard licked the blood off his lip, grinning and advancing. “And a fool,” he stated.

“Stay back, whorehound,” Drummond started.

“That’s right, old man,” he said. “I was the son of a whorehound. I’ve seen worse things in a single day than the summation of all the bad things of your entire life. And if you don’t stop telling your daughter who and when to marry, I’ll tie your hands and feet together and give some of my old buddies a call. Hell, I’ll even show them to your door and keep guard.”

He had no such ‘buddies,’ but Drummond didn’t need to know that.

“I shall inform the king and queen of this.” He turned on his heel.

“The queen, one of my closest friends? And the king who will do anything for her?”

Shard’s bluff depended on Drummond’s ignorance that the queen was currently ignoring him.

The older Bruma stilled and then whirled back, marching up to him. “What I say to my daughter is no concern of yours!”

“It is when I can hear you shouting at her through my fucking wall,” Shard said angrily. He contemplated the man. “Do you honestly believe anyone is fooled by your games? The prince can see Arla coming from a mile away. If he was interested, they’d be married by now. Are you blind?”

Drummond paled and hope briefly flickered in Shard’s mind.

“What has she done?” the advisor whispered.

Shard gritted his teeth. Really? That was what he’d gotten from his threat? That Arla had screwed up Drummond’s plans for greater prestige?

Blood trickled down over his chin and he thought of the day thus far. Jovan’s anger, Lina’s avoidance, and Arla’s . . . whatever that was in his room earlier.

“Fuck it,” he announced, snapping out a fist to connect with Drummond’s jaw.

A gasp echoed from his left.

Arla stood there, eyes rounded and fixed on her crumpled father.

. . . He couldn’t catch a damn break.

“Sorry,” he muttered at her, striding for the nearest stairway. Or a passage. Maybe a hole. Just anywhere but here or around people. Or any hint of her.

“Wait,” she called.

Shard exhaled, shaking his head. “I don’t want to fight again, Arla. I’m tired.”

“I don’t want to fight either.”

“You don’t?” He glanced back, trying to ignore that she was the most beautiful woman he’d seen in three worlds and ever would.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

Arla stepped over her father.

Thinking about it, Shard pursed his lips and nodded. “Yes. It is.”

She stopped a couple of meters from him. “What you said last night.”

“Which part?”

She glared at him, crossing her arms. “The part about saying something if I cared.”

His mind stuttered to a halt. Was she about to tell him how she felt? He’d given up hope of that.

“I will not go against my father,” she said, dropping her gaze.

She was changing the subject.

“Why?” he asked, genuinely curious. “In the time I’ve known him, he’s done nothing but treat you in the same way you treat others. And you mentioned something about telling me if you cared. Let’s get back to that.”

Arla’s eyes widened, and the ice mask was back. “My father will not entertain your suit, but if you still feel . . . something for me, there might be a way around it. One I’ve planned for some time.”

She still hadn’t answered his question. Had she made a plan to be with him or just to work around Drummond so she could marry anyone other than Ashawn? He couldn’t tell.

“Which is?” Shard watched as she licked her lips.

She was nervous.

Arla tilted her chin. “For some time, I’ve been proving to my father that the prince doesn’t care for me. After what you said, he will finally agree. My father would prefer me to marry someone of high birth, yet, aside from Prince Ashawn, there are none of higher birth than myself—and of suitable age—left to marry. There are only those of equal or lesser birth in the tri-worlds. I am over twenty now. You’re aware that this is considered old to be unmarried?”

What? “Why are you telling me all this?” he butted in.

Her blue eyes fixed on him. “My father is beginning to panic. Already he is mentioning names for my hand that he never would have uttered a year ago. All my father needs is a reason to agree. You are an advisor. You may not have been born high, but your children will be.”

Shard’s mouth dried, but he kept up his calm front, the energy from the brawl still thrumming in his veins. “I’m too tired for guessing. You need to spit it out.”

“Win the tournament,” she blurted. “Win the tournament and become the first-ever winner of the Interworld Games. I will make a deal with my father that my hand will be offered to the winner. He’ll agree. I’ll make sure of it.”

Uh. “What?”

“Win it.”

He stared, sure he’d just heard wrong. “Win the tournament. The Interworld Games?”

“That’s what I said,” she snapped. “I thought you had more brains than the other men in this castle.”

She wanted him to win the games. He wasn’t even participating in them. How was he meant to win? And why was she only telling him this now? Clearly, she’d thought this through at length.

If Arla had planned this for him, she could have filled him in at any time in the last nine months. . . .

“And if another wins?” Shard asked her flatly.

She pressed her lips together, holding his gaze.

“Fuck, Arla.” He gripped his dark blond hair. “This isn’t even about me, is it? How many men have you said this exact thing to?”

He lifted his head again, whispering, “Is all of this just about the woman in my bed?”

Her chest moved up and down rapidly. “No, it’s not.”

And yet Shard just didn’t know. “If it is, then let me clear that up. I slept in the kennels last night. Nothing happened.”

“I said it’s not about her.” Ice flashed in her eyes.

Shard searched her face and then let it go. “If you say so.”

He closed his eyes and tried to sort through the battering ram she’d just hurled into his stomach.

“Do you know that you’ve done everything but answer the simple question I asked you last night?” Shard asked. “Why should I even try to win the games for you when you can’t tell me that?”

“You’re not winning the games for me, it’s for my father. So he can be happy.”

The anger that Drummond had initially inspired reared up.

“Arla, cut the crap. I’m not fighting this tournament for your damn father. If you care for me, tell me I’ve got something to fight for. Or grow up and stop torturing me.”

She glanced down at her father and blinked, her icy façade peeling away until he could see the woman beneath.

“I,” Arla began, her face ashen.

Drummond groaned and she leaped in the air, her cheeks flushing as she cast a furtive look Shard’s way.

“You have something to fight for,” she hurried to say, breaking their gaze.

And still she hadn’t directly told him how she felt.

If you care for me, tell me I’ve got something to fight for.

Clever beauty.

Shard watched her hurrying back to the food hall, and a wide grin spread across his face. If scraps were all she’d offered in the last year and a half, then Arla had just offered him a steak.

He’d take it.

* * *

“Fuck off,” the king boomed.

Shard stood before Jovan’s massive desk, hands behind his back. “I realize my recent actions shouldn’t make you want to approve my request.”

“You realize right.”

Jovan scrawled on a page and slid the parchment to Landon, who sat opposite. When a person hurt the feelings of the king’s queen, apparently that person lost the right to a private audience.

“I need to fight in the tournament.”

Jovan ignored him.

Landon swivelled in his chair. “Might I ask why?”

Ignoring the fact that the Tatum just asked a question, Shard answered, “For a woman.”

“You wish to fight in the tournament for Arla?” Jovan asked, finally looking at him.

Shard dipped his head.

“Last I heard she’d rejected you outright.” The king snorted.

Was anyone unaware of his personal life at this point?

“She needs to convince her father that I’ll be a good match. And this is apparently the way to prove myself to him.”

The king returned to scrawling on parchment. “Well then, you fighting is pointless. You certainly won’t win. I’m fighting.”

“So am I,” Landon added, accepting another piece of parchment from Jovan and studying it before looping his name at the bottom.

They would be his toughest opponents, along with Lina and Rhone.

“I’d be grateful for the chance to try,” he said in the silence only interrupted by the scratching of their quills.

Jovan slapped his down and leaned back, surveying Shard with predator’s eyes.

“I want Arla off my hands,” he stated. “She annoys me, and she annoys my queen. In general, she’s an antagonist in my assembly, and that overrides anything useful she does to help.”

Shard didn’t take the bait.

“She can be an antagonist,” he answered smoothly. He forced down the familiar urge to rise to her defense.

The king’s eyes glinted. “Not just can be. Is. So if I drop a fighter who has earned his or her place in the games, you better damn well marry her and take her away. Far away. I want her gone from the castle to a house in the Inner Rings.”

If they ever got married, Shard had planned just that. And he’d fight tooth and nail with Arla for it. She had to be removed from her father to gain a sense of clarity. Only then could Arla explore the other sides of her personality that Shard had experienced firsthand—if in brief snatches.

But he felt odd agreeing to Jovan’s demand. Shard didn’t own her. He couldn’t answer for her.

“Arla has been told how to act her entire life, my king,” he replied after quick reflection. “I believe it is best for her to be removed from the castle and Drummond. In time, she can grow. If she’s given a chance.”

The king studied him and Shard remained mute, his breath lodging in his chest.

“That was not a yes.” The menace in the king’s rumbling voice lifted the small hairs on Shard’s nape.

Beside Jovan’s desk, Kendra squawked loudly. Her fists punched overhead from where she’d lain slumbering in her cradle.

The king leaped to action, displaying the very same speed he’d used to kill men, and was beside his daughter in an instant.

“Hush, Kenny,” the king cooed, rocking the cot. “Back to sleep. Sleepy sleep.”

Landon slid an amused look at Shard.

Kendra’s squawks turned to wails.

Jovan glared at Landon. “Look what you did.”

The queen’s brother smirked. “I didn’t do a thing. You talk too loud.”

“Laugh now. The time will come when you forget what sleep is.”

Jovan lifted his eyes from the Tatum as Kendra’s wails escalated to screams. They fell on Shard.

“Why are you still here?” he barked.

Shard stilled. “You haven’t given me an answer, King Jovan.”

The king picked up his red-faced child, clucking nonsense at her and throwing her high overhead. The screaming took on a furious edge.

“Wrong thing to do, wrong thing to do,” Jovan fretted, bouncing her and searching the chamber.

Picking up the pile of parchment, Landon made for the door, stopping to clasp Shard’s shoulder.

“You can assume that is a yes,” he said in undertones. “But I’d leave before he realizes her nappy is full.”

Chapter Seven

Shard sank into another stretch, listening to the sounds of the gathering crowd in the tiers above. Each world had a section beneath the Dome to warm up.

“Hey, Shard?” Blizzard said from where he leaned against the wall.

“Yeah?” Shard grunted.

“Do you feel bad that someone got dropped just because you have connections?”

Ice darted his eyes between them as he stretched.

Blizzard straightened. “Because that’s exactly the kind of injustice that has led to the divide between rich and poor. As the minister of the people—”

Avalanche groaned, and Shard silently agreed. The minister of the people could rant for hours. No matter the value of his content, no one wanted to be caught in one of his lectures.

“So what’s first up?” Shard asked loudly.

“The Dome will be split into seven sections for each test,” Ice said. “Strength, agility, accuracy, spear, bow, sword, and dagger. People will be in elimination pools over the day and then the top seventy go into semi-final pools tomorrow—kind of like the underground pit tournament. The top seven enter the finals on the third day. Group fight on the last day.”

The points from the group fight didn’t count toward the solo category. That way, there was a possibility of two worlds claiming victories.

Each world had brought fifty fighters. “So the person with a high score in several categories, or at least reasonable scores in all, will win overall,” Shard said grimly.

Shard trained every day with the other Bruma in the castle. The fighters selected for the group category had trained separately for two hours daily, but aside from that, he’d trained right alongside the chosen contestants for the Interworld Games. Shard was confident about his skill in comparison to most of his Bruma opponents. His real competition was confined to the royalty of each world and the trainer of the Ire. Though he couldn’t discount the Elite who made up at least half of the Solati spots.

Really, he had no idea what the Ire had in store for him. But if some of the top fighters from each world knocked each other out of the running, he might stand a shot.

Shard could surmise Arla had chipped away at Drummond’s ideals of who she could marry for some time. Her father wanted her already married, but the list of eligible suitors was growing thin. If Arla succeeded in securing Drummond’s agreement to her plan, the older advisor would have to accept a marriage born of legacy and prestige for his daughter, rather than the high-born union he’d been after.

And apparently legacy and prestige from winning the Interworld Games was enough.

Really, Shard didn’t know why Arla had decided to manage her father this way. But she’d finally given Shard something to go on.

In his entire life, he’d only burned to win once; when he ran from the Middle Ring—away from his father—to the Outer Rings. He’d won then. And success never meant so much to him as it did at this exact moment.

If this was what Arla needed to choose him, he’d forge on through this last hoop. Giving up on her was a stupid idea anyway. Snapping or scratching, Arla was it for him. Love, addiction, hate, attraction—Shard didn’t care. He wouldn’t rest until she was his.

“What do you suppose he’s thinking about?” Ice asked.

Shard jerked, staring at the faces contemplating him.

“Food or a woman,” one of the Bruma called.

Loud laughter rang through the enclosed space and Shard ignored them, sinking into a set of push-ups.

He’d just finished when a bell tolled. The muffled roar of the crowd overhead gave all the Bruma fighters underneath pause. There were a lot of people up there.

A watchman pulled their entrance door wide open from the other side.

“Game time,” he called. “Everyone out.”

Shard entered the line filing into the Dome.

The last time he’d been in this exact situation, he and nearly all the members of Alzona and Tricks’s Barracks were being led to their slaughter.

Oddly, he felt worse about entering the Dome now.

The roar of the crowd increased tenfold when he entered. Shard lifted his eyes from the sandy and cobbled floor of the Dome to inspect the space. The floor was a huge rectangle, tiered seating rising up on each side. Most of the floor was cordoned off into seven large sections, one for each category. A stage and open area for the fighters to stand made up the rest.

Most of the crowd was a wave of white and blue. Even Bruma from the Outer Rings were dressed in the right colors. The hosting world was allotted half of the audience space—for which Blizzard had demanded a fair ballot so all three rings had equal access. The remaining half was split between the other two worlds. Oranges and reds took up the space immediately to the left of where a semi-circle platform extended slightly over the Dome. This was the space for royals and their court—or those of high rank. The greens and browns of the Ire occupied the right side of the semi-circle platform.

Everyone he could see was on their feet and shouting.

Despite his nerves, the thrill of old raced through him. There was a reason he’d spent eight years in the pit. One, because he was skint and needed coin. Two, because nothing could beat the heart-pounding uncertainty of a fight. Nothing but the touch of Arla’s lips on his, perhaps. Or what he expected it might feel like.

The king, queen, Tatum and Greta, and the Ire leader, Yarik, and Rhone entered onto the Dome floor via a second door. Rhone had married a woman from the Ire and then moved to the sanctuary to train them for the games.

They strode toward a wooden stage erected beneath where the royals and court members sat.

A table had been placed there, and a large object covered by a gold sheet rested upon it.

A quick glance behind him told Shard the opponents from the Ire and Osolis had exited through the other two doors.

He couldn’t be sure the color wasn’t reflecting off their uniforms, but the Ire folk appeared slightly green. The Solati moved with the same silent grace that a smart Bruma knew to be extremely wary of—though some of them appeared to be shivering violently. Cold opponents moved slow, but he doubted they’d be cold for long.

The king lifted his hand and the tumultuous roar in the arena cut off.

“To Bruma, Solati, and Ire folk alike,” he boomed. “Myself and Queen Lina welcome you to the very first Interworld Games.”

A thrum of nervous excitement pulsed through Shard, coiling the muscles in his legs. The king waited as the crowd roared and stamped their feet in response.

He held out a hand and Lina joined him, the six-month-old Kendra balanced on her hip.

The Dome hushed abruptly. So quiet, Shard felt like he could scuff the ground and everyone would hear.

“Seven category winners, one ultimate warrior, and one victorious world will be found over the course of four days,” the queen called, her unfaltering voice carrying through the space and echoing through the stands.

The crowd listened to her every word, perhaps hooked by the obvious power, depth, and warmth he’d heard the first time she spoke. She could whisper and still hold their attention.

The queen gestured to the other leaders. “We extend a special welcome to Yarik, leader of the Ire, and his trainer, Rhone.”

Yarik dipped his head to her and Rhone bowed slightly.

“Don’t look like his spine likes bowing,” Ice wondered aloud.

Blizzard sniggered.

“To my brother, Tatum Landon, I extend the same welcome,” she continued. “As well as congratulations on his recent marriage to Greta, one of our own. Glacium wishes you both many happy years together.”

The crowd roared in response, their volume increasing when Landon wrapped an arm around Greta’s shoulders.

Blizzard spoke. “Does anyone like him way more since he married Greta?”

“He had the sense to marry a Bruma girly,” Ice said, crossing his arms. “Makes me like the whole of Osolis a lot more.”

Shard shot an amused look at Avalanche, who glanced briefly up at the sky.

“Now, please welcome our master of ceremonies for the games,” the king announced to the crowd. “Sin.”

All four of them groaned at the sight of a shirtless Sin striding from the door to join the rulers on the stage, an Ire woman by his side.

He helped the shorter woman up onto the stage and then leaped up himself.

“People of the tri-worlds! Are you ready?” he shouted, winding up his arm.

Shard clapped with everyone else despite himself. Sin had come a long, long way since marrying Lorna. And he’d always possessed a raw charisma that somehow made him likeable, despite the extensive, extensive list of his unlikeable qualities.

Love changed people.

Sin’s voice deepened. “For twelve months, fifty warriors from each world have trained for this. Very. Moment. In this dome, you will bear witness to their sweating stamina, to their explosive power, to their lethal speed as these men and women compete to be named the tri-world’s first ultimate warrior.”

Shard’s current predicament raced back to the forefront of his mind and he tuned out the master of ceremonies, his eyes scanning the space. Fighters hopped from foot to foot; people in the crowds stood ramrod still as they listened to Sin. An undercurrent of tension drew tight, a bow ready to loose.

He shook off his nerves as Sin waved a hand at the Ire woman he’d brought onto the stage.

“Is that Rhone’s wife?” a man asked.

Shard glanced to his right, spotting Sanjay. “Monikah, yeah. You’re fighting?”

Sanjay grinned. “I could choose to be insulted by your obvious surprise. But I couldn’t do anything about it anyway, so I won’t. No, not fighting. Some people are lovers. Which I often do. Twice this morning, actually.”

“Good to know,” Shard said drily.

“I’m reading out the fighting pools today.” Sanjay held up a large scroll. “Making myself useful.”

It could be assumed Sanjay had been made useful rather than taking the initiative. Shard watched the orange-bearded man blow a kiss to his wife, Fiona, up on the tier.

Was everyone married and happy? Seemed that way.

“Who have I got first?” Shard asked him.

“I’m not supposed to reveal anything,” the Bruma said firmly. He unrolled the parchment and scanned the contents. “Shardy, Shardy, Shardy. M, P, T, Shard. Okay, you’re on agility first against a whole heap of names I don’t recognize. And Avalanche.”

Blizzard eyed the hulking man between them and leaned forward. “At least you won’t come last.”

Avalanche punched the minister of the people. Hard.

Sanjay furled the scroll again.

“Hold on,” Ice said to him. “Where do I start?”

“Must be getting on,” Sanjay said loudly. “I have a special place to stand to announce each pool.” He gestured up to the small platforms midway down each side of the Dome, about three meters above the floor.

Shard grinned at Ice’s angry mutter and returned his attention to the stage.

The sheet covering the large object was gone. A huge glass sculpture sat there; two wide ends tapered into a tiny space in the middle. The bottom half of the glass object was filled with dirt, the whole thing set in a gilded frame.

“Fuck is that?” Blizzard blurted.

Rhone had left the stage and was striding in their direction. Or to the Ire team just behind.

His wife moved up to the glass structure and took hold of the top, her pale face determined. She glanced back at Sin, who lifted his hand in the air.

“I proudly present the Ire’s new invention, the Time Teller,” he called. “Once the dirt runs out, fighters will have a fifteen-minute rest. It will be used throughout the day until we have our semi-final fighters for tomorrow.”

Shard blew out a breath. He just had to place as well as he could. A handful of spots in each category could make the difference. Each performance had to be his best. If he’d had longer to prepare, he would have worked out just what ranking was needed in each, but he’d spent the last hours making sure he had all the necessary weapons and supplies. He felt about as far from calm and collected as he’d ever been.

He hated feeling that way.

But surely if Shard finished in the top five of most of the events, that would be enough. And top ten in the others.

Sighing, he glanced around the other fighters. He had absolutely no idea.

Up on stage, Monikah pulled hard on the upper half of the Time Teller to no avail. A few giggles rang out from the crowd until the king reached over her head and helped out.

The Time Teller swung one hundred and eighty degrees, and dirt began to fall from the top to the bottom through the tiny space.

“Let the games begin!” Sin roared to the crowd, who returned his enthusiasm one-thousand-fold.

Huh. “That is . . . really clever,” Shard said after a beat, staring at the Time Teller.

“I don’t get it,” Ice said. “What does the stupid thing do?”

Rhone, walking alongside him, swung his head to look at the Outer Rings man.

Ice’s words trailed into silence, and Rhone continued on to join the Ire fighters.

Blizzard whispered, “Did you just shit yourself, Ice?”

Shard glanced past him, watching the royals retreat through the door. He shifted to look up at the platform where the assembly and their high-ranking guests sat.

Like fire in darkness, he found her shining blonde hair.

Did she watch him now? He couldn’t be sure. He hoped so. Just as he hoped this wasn’t all some cruel trick of hers. The look she’d given him last night hadn’t been imagined, he was sure. . . .

Or he’d been sure.

Shard shifted his focus to Sanjay, who was announcing the pools. The fighters crowded around, the audience also quietening to glean what they could.

“Once your first pool is done, come back for further instruction. Working from the far corner in a counter-revolution fashion,” Sanjay said, pointing to the corner opposite the stage. “Agility: First pool. Ojorn, Afarad, Orach, Shard, Avalanche, Pymi, Gregori, Zelda, Hamish, and Symon. Strength: First pool. . . .”

Shard’s mind whirled. Agility.

Three Solati, four Bruma, and three Ire folk in his pool. He assumed—he didn’t recognize the last three names, anyway. Pymi was one of Alzona’s girls and completely savage, though she heavily favored her right side. Gregori was also from the pits, and Shard had trained against him several times.

He wasn’t worried about the three Bruma in his pool; Bruma weren’t exactly known for their lightness of step. Luck was with him on that point, but the Ire folk lived in a place where one misstep could mean their death, and the Solati were graceful elegance personified.

There were one hundred and fifty fighters. Ten in each pool. Fifteen pools for each event. How many went through from each event into the next round? He couldn’t remember.

Avalanche tapped him on the shoulder, and Shard peered up at his friend.

“Coming?” Avalanche asked.

Shard blew out a breath. “Let’s do it.”

“Nervous?”

That was an understatement. Shard had fought for many things in the past. Hate, anger, justice, wealth, glory, victory, but he’d never fought for love. “Yes.”

“I’ll do my worst so you can place higher.”

Avalanche wasn’t exactly known for his delicate step, but the sentiment was nice all the same.

“I appreciate it,” Shard forced out.

They approached the roped-off area in the far corner, the two other Bruma falling in behind them. The Ire folk and Solati were already there, stretching. Rhone’s team were in a line doing weird exercises on their tiptoes.

The roped-off area contained a long beam suspended two meters off the ground. It would swing.

A series of sawn-off barrels were arranged in pairs in a row that extended five meters or so. The barrels became smaller and smaller as they reached the end.

A rope ladder hung from the center of a large frame. That would swing around too—great.

The last obstacle consisted of six solid boxes, three meters in height, arranged in a zigzag.

Hopefully he wasn’t first.

“Listen up, bitches.”

Avalanche cursed under his breath, and Shard nearly did the same.

“You knew Alzona was helping out?” Shard whispered.

“She’s one of the judges for this round,” Pymi said, leg extended as she bent over, stretching the backs of her legs.

Shard followed her lead and began to stretch as well. He’d cooled down while standing around. He sank into a series of squat jumps and hopped side to side until his breath came fast. He repeated the moves on the other leg and started again as his former barracks owner and all-around ruthless businesswoman, Alzona, ran through each of the obstacles.

She pointed to the beam. “Points will be removed for a bad landing off the beam, if you use your arms for balance, and how quickly you get across and up onto the beam from the starting mat.”

Alzona moved to the barrels on the ground. They were sawn off and extended halfway up her calf. The low barrels were grouped in pairs in a long row. She approached the first two of the side-by-side wooden rings and stuck a foot inside each one. Alzona began moving forward, lifting her knees high to clear each barrel and step inside the next. “Points will be removed for touching the barrels and speed will be timed.”

She continued on and he listened as hard as everyone else in the pool. He sneaked a glance at the other two judges—one from the Ire and one from Osolis. Probably a good thing to ensure Alzona didn’t just give the fighter from her barracks the highest score.

Alzona would do just about anything mostly ethical for money. Sometimes only a glimmer of good intent was needed to seal the deal.

The Solati judge joined her, paper in hand. “First round in order as read. Beam: Afarad. Barrels: Avalanche. Boxes: Zelda. Ladder: Symon.”

This was good. He wasn’t up first.

The three judges moved to the beam.

Alzona suspended a length of string over a fire pit next to a bucket of water. “When the string is lit, you start,” she instructed the Solati on the starting mat.

By this point, some of the other event pools must have begun, but Shard couldn’t hear anything except the happenings of his own contest. Blood pounded in his ears as Alzona dipped the end of the string into the flame.

Afarad ran and leaped catching hold of the beam and pulling himself up. Crouching for a moment, he stood carefully, pushing his hips right when the beam swung wildly to the left. Then he ran, arms flinging out horizontally four times before he reached the end and jumped off onto the red mat placed at the end.

He landed and stumbled, flinging his arms out again before regaining his position and standing tall.

Plunging the burning string into the bucket, Alzona passed the wet length to the Solati judge, who straightened the string and tied it to a piece of parchment, consulting with the other two before jotting a few notes down.

The blackened strings would be measured against each other to show the fastest time of completion.

Shard assessed the still-swinging beam. Far harder than it really was, if he had to guess. Winning would come down to not committing the small errors like stumbling and putting out his arms.

Avalanche moved to the sawn-off barrels. The giant placed his foot next to the first one. Shard frowned. Would his feet even fit inside those? The barrels became smaller as they went on. . . .

This time the Ire judge lit the string.

Avalanche took off, one foot in each barrel, lifting his knees high as he moved on to the second and third row. The ground shook with the weight of his steps.

The fourth pair of barrels was where things fell apart.

His feet were too big. The barrels began to lift with his feet, but Avalanche didn’t stop his forward momentum into the next barrels and the next. The half-calf length barrels began to build up his legs in stacks until, eventually, bending his knee was impossible.

Legs armored with barrels up to his thighs, Avalanche waddled stiffly to the end mat and stood silently.

Snorting, Alzona plunged the string and passed it over to the open-mouthed Solati judge.

“Well, we could’ve guessed that would happen,” Gregori said in a low voice as the judges helped Avalanche out of the barrels, shifting them back into position.

Correct. Except watching Avalanche hadn’t given Shard any idea how to complete the barrels successfully.

A petite woman he assumed was Zelda strode to the mat by the upright boxes. The boxes were custom-made for this obstacle—he’d never seen their like before, anyway. The sides were smooth but for the small spaces between the boards forming them. The Ire woman flexed into a squat, bouncing on her tiptoes.

The string was lowered to the flame and she took off, scuttling up the first box in seconds.

Shard’s mouth dropped open.

The boxes tested lateral agility.

Zelda stood upright on the first and then launched into a sideways jump, zig-zagging between the six boxes. She launched herself off the three-meter drop from the last box and landed softly, poised, arms relaxed at her sides.

The judges were smiling as they consulted each other.

Symon moved to the rope ladder next.

Shard shook off the heavy awe Zelda’s performance had inspired as Symon began.

The Ire man didn’t use the flat side of the rope ladder, opting to use the side. He worked up and down, the loose rope end swinging only slightly as he did so.

Symon raced back to the mat inside a minute.

The judges smiled.

Shard had to make them smile, too.

Alzona called out the next round in their pool, working through their names. It wasn’t until the third round that his name cropped up.

“Shard: barrels,” she said, lifting her eyes, a scowl on her face that he remembered far too well from his time in her barracks.

Focus.

He strode to the starting mat, staring at the first two sawn-off barrels, and tried to visualize where he’d place his feet. Shard didn’t make the mistake of looking at the judges for the starting signal. He watched Alzona from the corner of his eye.

The string lit and he released the vibrating tension in his thighs, bringing his legs high. His feet made it inside the first barrel. Knees pumping furiously, he worked as quickly and accurately through the steadily shrinking barrels as he could. He didn’t touch the edges once and arrived at the finishing mat in a panting blur.

His arms dropped and he cursed. He’d forgotten about the arm thing! Were points docked for using arms for balance in this one?

Shard swung to look at the judges, but only Alzona was smiling—and smiling was a generous description of what might be a sneering smirk.

Leaving for the sidelines again, Shard only received one round to rest before it was his turn on the zigzag boxes. He managed to navigate them without falling on his face, though he stumbled on the landing.

He borrowed the method of the Ire man, Symon, for the ladder. After Afarad tried climbing the rungs and had trouble, everyone followed the Ire man’s lead.

Which only left. . . .

“Shard: beam,” Alzona shouted.

Dread filled him.

Avalanche had ended up shuffling across it, and they were all surprised when the beam didn’t break. The Ire folk had skimmed across the top as lightly as birds in the sky. The Solati were a mixed bag. Pymi had done surprisingly well, keeping her arms tucked in.

He had to remember that.

Shard made his way to the mat, slowing his breath. He raised onto the balls of his feet as the judges lined up.

The string was lit.

Shard sprinted for the beam, but instead of jumping to gain hold of the beam to draw himself up, he stretched upward for one of the thick ropes holding the beam aloft. Keeping his momentum, he swung himself on top and didn’t waste any time finding his footing.

Whether that would be his downfall, he had no time to consider. Arms tucked in, he raced down the beam, entirely focused on the rhythm on the log’s swing.

The end was there within what felt like a few seconds. So was the hard part. He launched toward the finishing mat—a surprising distance from the end—and made sure to bend both of his knees as he landed.

The floor seemed to tilt beneath him. Shard flung out an arm to correct himself.

He straightened and shot a look at the judges. Fuck.

None of them were smiling.

Joining his friend again, he accepted a drink from Avalanche.

“I’m not getting through on this one,” he stated. “I lost.”

“I lost,” Avalanche corrected.

True. What Shard meant was that he hadn’t won. Not after the display by the Ire folk and some of the Solati.

Which meant he had to pull some serious wins out of the bag in the following events. His stomach churned with buried anger, and no small amount of fear. What would Arla think if he didn’t even get through the first day of the games?

Shard tightened his resolve and glanced toward the next event just in time to see King Jovan throw a man half his size from a ring of stones.

Next up. Strength.

Chapter Eight

Shard smiled as his favorite dagger sank into the middle of the target with a solid thud.

Ice and Blizzard were in the dagger pool with him as well as Landon. The others, he didn’t recognize. This was his seventh event and the faces were a blur by now, but Shard had a good feeling about his placement in the dagger category.

“Nice work,” Landon told him.

The Tatum’s eyes were slightly narrowed, and Shard simply nodded in response.

Winning one would be nice. He’d written off the agility and strength events, but felt quietly confident about his placement in sword, spear, bow, and accuracy. Guess he’d find out soon enough.

Collecting his daggers, Shard strode to the water table. He chucked his weapons down and then pulled his tunic off over his head. The garment was drenched with sweat.

He smiled at a woman filling up goblets. “Lorna, well met.”

“Well met, Shard,” she said with a smile. “You are doing well.”

Quickly shifting his mind to Solati speech, he shrugged. “Hard to know. I entered last-minute.”

“To win Arla’s hand,” she murmured. Then at his frown, Lorna confided, “Someone told Sin.”

“So everyone knows,” he stated.

Lorna bit her lip. “I believe that has something to do with a trick you and the queen pulled on him before he came back to Osolis. Something about revenge.”

The queen had staged a conversation about forcing Lorna to marry a horrible man. She’d purposefully let Sin overhear so he’d return to Osolis and stop being an idiot. “We showed him what a fool he was for remaining on Glacium instead of returning to you.”

“Sin skipped telling me that part,” the Solati replied after a beat, smiling at another fighter taking a goblet. “I shall stop spreading the news.”

Shard shot her a glance. “Thanks?”

Whatever Sin was, he’d looked after his previously fragile wife with exquisite care. In fact, she was practically glowing with good health.

Were congratulations in order?

Shard hoped Sin had a girl. That’d learn the prick for being a womanizer most of his adult life to date.

Slowly sipping on his goblet of water, Shard drifted toward the stage on the Dome floor. Sin was there, poring over pieces of parchment with a group of judges.

The rest of the events were slowly winding down. The sky was darkening—had to be late afternoon by now. Shard couldn’t wait to get out of here to wash and eat.

“Fighters,” Sin boomed. “Gather around.”

He held a scroll. The crowd had settled over the day as their attention became focused on the various tests and challenges on the Dome floor, but their roar surged anew at his words.

The rulers joined him on the stage—Lina, Jovan, and Landon exiting from the fighting ranks, and Yarik arriving from the upstairs platform.

Shard had barely seen the queen. Only from afar as she loosed her bow with chilling certainty into the target, and later as she hurtled a spear all the way through a stuffed dummy’s forehead in the accuracy event—making the Solati male who’d gone before her look like a fumbling amateur.

“Seventy will continue to the semi-final pools tomorrow,” Sin declared, waggling his brows at the crowd. “The top ten competitors from each test will proceed. Your top ten fighters in the agility event were as follows. . . .”

Shard kept half an ear out for his name as he scanned the tier above for the woman who’d thrown him headfirst into this situation. Then again, Arla was the kind of person who would always make him feel unprepared. Her mind was not a mind he could ever entirely explore. Icy and calculated and filled with fire and purpose—just directed the wrong way. The mystery of her thoughts was the sweetest kind of music. He longed to listen.

He studied her high on the platform. Always above him, always out of reach. She faced his way, but whether she watched the rulers or returned his steady gaze was up for debate. She’d kill him, maybe. Torture him, definitely. But to have the love of such a woman?

Sin finished speaking and moved on to the strength announcements.

As Shard suspected, he hadn’t made it into the top ten of his agility pool. But his hopes lifted as Sin announced his name among the top ten in the strength event.

That was a surprise. And a lucky one. If he’d judged his performance in the other five right then, he should move forward in six of the seven events. Surely that boded well. He hoped that boded well.

Sin moved on to the announcements for the spear, bow, and sword. All of which Shard progressed in. Dagger he was certain of, but he held his breath through the remaining two events anyway, releasing it in a forceful exhale at the end.

“Six out of seven,” Ice said, slapping him on the back. “I got through in three. Agility, accuracy, and dagger.”

“Five for me,” Blizzard put in. “Everything but agility and dagger.”

“Three as well,” Avalanche added. “Strength, sword, and spear.”

Shard had done well. Really well. Better than he could have hoped, and yet his efforts didn’t feel enough for the potential prize. That Arla proposed to her father she be a prize didn’t sit right with him. Not only because Shard might lose, but because Arla didn’t deserve to be treated like a thing. No one did. Clearly, she felt this was her only option. At this point, he refused to believe she was playing a cruel trick. Even she had limits.

Shard hated that she felt this display was her only option. If she hadn’t sprung the games on him last-minute, they could have figured something else out. Except he had next to no idea if she actually cared or not. She’d told him about her plan, and that had to mean something, but what? And how much? And who else? None of the other fighters had mentioned Arla at all, so Shard knew her deal with Drummond was private—for now. But would that change? And what happened if someone else won?

The real problem was that Arla had only divulged the bare bones of her plan to Shard. She still didn’t trust him, and that stung. Because he knew she had to have other plans. She was too practiced at getting what she wanted.

Again—if she actually did want him.

Truthfully, he didn’t grasp why Drummond would suddenly agree to Arla marrying him if Shard won the games. The concept that her father would accept him as the prestigious winner of the first Interworld Games but not as the man he’d worked alongside for eighteen months was difficult to comprehend. And yet Shard was viewing her father based on what he would do. Drummond’s existence was based on gaining power and prestige. Already occupying one of the highest positions on Glacium, the only way Drummond could add to his legacy was for Arla to marry well. Was the superficial title of ultimate warrior enough for Drummond to look past the mud stain of Shard having a whorehound for a father?

Arla believed so.

And if that was the case and Drummond truly was that ambitious, no wonder she’d struggled to identify right and wrong her entire life. How could she not be confused, with such a role model?

Shard roused himself, seeing the fighters were now leaving. He trickled after the stream of Bruma competitors returning to their underground space.

Questions bounced around his head. He’d started today, set on the task, but before he went further, Shard had to see her. She’d given him the barest trickle of encouragement and explanation. He needed more.

Shard entered the warm-up space and stood to one side as most of the others left. He’d be surprised if any of the fighters who’d come to compete in the games hadn’t gotten into one or more of the semi-final pools, but only a handful of Bruma stayed behind to cool down and stretch.

The scatterings of Bruma who remained with him were mainly pit fighters. Figured. They knew what a difference a post-fight routine made to the following day. Most of them would have participated in an underground tournament or two.

He balled his tunic up and used it to wipe away the lingering sweat on his forehead and body.

“Shard.”

Freezing, he glanced up at Arla.

She was doing her best to ignore the other fighters around them. And the smell of stale sweat, judging by the wrinkle of her nose.

“Arla.” He greeted her, chucking his tunic aside, and approached her.

Her eyes flickered down his torso and back up.

Was she checking him out? That was a first.

And something he could definitely get used to.

Male ego wasn’t his show, but hell if he didn’t crave some acknowledgement of attraction from her.

He quirked a brow, and pride did spread rampant through his chest as pink tinged her cheeks.

A new tension sat between them and Shard couldn’t make hide nor hair of it, only that it filled him with more coiled energy than he’d felt all day.

“You’re very good with these daggers,” she murmured, swaying into his side. She stroked one of the blades holstered around his hips. “You hit everything right in the center.”

He inhaled the floral smell of her and almost groaned aloud. “There were consequences to missing when I was younger.”

She glanced into his eyes. “Which were?”

Shard blinked through the haze she inspired, and regret found him hard and fast. “Nothing a well-bred lady needs to hear.”

“What if this well-bred lady wants to hear?” she snapped.

“Then the well-bred lady will be disappointed.”

Arla gripped his arm. “What are you hiding from me?” She was holding her breath and scanning him furtively.

He took her hand, not removing her clenched fingers, just covering it with his own. “I’ve never hidden a thing from you. You know who my father was. There are things in my past I don’t like to speak of. The Outer Rings can be a dark and cruel place.”

“The castle is a dark and cruel place,” she said, easing her grip. “They just take their criminal activities outside.”

True. Blaine’s rebellion had proved that much.

“My father used to tie a whore to a chair and sit her against a wall. I had to throw daggers around her. If I missed—”

Arla’s eyes widened.

“You wanted to know,” he reminded her gently.

She squeezed his arm again. Did she even know that they’d never touched this intimately before? Or for so long.

“Did you ever hit any?” Arla whispered.

He met her gaze unflinchingly, having made peace with his past horrors long ago. “Yes. It gave me an incentive to become very good in a short time.”

She slipped her hand from his grip, not breaking their gaze. “You must think I’m so petty and small.”

It sounded more like she thought that of herself. “I don’t,” he said simply.

He glanced back at the remaining fighters. Most had already left, but Blizzard, Ice, and Avalanche were watching them. He glared at them and they smiled back, not budging.

Assholes.

She shook back her hair and narrowed her blue eyes. “Six out of seven.”

“You were paying attention.”

Arla stepped closer, studying the space with interest. “Of course. I’m in this to win.”

The comment struck him forcefully.

Her friendships were based on power plays. Her every comment was usually based on a power play. Her smiles or smirks were the same.

. . . This wasn’t a power play, though, right? The tournament was to prove to Drummond that Shard was a suitable partner. That was all.

He supposed part of him fighting was a last test of hers. That didn’t bother him. Arla tested him so hard because she was afraid. How did someone with an entire life based on power plays find the courage to confide their honest feelings in another?

Fear kept her silent. Fear of him not being the person he said he was. Of him using what she might say against her in the power plays she’d known her entire life. To everyone else, her behavior made her shallow. To him, it made her someone who’d been groomed and manipulated.

He watched her glance around the room intently.

“Never been down here?” he asked, tucking away his foreboding.

“No. Father would never. . . . Well.”

“He let you today?”

Arla shook her head. “He’s in bed today after the blow you dealt him.”

Shard stiffened. “But he agreed to your deal,” he pressed.

“He did.” She grinned, the success in her voice plain.

Arla licked her lips and darted a glance over to him. She stared back at the other fighters and stepped back.

“Father will be watching tomorrow,” she told him in a low voice.

So? “Isn’t that the point?”

“No,” she said, appearing confused. “The point is for you to win.”

“Because then he’ll be able to accept me as your suitor for whatever reason,” Shard said slowly.

Her expression went blank.

Shard held up his hands. “Okay. . . . I’ve misunderstood what this is all about.”

Arla glared at him. “The point is to win.”

“And why am I winning again?”

She darted a look at the other fighters. “I already said you have something to fight for.”

“I thought that was you admitting you cared.” The answer dawned on him. “Hold on. Does your father even know I’m fighting?” Shard’s stomach lurched. “He doesn’t, does he?”

“No.” The blonde folded her arms. “So what? He agreed my hand would be offered to the winner.”

“Because he knew I wasn’t fighting, Arla. Fuck. You’re tricking him into this? What reason is there for that? Revenge? Fear? Look, if it’s your father you’re worried about, I’ll handle him. You know I will, But there’s no need to trick him.”

She stared at him. “You’d do all of that for me when I’ve given you next to no encouragement?”

“I would. Don’t change the subject.”

“I dropped your tunic and pushed away the food you brought me,” she reminded him.

Shard could hardly forget. “And you’ve never taken me to bed.”

Arla shot him a look. “That bothers you?”

“It does, but only because others were in it instead of me. I’m sure you know how much that has hurt. And yet I always viewed the no-touching thing as another one of your tests.”

She turned away, hands clasped behind her back. She wore a midnight-blue fur-lined cloak that hugged her lithe frame.

“I have tested you, it’s true. But that—the other men—wasn’t a test,” she murmured, turning back. “More of a promise to myself.”

And that meant what exactly?

“My father isn’t just anyone,” Arla continued, lifting her chin. “He is an advisor to the king, born and raised in the castle. He is my only family and though he has faults, I love him dearly. He has always, always been honest with me—even if I haven’t liked what he’s had to say in recent times. I was the one to change, not him, and I will not humiliate him by marrying someone he cannot accept. The three worlds will revere the first winner of the games, thus my father’s pride will be soothed. That is why I’m doing all of this.”

“You won’t humiliate him, but you’ll outmaneuver him? Won’t that humiliate him just the same?” Shard asked, searching her gaze while trying his best to understand.

Arla blinked. “Only if he finds out.”

. . . Didn’t she see what was wrong with that?

“Shard, here you are.”

He held back a groan. This was not the time. Arla was finally letting him in.

Shard ripped his eyes from Arla to find the queen bearing down on them. Lina glanced between them, and his last words to her burned in his ears. The queen was his friend and he’d stomped on that. Too much to drink wasn’t any excuse.

He bowed lower than usual to her, forcing away his frustration at her interruption.

“Queen Lina,” he murmured.

“Six of seven,” she said, smiling. “Same here. Didn’t get through the strength event, though. My pool was made up of giant males. And one giant female. She threw me bodily from the ring. Haven’t flown that far since the days with Avalanche in the barracks.”

“Tomorrow will be a good fight,” he replied, fixing his eyes on Arla.

“I wish you well in it, but I’ll also be doing my best to beat you,” she said.

His gut twisted. That’s what he was worried about.

“Arla,” the queen said, turning to the woman quietly dwelling by his side. “I’m glad I found you here. Would you care to join me for dinner at the throne table tonight? I understand you’re organizing the closing ball and I would love to hear more.”

Shard coughed and hastily schooled his features to mask his shock.

She bobbed a curtsey, saying smoothly, “Yes, Queen Lina. I’d be honored to.”

“Let us head there directly then.” Lina held out her arm and Arla took it.

Mouth bobbing ajar, Shard watched them walk gracefully away. What was Lina up to? And what would Arla say? What would they both say about him?

Blizzard clapped him on the back, and Ice and Avalanche joined them.

All four fighters stared after the queen and Arla.

“Should I be scared?” Shard asked them.

Ice’s reply was instant. “Yep.”

Chapter Nine

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Shard asked the others.

“No one cares,” Ice complained. “Shut up about it.”

Maybe he was fixated on the conversation between Lina and Arla at the throne table. Was this the queen’s revenge for how he’d treated her? Because it was working.

He straightened. “Lina smiled. That’s a good thing.”

“I saw her smile when she chopped someone’s head off once,” Blizzard replied.

Shard cursed. True.

The rest of the table snickered.

The food hall was a bawdy ruckus of singing, shouting, dancing, and smashing pottery. The Solati court and the assembly seemed to be getting on reasonably well—probably helped along by the ample pouring of brew. The thought threw Shard for a second. If he wasn’t engaged in a battle of his own, he’d be solely focused on what the tri-world games were really about as he protected Glacium’s royal females.

The three peoples had intermingled to some degree, and the rulers laughing together at the throne table proved that.

While the Solati and Bruma still kept to themselves the most, Shard could immediately see that those from the Ire had spread themselves amongst the other two worlds almost completely, only pockets of two or three scattered about. Perhaps it made sense that the race who was a mixture of Solati and Bruma would be the ones to bridge the cultural divide.

The sight made him happy. Not just because he’d been there on the day the war against Tatum Avanna was won. And not only because he wanted to exist in a world that was safe and accepting. But because the rulers and advisories had worked tooth and nail for the last year to make sure everything was arranged. Thus far, it appeared the games were a success.

No matter the nefarious reasons Sin thought up the Interworld Games in the beginning, it had come to good in the end. One of the many and deeply entrenched barriers between the worlds was crumbling away. Hopefully, in time and generations to come, other barriers would disappear too.

Shard peered up at the throne table again. Their heads were bent together. What did that mean in female talk?

He groaned aloud and tipped his head back. “I’m going to bed,” he announced.

“Running away again?” Blizzard nodded.

Sometimes it was hard to feel sad that Blizzard lived in the Middle Rings.

Shard made for the archway, squeezing between the intoxicated masses. Some of the fighters were drinking, too. If luck was with him, that would make tomorrow’s contests easier. Maybe he’d even be able to sleep tonight for knowing it. Doubtful with what he’d learned from Arla only hours before.

Drummond had no idea Shard was a contender for his daughter’s hand. And tomorrow he’d find out.

Shard wasn’t comfortable with the game Arla was playing, but hopefully the conversation between them would be forced to the surface when Drummond saw him competing as a serious contender.

What a mess.

“You know what I’m going to do to you?” a man slurred.

Talking of messes.

Sanjay. Held up by his wife, Fiona.

“Probably nothing, my love,” she answered pleasantly.

An unusual couple, perhaps, but their love was apparent to all. So was Sanjay’s drunkenness.

“Need a hand?” Shard asked her.

“Do I—” Sanjay weaved on the spot. “Do I need a hand doing what?”

Fiona grinned. “Not that, Sanjay. He meant to carry you back to our house.”

Sanjay glared at him through bloodshot eyes, stumbling back a step. “Then yes, good sir. You may help me walk.”

“Thanks,” Shard replied sarcastically, ducking under Sanjay’s other arm.

They ambled in their awkward trio to the entranceway and then through the courtyard to the path beyond. The couple lived in the Inner Ring, immediately around the castle, as did most of the assembly.

Shard studied the low stone houses as they walked by, the familiar yearning filling him once more. To share one with Arla was a dream he’d had so many times, it felt like an unattainable obsession.

And to make that dream a reality, he had to win. Unless Arla was willing to drop the game and actually speak to her father straight, an idea which, apparently, hadn’t occurred to her once in all of this.

Shard exhaled.

“Are you sad about Arla?” Fiona asked softly from the other side. Sanjay appeared to be sleepwalking.

He didn’t even bother to ask how she’d heard. “Not sad. Frustrated. At a loss.”

“Because?”

“Because I usually have a plan and I don’t have a plan. And the current plan is not a plan I like, but it’s already in motion.”

Fiona hummed. “Right. I’m not sure I really understand that. But the rest of us are rooting for you.”

Surprise stirred deep within. “You are? None of you like Arla.”

“That may be true of those who she’s treated badly,” the woman agreed. “But the rest of us can see she’s changing. Steadily, just like the man who has inspired it.”

The better part of Shard knew not to put too much stock in Fiona’s words, simply because he wanted to so desperately. “What change?” he asked quietly.

There was a smile in her voice. “She hasn’t slept with anyone in a year.”

“What?” he breathed. “Yes she has. I’ve seen her leave with them.”

“She takes them out of the food hall and ditches them. Jacky told me.”

That sneaky little— She’d let him believe otherwise all this time? And yet that wasn’t dampening the wide smile on his face.

Fiona continued. “She seems happier, too. Less bitch— uh, mean. She needed to meet the right person. As I did with Sanjay.”

Shard glanced at the man between them, who was drooling.

“I can see what you do for Sanjay. What does he do for you?” Shard asked, grimacing.

“He makes me laugh,” she said with a frosty bite.

He lifted both brows at the fierceness in her tone. “I see.”

“Sorry,” she said after a pause. “I get angry when people bag on him.”

“Don’t apologize,” Shard said, not offended in the slightest. “I know the feeling.”

They reached the door of the couple’s stone abode and Shard helped Sanjay onto the nearest couch. Fiona bent down to remove her husband’s boots, but stopped and peeked up at Shard.

“Do you love her, Shard?” she asked.

He closed his eyes, sucking in a pain-filled breath. “Yes,” he said raggedly.

“Then you’ll get her,” Fiona declared, returning to her task. “No woman could resist that much pain in a single word. It’s the equivalent of a foot massage to a pregnant woman. Go get her.”

* * *

Shard woke, stretching out on his oversized bed.

“Ow.” He groaned. Yep, he was sore. To be expected when he’d been through a day of challenges, most of which his body wasn’t used to performing. He wouldn’t be surprised if each world re-created the obstacles and tests back on their own worlds while training for next year’s games. Each year the contestants would become more skilled and honed.

Shard stared up at the ceiling. Day two. He had fifty-nine other people to beat in six different events. But the fire of his purpose had disappeared to some degree now that he knew all of Arla’s plan.

That he wanted her wasn’t in question. Just everything else.

Swinging his legs over the side, Shard sat and stretched again, yawning. And, as he did sometimes, he stared around the room at the wealth.

These chambers were nothing on the king and queen’s suite, but aside from those, the advisors’ quarters were largest. Sometimes, in odd moments, the ludicrousness of his life hit him. How had he arrived here? From a whorehound’s son to pit fighter to advisor of royals. How could people like Lina and Jovan rely on someone like him for guidance when Shard couldn’t even sort out his own problems? He sat staring at the pieces of furniture that probably cost more than an entire house in the Outer Rings—and the various vases and ornaments and tapestries that would fetch a price he would never have dreamed of before entering the pits. And as he had when first arriving, Shard wondered when he’d be caught out as a fraud.

He’d never once felt like a fraud for loving Arla. Never once felt like he was playing a part or wearing a disguise.

Arla snapped and clawed and Shard only loved her more. To be so sure of a thing was settling in a way Shard had never experienced before. His life had consisted of one calculated move after the other. Even the move to the castle was just that. He’d never put down permanent ties. But tying himself to Arla felt like the start of his actual life—the life always intended for him.

Shard splashed water over his face and changed into fresh fighting clothes.

Then he exited his room, hand on his dagger.

The coast was clear.

He started for the stairs, winding down toward the food hall. How long had he slept? Sounded like the place was already full.

Avalanche exited as he reached the archway. His giant friend immediately held out half a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese.

“You’re heading down already?” Shard asked. Accepting the food, he flashed Avalanche a quick smile.

“Everyone is. I was waiting for you.”

Shard shook his head. “I didn’t think I’d sleep a blink. Must’ve been more tired than I thought.”

He wolfed down the giant-sized portion Avalanche had brought, handing the rest back for Avalanche to finish off.

They wandered into the Glacium warm-up area and settled into what would be a long warm-up. Shard knew his muscles and joints would ease up eventually and play along again. Tomorrow would be worse.

If there was a tomorrow.

The king and queen entered. Kendra was in Jovan’s arms. He stopped to talk to the fighters closest to the entrance while Lina continued walking directly for Shard.

“Good morning,” she greeted him, sinking into her warm-up.

He wanted to know what dinner last night was about, but there was something he had to do first.

“I apologize for my behavior three nights ago,” Shard said stiffly. “I have no excuse for speaking to you in such a way.”

She glanced up at him. “Not as a subordinate to a queen, but certainly as a friend to a friend.”

He hung his head. “It was inexcusable.”

“It was,” Lina said. “In that location and considering who was present. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what will happen if you make that mistake again, so I won’t. And I’m also certain—because I know you—that only severe frustration and uncertainty made you say such things.”

Shard straightened and watched her.

“As a friend, I have been at fault. You’re right, I kept silent, but I did not encourage your feelings for Arla. In fact, I hoped they would go away. Which is my fault. They are your feelings to have or not.”

“I have always and will always value your opinion,” he said.

“I know,” she said, shooting him a grin that faded. “As I do yours. Which is why I asked Arla to dine with me last night.”

He held his breath.

She didn’t speak.

“And?” he ventured.

A smile curved her lips before it was gone. The queen knew exactly how on edge he’d been during dinner. Should have known.

“She would not show me the person you have told me she is,” Lina said, standing in front of him, hands on hips.

He opened his mouth, but she held a finger aloft.

“But since you pointed it out, I can see that’s the case; she won’t show me what’s there, but something else is certainly beneath. The only thing I could glean last night was that she was noticeably making an effort to please me—whether that’s because I’m her queen or not is debatable. What exactly she’s hiding, whether good or bad, I only have your word for. And just one other thing.”

He’d never met anyone who could analyse a person at a glance the way Landon and Lina could. Even to Solati, they were experts in dissecting body posture, slight nuances in movement, and tone of voice. “What was it?”

Kendra squawked loudly from Jovan’s arms.

“Shit, I’m lactating,” Lina blurted, staring down. “Crazy how that happens.”

He cleared his throat and Lina jerked.

“Something else convinced you she’s more than what people say?” he prompted.

Whatever the rest of the assembly was experiencing—according to Fiona—the royals didn’t have as much interaction with Arla and held a separate view.

The queen grinned. “The way she was looking at you when I interrupted you two down here yesterday.”

“What did you see?” he asked, hearing the begging undercurrent of his words. He didn’t care. The situation was mounting, and he was painfully unsure about everything.

“There’s a scared woman in there,” she told him, blue eyes deadly serious. “And she wants you to save her.”

Chapter Ten

On the second day of the games, all seventy competitors went through the same events together. Strength was the last event for the day, which Shard was grateful for. He’d need to give that category everything he had, and he wanted to have enough left for the events he could actually place well in.

He could bank on placing in the top half of the agility test, which would have greatly lowered his score. But from the looks of things, everyone, even the top fighters, had failed to qualify in all seven. Jovan and Landon hadn’t qualified in agility. Lina, not in strength. Rhone, not in dagger.

“Shard,” Alzona called.

Accuracy. He inhaled and released the breath slowly, picking up his spear.

“Heart,” the Ire judge beside her instructed.

Shard studied the straw dummy twenty meters away. He had to get this right. He liked the spear and had often used it hunting after leaving home and needing to fend for himself. But still, the weapon wasn’t his best. Holding the lengthy spear wasn’t as natural as his daggers that felt like extensions of himself.

The crowd’s roaring faded as he took up position, feet apart.

As was his habit, Shard stared at the dummy, summoning his father’s face. The bastard. Pretending to kill him over and over again didn’t make up for not having done it in the flesh. So many women would be alive if he had. Though killing his cruel father in his mid-twenties was much different from killing him at seventeen. Shard knew better than to think the deed wouldn’t have changed his life drastically—and likely for the worse. Perhaps he should just be glad Lina had done the job for him.

He stared down the line at his father and pointed his spear, lining up the shot. Then he leaned onto his back leg, twisting his upper body away, and with a yell that vocalized a lifetime of fury, Shard unwound in a blurry flash, eye on the prize as he hurtled the spear.

When his shaft left his grip, Shard already knew the spear would go where directed. With weapons other than daggers that wasn’t always the case, but it was this time.

Shard straightened and relished the crowd’s gasp and applause as the spear didn’t just penetrate the heart, but forced its way all the way through the dummy and out the back.

He selected his favorite dagger and weighed it in his hands as he moved to a dummy only five meters away.

“Right knee,” the Solati judge said.

Shard looked at the target and his body did the rest. When it came to daggers, he trusted his body more than his mind.

The dagger sank into the right knee.

Two for two.

Shard accepted his bow from Avalanche and moved before the third dummy, sixty meters away. This was the farthest target and would be where he was most likely to fail.

He thought of Arla watching him. Of what he could lose. That didn’t work for a lot of people, but perhaps because that was how his father trained him, negativity—the chance of loss—had always given him the greatest mental clarity.

She would marry Prince Ashawn and Shard would never marry. Or the Solati would win the contest and she’d disappear to Osolis—and Shard would never marry.

“Mouth,” Alzona said.

No breeze stirred the Dome floor. He nocked an arrow and raised his bent shooting arm parallel to the ground as Lina had taught all of them before Glacium marched on Osolis. Archery had become a routine part of their training. That didn’t make up for a lifetime of using a bow. But like this, making one stationary shot? This he could do.

Shard drew the bowstring taut and lifted the arrow tip upward, assessing the gap.

He stared down the nocked arrow and briefly closed his eyes, feeling the tension in his drawing arm. “Please,” he whispered against the strings.

Opening his eyes, Shard loosed his arrow. The string twanged in his ear and he watched as the arrow began to curve downward.

It was going to miss.

Shard clenched the bow tight as the arrow struck the dummy.

“Did it hit?” he asked no one in particular.

The judges moved to inspect the dummy and he waited until they returned before sending Alzona a pointed look.

“Corner of the mouth,” she told him, turning her attention to the next contestant.

Avalanche patted him on the back. “All three.”

Shard sighed. “Yes, but I’ll lose points for the last one. Be better if I’d shot dead in the center.” He shook his right arm out. “What’s next?”

“Dagger. Got a while yet.”

Spotting Rhone at the water table, Shard milled over to join him.

“Congratulations, Rhone. The Ire is faring well,” Shard told him.

The man, the only person Shard had ever met who rivalled Avalanche’s height, turned, controlled and slowly, like a predator. When Avalanche was mostly brute strength, Rhone had the lethal combination of power and speed. Shard had seen him on the battlefield and knew he’d never want to be on the opposing side against Rhone.

“Thanks,” Rhone grunted.

“How is Monikah doing?”

“Good.”

Shard struggled against a smile. “Her Time Teller is ingenious. Has she invented much else?”

“She changes the Ire more and more each day. Landon and the queen have both requested a Time Teller from her after seeing it at work.”

The dog-sledder-gone-trainer had never spoken so much to Shard. Ever. “I am happy for you both,” he said, recovering. “And I wish the Ire success.”

“We don’t need it,” Rhone answered, walking off.

Always nice talking to the Ire trainer.

“Shard,” the queen said, hurrying up to him with Kendra. “I’ve just fed her. Could you hold her while I take my turn?”

“Of course.” He took the kicking babe and placed her over his shoulder, patting her back.

She threw him a grateful look and hurried away.

Kendra burped loudly and gurgled, booting him in the stomach. He pulled her away and smiled down. Cobalt blue eyes stared up at him, just like her mother’s. The princess’s hair would be lighter than Lina’s, but darker than her father’s.

The baby wasn’t as tiny as he expected female infants on Osolis were—or at least as small as he would’ve expected the queen to be as a baby. Would she be Jovan’s height? Or caught between?

He blew in her face, grinning at her high-pitched giggles.

“I want one of you,” he confided in her. “If I can actually get the mother, that is. If I do, you could have a playmate. Would you like a playmate?”

Kendra vomited milk down over the front of her tunic.

Shard stopped bouncing her. “Guess that’s a no. Don’t worry, that’s what the mother thinks of me most of the time. It’s a work in progress.”

He used the bottom of her stained tunic to clean her face. Was that all he was meant to do?

Lina was hurrying back and Shard glanced past her to study her three shots. Perfect. All three of them.

Shard extended the baby toward her, but Kendra was scooped up by the solid wall of muscle that was her father.

“Kendraaa,” he said, nuzzling her. “Hey, she’s getting good at crawling, Lina. Look.”

The king placed her down.

“Okay, Jovan,” Lina said. “But could you please not put her in the blood-soaked sand? I like those clothes.”

“They’re already dirty,” he protested.

Lina placed her hands on her hips. “You change her then,” she thundered.

Jovan picked up Kendra’s feet in one hand and dangled her upside-down as he strode to his queen. The king drew her in close and held their giggling daughter aloft as he delivered a hearty kiss to his wife.

Shard cocked an eyebrow at the crowd, who were going berserk over the display of affection. Yet he doubted either of the royals even noticed.

Soon, the break was at an end, and Shard competed in the events for dagger, sword, bow, and spear in turn.

Only the top six would make the finals tomorrow, and aside from making sure he did as well as possible to rank high for the overall goal—even with dagger—Shard had no idea how well he’d done.

Watching the other competitors was getting to him, especially as his weakest event loomed.

Shard wasn’t of normal height for a Bruma, standing a good head shorter than most. Solati rivalled Bruma for height, despite their lean build, and the Ire folk were a mix. Needless to say, most of the remaining strength contestants were from Glacium, with the Ire close behind. The Solati’s build didn’t lend itself to brute strength, though around ten had still made it into the top seventy.

One of the tests was wrestling—as he’d seen Jovan doing yesterday. Another was a boulder toss. And yesterday, the third had been as many repetitions of an exercise as possible. He hoped that held true today. Really, such an exercise was endurance, but Shard wasn’t complaining. Endurance he could do. And tossing an opponent from a ring was less about strength and more about actual fighting skill.

They were split into two groups of thirty-five and arranged into lines on either side of the ring.

The wrestling matches began.

Shard leaned out to watch as Rhone sent his opponent flying within minutes. This was just like any pit fight, he reminded himself as the next fighters entered the ring.

Eager for distraction, he turned his attention to the crowd. The three blocks of color were still visible. Only the odd flash of green, blue or orange amongst the other colors was apparent. But expecting the people to embrace each other so suddenly wasn’t realistic. The watchmen were there to ensure there wasn’t any fighting among the spectators. Less than two years had passed since a great number of people died because of warriors from the other worlds.

Add too much brew to those not-so-distant memories and there was potential for brawls.

The line whittled down until Shard was watching a fight between an Ire woman and Solati woman.

The winner was clear from the start. The Solati moved with grace he’d seen in the Elite—Landon’s personal guard. Still, the Ire woman held up for several minutes before being shoved out of the ring.

Shard glanced at his opponent. Landon.

Fuck.

Chapter Eleven

“You did pretty well considering it was Landon,” Alzona told him.

Shard shot her a look. “Thanks.”

“Just saying. No need to cry about it. You’re still in four categories.”

Ice—now out of the competition completely—lowered his goblet and wiped his mouth. “He’s after a girly, Alzona. Find your damn heart.”

She rolled her eyes. “Which is why he should take my advice. I’m all about women.”

Ice pondered that and hummed. “True.” He turned to Shard. “No need to cry about it.”

“No one else is in more than four categories,” Blizzard reminded him.

Shard knew that. Didn’t change the fact that the thought of tomorrow made him feel nauseated. Not only because of the result, but because he hadn’t seen or spoken to Arla today and didn’t know where he stood.

“Night,” he told everyone, waving away their complaints for him to stay longer.

Approaching the archway, Shard pulled up short at the sight of Drummond entering. An ugly purple-and-yellow bruise spread across his jaw.

Arla’s father stopped short and scowled.

“Evening, Drummond,” Shard said, searching his face.

He’d been at the fights today. Shard saw him. But what had been said between him and Arla? Or what had Drummond guessed by now?

“The king and queen have been informed of your Outer Rings behavior,” he said, drawing himself up.

Regardless of Arla’s love for her father, Shard wasn’t giving Drummond a hold over him. “I’ll hold my breath for the summons.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have actually hit his prospective father-in-law, but he couldn’t quite regret the action. Still, perhaps doing so wasn’t wise, considering Shard’s objective. Drummond usually sniffed when he saw Shard. He didn’t usually threaten him. His sentiment had flared from dislike to loathing, and now Drummond had a personal reason for deterring Arla.

His body would thank him for a trip to the hot baths, but Shard could only contemplate reaching his bed. And he should probably stretch again before that.

As it was, he groaned aloud upon reaching his chamber. Except the instant he rested his hand on the door, Shard halted.

Entering the room didn’t feel right. He wanted sleep, but Shard wanted something else too. Needed.

Pushing away from the heavy door, he continued down the hallway, rounding two corners before he stood before a chamber he’d often passed by, but never dared enter.

She probably wouldn’t even be in there.

He raised a hand to knock and the door swung open. Arla jerked, in the process of fastening a fur-lined dressing gown. The smooth skin of her breasts, stomach, and thigh flashed a bare instant before all was concealed again.

Shard cleared his throat, dragging his thoughts back to the present with a depth of will he hadn’t known he possessed. “U-uh.”

Arla colored. “Hello.”

They stared at each other.

“I was just coming to your chamber,” he said.

She shifted. “I was coming to yours.”

Really? “Why?”

Arla sucked in a breath and glanced over her shoulder and then down the hall. “Come inside.”

He felt like he was entering some mysterious treasure cave no one else had ever laid eyes on—though he knew her friends often gathered here.

Shard ambled into her chamber and circled the outside. As far as he knew, she’d lived in the castle for most of her life after the death of her mother. The room reflected that—it was far more personal than his own. He’d known powder blue was her favorite color, and it was clear in the décor. Blue cushions littered her bed over walnut furs; blue, white, and purple artwork and ornaments warmed the dark stone walls. A huge white rug covered the ground between the bed and door. Her space was neat and thoughtful and an insight into her mind.

“You were coming to see me?” he asked her, turning back to find Arla watching him.

She hugged herself and broke eye contact with him. Either she’d been coming to see him for an uncomfortable reason, or him being in here made her uneasy.

A large cushioned chair with a throw was tucked in the corner. “Do you mind if I sit?”

Arla nodded and didn’t move as he crossed to sit down.

“I was bringing some oils to help you recover,” she said at last.

Reaching into the square pocket on the front of her gown, Arla drew out three small bottles.

She continued. “You looked sore at dinner. I thought these might help. I didn’t know if you already had any.”

His chest filled with warmth at her uncertain gesture. In the brief silence, he could see her ice mask ready to slam back into place. “Thank you. I’ve never used oils. Can I see them?”

The beautiful woman traipsed over and passed them over one at a time. “Peppermint. Lavender. And then one from Osolis, turmeric. Lorna said it reduces swelling.”

He held the three bottles carefully. “You’ve spoken with Lorna?”

“I have. Sin introduced us.”

The night she’d danced in Sin’s arms darkened his thoughts and Shard frowned at the bottles. “I see.”

He watched her shuffling feet and shook away his jealousy. “So how do I use these?”

Relief colored her face. Shard wondered when Arla would confess that she’d been pretending to sleep with men for an entire year. He wouldn’t drag it out of her.

The confession felt like a conveyance of trust. One day she’d trust him. He was determined to wait.

“Well,” she stuttered, “I was coming over to rub them into you. Because I figured some areas would be hard to reach.”

Eighteen months without a woman in his bed, watching the female he loved from afar? Yes, he’d had fantasies. Often. He was a male. And those simple words obliterated even his best fantasy with her.

He shifted the bottles to cover his lap. “Was that your only intention in coming over? Because you’re only dressed in a robe and were coming over to massage my body. I don’t want to make assumptions here.”

She lifted her blue eyes from his lap to his face. “I could hardly come naked. And that’s how I sleep.”

Shard groaned aloud. “You just earned me sleepless nights for the next month.”

“Only a month?”

A year. A decade.

Arla flashed a grin and leaned down to take the bottles from him. He kept his eyes on her face through willpower alone, letting her take the oils.

“Take your clothes off and lie face-down on the bed.”

Shard’s brows crept upward. “Are you sure? I can ask someone else to do it . . . or get most areas by myself.”

“Just do it,” she snapped.

Amusement stirred within him. Without thinking, he took her hand and planted a soft kiss on the back of it. “As you say.”

Her breath caught and he glanced at her curiously, but Arla turned away to place the bottles on her dresser.

Shard studied her back, smiling.

He drew his tunic overhead and lay on his front across her bed. Her floral scent surrounded him immediately and Shard inhaled it on repeat, hoping she couldn’t tell.

“I meant your trousers too,” Arla said behind him.

“They stay on,” he answered firmly.

She laughed. A genuine laugh. “Why? You think I’ll take advantage of you?”

“No, I think there are seven years between us and that I’ll keep my trousers on. For now.”

He twitched as she pushed up the bottoms of his trousers and rested her warm, oil-slathered hands on his calf and began to work the oil in gently. He sighed and relaxed as she worked. The sight of her had jolted him awake, but his prior weariness came trickling back in.

“I’m no stranger to the bedroom.” She broke the quiet. “Does the age difference bother you?”

He managed a shrug. “Neither am I. And it doesn’t, no. All the same, my trousers will stay on.”

She fell silent again, working on his other calf with the oil.

“That feels incredible,” he whispered. “Just wake me up if I fall asleep.”

Arla hummed. “There’s a big bruise on your back.”

“Probably from where Landon chucked me on my ass,” he said, chuckling.

“How do you do that? Laugh about losing a fight? I’d be mortified.”

He stiffened. “Are you embarrassed of me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Shard relaxed. “Failure isn’t something to be afraid of. People who are will never grow, never experience, and never discover because their courage is confined to guaranteed success and how they appear.”

Her hands slowed. “You just described me,” she said hoarsely.

Reaching back, he grabbed her wrist. “No, I didn’t. You’re twenty years old, Arla. You’re allowed to be figuring things out. I speak of older people. Those who are at least twenty-one.”

Warmth suffused her voice. “Twenty-one? I better hurry and find my courage.”

“It’s within your grasp, beautiful woman,” he said, closing his eyes.

The bed bounced as she shifted farther up to begin work on his back. He groaned.

“Shard?”

“Arla?”

“I’m sorry for doing that to you with your tunic and the food you offered.”

“I know,” Shard said simply.

She continued working, but her voice was thick. “My father was watching. . . I needed time to figure things out. And. . .but all that was for naught. He guessed my feelings yesterday when he saw you fighting. I’m sure of it.”

Shard struggled to sift through what she’d said. Her words were a garbled mess, and to him that showed how lost and confused Arla was. Why should it matter if her father saw and guessed anything? And had she needed time to figure out her feelings for Shard or to figure out a way for Drummond to accept her feelings for Shard. The two seemed intermeshed.

“Did he say anything to you?” Shard probed, a wrinkle between his brows.

“. . . No. That’s how I know. He didn’t get angry, he got quiet. Contemplative quiet.” Weariness echoed in her voice.

He seconded her observations of Drummond. In a loud man, quiet contemplation didn’t bode well. The difference was, Shard didn’t care and she did. But also, Arla had a father and Shard did not.

He had his own reservations about her plan, and he’d voiced them, but Arla had to figure the rest out for herself. If Shard inserted himself between the woman he loved and the only family member left to her, his odds of winning were too low for his liking. To lose a fight or war was one thing. To lose the woman he loved was something fear wouldn’t let him gamble with—for all of his earlier professions.

He’d always viewed Arla as someone he would save. But with slamming certainty, he discovered that wasn’t to be the case. She had to save herself. He could guide her, but she needed to make the final choice.

“Anyway, plan or not, I shouldn’t have done that to you.” She shifted higher on the bed to work on his shoulders and arm. “I shouldn’t have done so many things.”

Arla was in pain. Some of it she deserved. Maybe all of it. But she didn’t know what to do with it.

“Then don’t do those things,” he said. “Be the person you’re comfortable being.”

“It’s not that easy,” she said hollowly. “I’ve trod over so many people.”

He murmured, “Then your task will be extra hard. Are you afraid of a challenge, Arla?”

Her reply was instant. “No.”

Shard smiled into the furs and she slapped his arm.

“I can see you smiling,” she snapped.

He chuckled.

Arla worked up his neck and Shard stretched out so she could access the sides.

She was quiet for several minutes and Shard could feel her contemplating all he’d said.

“I’m happy to help,” he said huskily.

Sleep was beckoning him, and he still had to make it back to his chamber. “Just so you know.”

Her hands stilled.

“I know,” she whispered. Then in a firmer voice, she said, “Roll over onto your back. I’ll do the front.”

Uh. “Not such a good idea. My trousers are on, but some things are out of my control.”

Arla laughed again, and he listened as the delighted peal rang through the room.

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” she told him. “Now roll over.”

Shard did so and placed his arms behind his head.

She pursed her lips at his posture. “You sure don’t seem that worried about me seeing the thing that is ‘out of your control.’”

He closed his eyes. “You said it was a compliment.”

“I have a feeling you’re going to use that over and over again.”

“I certainly hope to.”

She placed her hands on his chest and Shard darted out to catch one of them. He brought the back of her hand to his mouth and kissed it again.

The breath caught in her throat again and fire shot through him.

He wound a hand around the back of her neck and drew her down, his heart thudding sporadically. Shard searched her blue eyes and leaned up to press a kiss to her lips.

A moan left him immediately.

Her mouth spread the same buzzing heat through him as the oils had done, leaving him burning for more.

He’d lifted his head somewhere during the kiss and Shard lowered back down, breaking contact with her.

Her blue eyes were wide and fixed on his lips. She lifted her fingertips to touch her own mouth and Shard fixated on the subconscious movement, utterly entranced.

“Better than I dreamed,” he said honestly, closing his eyes again.

Chapter Twelve

Shard woke slowly, lifted up from supreme comfort. He shifted slightly and frowned at the leg pinning him down.

His eyes flew open and he stared down at a head of blonde hair.

Arla was nestled into the crook of his neck, her bare leg thrown over him and her hand splayed just above the top of her trousers.

Was she trying to kill him?

She made a small noise in the back of her throat that finished the job. He’d just die right here. Shard stroked her hair, breathing in her scent again. Did she smell like this all the time?

Arla stiffened in his arms.

“Morning,” he said.

Blonde hair covered his face as she surged upright, clipping him under the chin with the top of her head.

“Ouch,” he said, rubbing his chin and sitting up with her.

She was rubbing the top of her head. “What are you still doing here?”

“I fell asleep. Didn’t mean to.”

Her eyes were wide as she shuffled off the bed and retied her dressing gown. “You have to leave. Now.” She rounded the bed and threw his tunic at him.

Okay. . . . “You could have woken me,” he said, trying to make sense of her panic. “You must’ve fallen asleep last.”

“I did. But I thought I’d wake early.” She ran her hands through her hair. “You’re not putting your tunic on.”

He looked at the tunic she’d thrown at him. “I’m trying to figure out why you’re treating me like a dirty secret. Nothing happened between us.” Nothing but an oil massage, kiss, and more honest talking than they’d ever exchanged.

“Nothing?” she asked.

“Not sex,” he clarified, not willing to play that game with her so early.

Arla stood by the door as Shard pulled his tunic on.

She sighed. “Look, it’s not you. People might see. And talk.”

“And that could ruin your plan to provide your father with a reason to accept me somehow,” he said flatly. “I get it. I can only be seen once I’ve won.”

He stood and approached her.

“You knew what you were getting into,” she said, fists curling.

Shard smiled grimly. “You know that’s not true. Since we met, I saw you were uncomfortable letting people close to you. I let you set the rules and the pace of whatever might or could be between us. But last night finally seemed like you’d chosen me, even if you still have never said the words aloud, and that changes things for me. If that assumption is correct, then you need to know that you aren’t the only person worthy of consideration any longer. I’m here too. How would you like it if you spent a night in my bed and I threw your clothes at you and asked you to leave because I was worried you’d be seen?”

Pink flushed her cheeks.

“Exactly,” he said.

“My father—” she began.

Shard’s anger burst forth. “Your father has spent most of your life trying to sell you to the highest bidder.”

She tilted her chin. “For most of my life I was willing to be sold to the highest bidder.”

The admission was abhorrent to him, but he would never show that to her. “Then tell him you don’t want that anymore. If he’s a true father, he will want you to be happy.”

“I can’t do that to him, Shard.”

He stared at her, trying to rein in his temper. He hadn’t been this angry since . . . he couldn’t even recall. “You can’t do that to him? Or you’re afraid of doing it to yourself?”

Arla swallowed, not answering.

Shard stepped closer. “What if I don’t win, Arla? Do you think I want that resting on my head for the rest of my life? Watching you marry someone else? You’ve put me and your father in a situation where one of us loses, but you win either way.”

She whispered, “That’s not what I was doing. And I won’t win either way.”

“What are you doing, Arla?” he asked her.

Tears balanced on her eyelids. “I don’t know. It made sense. And then it began and nothing felt right but I couldn’t undo it. Father agreed to the ruse and now I can’t get out of it.”

“Tell your father it’s off and you choose me,” Shard said.

Arla stared at him, a tear trickling down her face. He held firm despite the noticeable trembling of her hands. This was the leap she had to take to save herself. Arla was afraid. Of her father on some level, yes. He’d known that for a long time. But her greater fear was of herself—of revealing the person she thought she might be, but she wasn’t quite ready to reveal that person yet.

“No,” she gasped, gripping the edges of her dressing gown and pulling them tight.

His heart sank. “I was the son of a whorehound,” he reminded her.

“I said no,” she snapped, eyes flashing.

“Arla—”

Her chest heaved as she whirled back. “Get out.”

They’d spent a night in each other’s arms. “I know you don’t mean that. Let’s talk about this.”

“No,” she said in a trembling voice. “I’m sick of talking. Get out, Shard. Don’t come back.”

Don’t come back. Shard studied her, his own breath coming fast. Cold dread had filled him, twinned with disbelief. How had they gone from last night to shouting at each other to don’t come back? She’d pushed him away in all manners of ways. And yet he’d only come back from Osolis because she’d never outright told him to leave.

“Do you mean that, Arla?” he said, teeth gritted. “Be sure you do because I’ll be doing as you ask. I’ve come back over and over because I love you, but if you tell me to go now, that’s it. You said sorry for scorning my tunic and offering of food. An apology means nothing if your actions don’t change. You can’t just say sorry time and again for the same thing. So I ask you again: Do you want me to leave and not come back?”

Arla held his gaze for the space of three painful heartbeats before the ice mask began to settle across her features. Shard watched it with a feeling akin to doom. She’d rejected him so many times.

He side-stepped her and pulled the door to her chamber inward. “Don’t bother. I’ll save you the trouble.”

* * *

Shard stood apart from the other fighters as Sin read out the order of the day’s proceedings with the usual dramatic flair.

Today, the sight made him angry. Today, everyone made him angry. His usual patient, understanding, objec-fucking-tivity was gone. Good riddance.

To think he was jumping through all these hoops. Had jumped through all of these hoops for her. And yet he’d started this fight, and like hell would he back out of the final contests because everything was over with Arla.

The ironic thing being that nothing had ever begun with her.

Shard was itching for a fight. He couldn’t recall a single time when he’d wanted to pummel someone to satisfy violent tendencies. To him, the calculation and skill drew him to engage in a contest against someone. Today, he was going to hurt people because he felt like it.

Mostly the same six fighters were here, overlapping in several categories. The Ire folk made up five of the six spots in agility. A Solati the other contender. He, Jovan, Lina, Rhone, and Landon, and one of the Elite made up the six fighters for spear, accuracy, and sword. The same, with an Ire folk replacing the Elite, formed the dagger final. And Avalanche, Rhone, Jovan, and three other hulking giants were present for the strength category.

The crowd was on their third day and just as loud, but Shard ignored them; their joy infuriated him just as much as everything else.

Dagger was first. And Shard briefly forgot his anger when he saw that for the final, moving targets had been introduced. One, a strip of material waving in the slight breeze where it was tied to a post. Two, a small and twisted wooden hoop hanging like a chime from a rope extended between poles. Three, a circle target on a vertical axis that Shard suspected would spin.

The king was called first, and Shard assessed each of the tests. Jovan pinned the material without difficulty. And threw another dagger through the center of the wooden hoop, just clipping the side. He hit the edge of the bull’s-eye on the spinning target as well.

“Shard.”

He removed his favorite dagger from his hip holster. Weighing it carefully, he flipped it over a few times in his right hand as he approached the mat.

Shard stared at the free material and let loose, not smiling when the dagger pinned the material. He moved to the next and settled into waiting. The hoop twisting erratically in the breeze had to be hollow and made from reeds or light wood. The breeze down here was minimal, but every whisper caught at the target.

A clear shot would get him the most points, but he knew points would be docked if he stood here waiting too long.

The breeze died briefly, and Shard eyed the dropping of the small hoop, his hand whipping out. The dagger sailed clear through the middle. He breathed out.

The Ire judge approached the last target and gave it a hard push, setting the wooden circle spinning.

Shard didn’t wait. This was a rhythmic spin, not erratic. He swayed with the first two revolutions and then flicked out his final dagger.

Bull’s-eye.

Shard collected his weapons and stalked past the others, ignoring the look Lina sent Jovan. They could wonder and guess all they liked. He grabbed some water from Lorna without greeting her and gulped it back on his way to the cordoned off sword area.

The rest of the fighters joined him soon enough. Good. He was itching to swing a blade.

Sin approached and held out a small leather bag to Jovan. “Pull a name out, oh mighty and just king.”

The king fixed him with a look and reached into the bag. Drawing out a piece of paper, he read dully, “Queen Lina. I default.”

“Jovan,” Lina growled. “Don’t you dare.”

He shrugged. “You’re my wife and the mother of my child. No.”

Sin darted his eyes between them. “If neither of you fight, you will place in the bottom two. How about a show of skill for the people. Not a fight.”

One look at the queen’s face told Shard it wouldn’t be a show.

“Agreed,” Jovan said, glancing at her. “We’ll go last.”

Time wasn’t going to simmer her temper, just as it wouldn’t simmer Shard’s.

Sin held out the bag to him and he took hold of a piece of paper, reading aloud, “Landon.”

Perfect. A real fight. Someone he could completely unleash his fury upon.

“Which leaves Rhone and Orach,” Sin said, smiling at the female Elite. “Now—”

Shard stood. Picking up his sword, he entered the fighting ring.

“Uh, okay, so Shard and Tatum Landon are first,” Sin said, recovering fast.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Shard worked his body in familiar patterns, circling his sword wrist to feel the weight of the sleek weapon. In many ways the footwork of swordplay was as important as fighting. Forward, back, counter, turns. But the balance wasn’t.

Landon entered the ring and Shard let fury fill him, bristling for a fight.

A glint entered the Tatum’s eyes and he removed his outer robe, throwing it over Sin’s head before drawing his own sword.

The three judges lingered on the sidelines of the four-meter-in-diameter fighting space. Small, really, which forced a display of skill from both opponents. Evading someone was easy in a larger space.

The call went up to start and Shard didn’t waste any time covering the gap between them. Landon met him halfway, drawing his sword up to parry Shard’s overhead slash. His blade slid off and he turned with it, already prepared for the jab he knew was coming.

Shard held his blade vertical, allowing the Tatum’s blade to glide up and away. Landon’s weight surged forward, and Shard stuck out a foot, sending him stumbling.

He didn’t follow, knowing the Tatum wouldn’t be so easily defeated. Sure enough, the Solati recovered with blurring speed and attacked.

They met in the middle again, and this time the warning blows were over. Their blades clashed, their feet moved in a tandem that—once broken—would mean the end for one.

Sweat dripped over Shard’s brow and he blinked through it, reversing his step in response to Landon’s. Pure fury would get him through this fight and he summoned every dreg of it. The humiliation when she’d publicly scorned him. The hurt when Arla voiced her hateful comments. The frustration from knowing she didn’t mean any of it. The rage he’d held toward her father and the way he degraded Shard because of his past. The confusion and pain he’d always felt because his father had been a monster of the lowest variety.

He roared, pulling his blade free and releasing blow after blow upon the Tatum’s smooth defence. Shard advanced, forcing Landon back to the edge. This fight only ended when one of them was forced out or trapped with a deathblow.

The Tatum danced to the side, circling behind him.

Shard followed, watching carefully.

Not carefully enough. Landon lunged forward, hooking his leg. The air was forced from Shard’s chest as he landed flat on his back.

There wasn’t time to move before the Tatum’s blade rested against his throat.

Not today. Shard punched him under the ribs and then head-butted him twice. Using his legs to shove the Tatum off, he rolled with the taller man and dealt two more left blows to his face before positioning the tip of his sword underneath his ribs, directly underneath his heart.

“Yield,” he panted.

Blood streaked the Tatum’s face, but a wide smirk curled his lips. “I yield, Shard. Whoever she is, I hope she’s worth it.”

Shard grunted and stood back, holstering his sword before helping the ruler up. Then he left, just as he’d done with the dagger event.

He washed the cuts on his knuckles and then tore a strip from his tunic to bind them. He sat in the shade of one of the Dome walls, watching as the king and queen of Glacium had their ‘display’ fight, much to the roaring approval of the audience in the stands.

The strength and agility events were next and Shard hardly noticed him, entirely lost to his angry whirl of thoughts that didn’t have a beginning or end.

“Bad day?” Avalanche asked, sitting beside him.

He dragged himself into some semblance of normalcy and noticed the grimace on his friend’s face. “Who kicked your ass?”

“The king. Managed to beat Rhone for you, though.”

The comment punched Shard in the stomach. “Thanks,” he said shortly. “I appreciate it.” And he really did. “But that’s all over now.”

“It is? Finally gave up then?”

Shard stared around the Dome. “I guess so. I just don’t know why I’m doing all of this. Why I’ve acted like a fool for the last eighteen months for someone who can’t admit they have feelings for me.”

“She’s never said it?”

He shook his head. “No, and, well . . . I realized last night that I can’t change her. And that I need more than what she’s given me. Not much more. Just . . . companionship or trust. I don’t know. Anyway, she couldn’t give it to me, so that’s that.”

Great, his anger was turning to sadness. Exactly what he’d hoped to avoid.

“You tried patience. And you tried this. Maybe it’s time to try something else,” Avalanche said after a while.

“And maybe that’s it,” Shard said, eyeing the area where the spear fighters were joining. “She’s only ever given me maybes. I suppose the maybes just wore me down in the end.”

Chapter Thirteen

Shard botched one of his spear throws in the next event. The targets were moving, like the dagger contest. But he’d fared better in the final accuracy test at least.

Honestly, he was just happy this façade was over.

Maybe he should leave Glacium for a while. The queen would understand. Maybe there was another tri-world party to escort somewhere or messages to carry. The respite from the castle had worked last time.

Except this time, Shard needed to give getting over Arla a real shot. He just had no idea if that was even possible.

While the fighters cooled down out of sight under the Dome, the games officials put together the final scores.

He could have left. The final score didn’t matter anymore.

And yet, like the same masochistic man he’d been since meeting her, he remained. When the other fighters trickled back out onto the Dome floor, Shard went with them, not expecting to win.

Dreading he’d win.

Because then what? To know that if he’d kept his mouth shut, things might be different at that moment? But how could he regret what he’d said? The rightness of his comments burned within him.

She’d had to hear those words from someone. Shard just hated that the person had to be him. Why not the father who’d made her that way? Why not the people in the assembly who’d been on the bad end of her temper?

Why him, when he needed her so badly?

His angst just led back to the same answer he’d given Avalanche. Too many maybes.

And even if he won, there would still be too many maybes.

Shard should have left. He could still leave.

He turned back for the door and a hand around the size of his head landed heavily on his shoulder, forcing him back the way he’d come.

“Coward,” Avalanche said.

Shard didn’t resist. Avalanche had been in the strength finals for a reason. “I need to get out of here.”

“You need to see it through or I’ll have to listen to you whine for years to come. And I already have to listen to everyone else.”

Shard quirked a brow. “You shouldn’t keep all that pent up.”

“I also was thrown to the ground trying to get you into a good spot,” Avalanche continued.

“So? I was thrown to the ground.”

The giant man sighed. “So much longer to fall down. So much heavier to land. So much harder to get up.”

Shard snorted. “I suppose.”

“I know. So shut up and listen.”

Tall people falling hard aside, Avalanche was right. He didn’t need to stay for Arla, he had to stay for himself.

Sin swept his hands wide. “People of the tri-worlds. Were you entertained?”

The deafening uproar left no one unconvinced, and Shard wished he could have been a mere spectator watching someone else’s misery from the stands.

“Were you entertained?” Sin yelled.

The entire Dome shook in response.

He held up a scroll. “I have the winners of the categories in my hand. And . . . the ultimate warrior.”

Shard’s stomach twisted.

“I shan’t torture you longer,” the master of ceremonies told them, beaming brightly. “Starting with Strength, we have the one and only King Jovan.”

Screams of approval ripped through the ranks.

King Jovan rolled his eyes as Sin gestured him to the stage and arranged him to the left.

“Accuracy,” Sin said. “Tatum Landon.”

The Solati audience members surged to their feet, their shouts—surprisingly—just as loud as the Bruma.

Landon stood next to Jovan.

“Spear.” Sin lowered his voice, peering around the crowd. They quietened, and he shouted, “Rhone!”

The Ire leaped up and down, hugging each other.

“Agility,” Sin shouted before it had completely died down. “Zelda.”

The Ire erupted anew, stamping their feet. The entire stadium clapped for them, Shard included. He was unsure if most Bruma were aware of the struggle the exiled Ire folk had endured over generations, but this victory would mean the world to them. Acceptance, victory, prestige. Everything they’d had stripped from them because they were a mixture of Solati and Bruma.

That they’d come at all showed the type of people they were. He was glad for them.

“Dagger,” Sin shouted after several minutes where nothing could be heard but the Ire’s jubilant celebrations. “A clear victor. Shard.”

Had victory ever felt so bittersweet?

He held a hand up and waved at the crowd before standing beside Zelda on stage.

“Congratulations,” he told her, holding out his hand.

She tilted her chin. “Thank you. And the same to you.”

Shard nodded.

The noise died down and Sin held the scroll aloft. “The winner of the bow event is none other than Queen Lina.”

Each of the winners came from one world, but Lina belonged to all three. The noise was tumultuous and when Sin followed on with, “Sword, Queen Lina,” Shard eyed the foundations of the Dome, wondering if the stonework might be shaken apart by their love for the ruler of Glacium.

Really, Jovan agreeing to a display fight had been an error on his part. She’d obviously decided to flatten him.

Shard bowed to her when she approached to stand by his side, but she pulled him into a tight hug, squeezing the air from him. She moved down the line, hugging everyone else before leaping on her husband and delivering a long kiss to his lips.

She returned to take Kendra from Lorna and then resumed her position next to Shard.

Sin winked at Lorna and then turned back to the crowd.

“Seven category winners,” he said slowly. “But only one ultimate warrior. The top six warriors will be named, each a victory to be worn with pride, knowing that in three worlds, these fighters are the absolute all-round fighters. We’ve seen blood. We’ve seen sweat. We’ve seen pain. And now one fighter will be named victor.”

No one in the crowd made a peep.

Shard wasn’t alone in leaning forward.

“In seventh place, Davesi of the Ire. In sixth place, Afarad of Osolis.” He continued through their cheers. “In fifth place, Rhone of the Ire—”

Fuck, he’d made the top four?

“—in third equal, Shard of Glacium and Tatum Landon. In second place, Queen Lina. And in first place, the tri-world’s ultimate warrior, King Jovan.”

The crowd rose in a wave.

Third equal. Was that even a thing? Not that it mattered.

. . . And not that it would have mattered if he’d actually won.

The king was grinning at Lina, who rolled her eyes and then blew him a kiss.

Avalanche clapped Shard on the back, and—yes—shock filled him for even managing to rival the Tatum, but the larger and greatly overwhelmed part of him just couldn’t give a fuck. He should go. Just congratulate the others and go. And yet his eyes were lifting to the semi-circle platform where she’d be.

Arla usually sat at the far back, closest to where the royals sat. She wasn’t there. But she was being dragged down the stairs by her father.

Shard’s brows slammed together.

“Give me a boost?” he asked Avalanche.

His friend grunted and followed his long strides past the stage to just beneath the platform.

Shard placed his foot in Avalanche’s cupped grip and then bent and straightened his leg in time with his giant’s boost.

He soared upward, gripping the balustrade of the platform. Three days of fighting and yet he didn’t feel an ache or protest with the molten anger coursing through his body. Shard hoisted over the barrier and landed in front of Drummond, who had a hand wrapped in an uncompromising grip around Arla’s wrist.

She was trying to maintain a dignified appearance, he could tell. But there was only so much a person could do to maintain face when their father was dragging them down the stairs in front of their peers like a child.

Drummond spat out, “Get out of my way, whorehound.”

Shard had never wanted to lose all control of his temper more, and yet in this situation, he needed to have it more than ever. The court of Osolis, the assembly of Glacium, and the representatives of the Ire were all listening.

“You weren’t this brave last time I saw you, Drummond,” Shard said calmly—or as close as he could get. “And I’ve told you: I’m an advisor. Disrespect me again and I’ll give you more than a bruised face.”

The assembly covered their light laughter. Their guests were exchanging glances, however.

“Come, Arla,” Drummond said, jerking her forward. “We’re leaving.”

“No, Father. You promised,” she said in rushed undertones.

Shard stared at where Drummond gripped his daughter, certain her porcelain skin would be a mess of bruises later.

“Let her go, Drummond,” Shard told him.

“She’s my daughter,” he shot back, dragging her again.

Arla dug in her heels.

“Exactly,” Shard said, stepping closer. “She’s your daughter. Look at yourself, man. Look at how you’re treating her in front of not just our people, but three peoples.”

Some emotion interrupted the blanket of rage twisting Drummond’s face.

Shard pressed. “Not only are you disrespecting her, you are disrespecting the king and queen with this display. You know this is something they particularly wished to avoid. You are sitting with the representatives for two foreign worlds. What do you think they’ll speak about when they go back to their homes and people?”

The Bruma didn’t glance at his daughter, but past him. He sighed.

“Let her go, Drummond,” he repeated. “This isn’t the way.”

He growled and released his grip on her.

Arla rubbed her wrist, wincing, and Shard itched to inspect the limb. But their words of this morning were still a barrier between them.

“I will go with you, Father,” she said, straightening, and dropping her arm. “But I want Shard to come.”

Drummond’s face twisted again. “No—”

The queen swung over the balustrade. Shard leaned back and peered down at Avalanche, who waved.

“What’s going on here?” she asked coolly, fixing Drummond with a look.

He paled.

Not entirely stupid then.

“My daughter is being emotional,” Drummond said.

Shard glanced at Arla, seeing the icy rage descend into place.

Lina folded her arms. “It is easy to call a female emotional. It is easy to call a man weak.”

A wrinkle appeared between the Bruma’s brows. He was likely contemplating whether the queen had just called him weak.

That was a yes.

Shard glanced up and saw Arla was watching him. She’d told him to leave and he was determined not to make the first move. He’d come up here to make sure she was okay, but he refused to smooth things over for her.

Arla blinked and her face set into determined lines.

She stepped forward, curtseying. “I made a deal with my father, Queen Lina. I am well past the age of marriage. I was to be offered to the winner of the tournament as a wife.”

Lina’s face was smooth, but the disgust was plain in her voice. “He was giving you away to just anyone?”

Drummond paled further, but Arla shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I came up with the idea. He agreed, but I came up with it.”

Jovan was striding across the assembly viewing platform toward them. He’d walked up the stairs and entered through the side door. Shard guessed Avalanche might’ve had trouble boosting the king over the balcony.

“You . . . ,” the queen said slowly. “Why?”

Arla’s face flushed.

“What’s going on?” Jovan said, scowling darkly.

Drummond turned green.

The queen glanced at Shard and then turned to her husband. “Arla was offering her hand in marriage to the winner.”

The king blanched. “I’m married.”

“The first eligible winner,” Arla stressed, narrowing her eyes slightly.

Shard lifted his head. “That’s not what you told me. You said I had to win.”

“Well, I would’ve thought that was obvious. I’m not going to marry a married person. But that was my backup plan. I had expected the world leaders to back out of the running for ultimate warrior for diplomatic reasons—except none of them did.”

“Diplomatic,” Jovan said slowly, as though rolling the word around in his mouth to taste it for the first time.

The queen fought against her smile and won. Just. “The tri-world leaders rule through honesty and respect, not diplomacy. Diplomacy is nothing but smoke; it’s meaningless in a true and meaningful exchange.”

“Why weren’t you upfront with me about that?” Shard asked, brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you fill me in? Do you understand how awful the last few days have been for me?”

He held Arla’s gaze, watching as her shoulders drooped.

Jovan interrupted, “Arla was giving herself away. She wanted Shard to win. Or didn’t— That is unclear. And Drummond is causing a scene in front of a stadium full of our people and allies. Am I caught up?”

“S-sorry, King Jovan,” Drummond started.

The king held up a hand.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Lina said to Arla. “Why?”

Arla didn’t look away from Shard to answer the queen. Instead she spoke to him. “I wanted to tell you. Numerous times in the last few days. But each time I tried to. . . .”

She trailed off.

“No,” Shard said, crossing his arms. “Don’t stop talking. I need an explanation for everything. I need to understand why you’ve done this. What were you about to say?”

“. . . Each time I tried to, I realized how stupid I was being. I didn’t want you to look at me like everyone else does.”

Shard watched her, dropping his arms.

Arla worried at her lip. Drawing herself up, she answered in a trembling voice, “My father disapproved of you and I was afraid to go against him. I. . . . My entire life, my father’s goals and mine have aligned. For so long after Mother died, he was all I had. I didn’t know what to do when that changed. He wanted me to marry well, and marrying the winner of the first Interworld Games would bring prestige to his position. Not the high-born prestige he and I initially planned, but the marriage would be notable and leave a legacy. I thought such a thing would be enough for my father and we could both be happy with my choice of husband.”

Shard stared at her, only vaguely hearing the queen’s, “You were afraid to stand up to your father. . . .”

As he studied Arla, her head dropped, her blonde hair swinging forward in a silken curtain.

She’d actually said the words aloud. The others’ reaction echoed his own. Confusion and no small amount of judgment. The words did sound weak, and he could tell Arla knew that, and yet everyone’s trials were different. He had personal experience with how hard it could be to go against your father. His was a whorehound; hers was advisor to the king.

But the important part was she’d admitted her play.

Shard crossed to her side, taking her injured hand gently and inspecting it. She peeked out at him and he placed a finger under her chin, lifting it once more.

Drummond was staring at Arla, too, his face working. And Shard thought that amidst the anger and shame, he could detect some hurt too.

“I’m sorry,” Arla said to Shard. And then she turned to her father. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“It’s all sorted then,” the queen said, clapping. “Who has my daughter?”

Drummond started. “It is not sorted.”

The air cooled as Lina regarded him. “You agreed to Arla’s plan, yes? Foolish though it was.”

“I didn’t expect him to win.”

Lina tilted her head. “So if another had won, you would have no problem offering your daughter’s hand in marriage to a stranger. Right this very second?”

“The others are worthy,” he spat. “She doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into. She’ll change her mind once they’re married and then I can’t help her—”

His daughter hissed, “Eighteen months isn’t a change of heart, Father.”

“You really don’t care if she loves him?” Jovan asked his advisor.

Drummond drew himself up, puffing his chest out as he turned to Arla. “I don’t want a notable marriage for you,” he told her, eyes beseeching. “I want what’s best for you. You are the well-born daughter of an advisor. A member of the assembly. Who is he but the discarded son of a whoreh—”

A fist crunched against his face, snapping the advisor’s head back. Blood spurted from his nose and the crowd gasped.

Lina shook her hand out. “Origins don’t mean a thing on Glacium. If I hear you say that word again, you will be stripped of your title and escorted to the Fifth for a lengthy stay.”

Clutching his face, Drummond choked on the blood and simply nodded.

“Drummond, I could be wasting my breath saying this, but if happiness and ambition mean the same thing to you, perhaps you need to think long and hard on the difference, just like your daughter has,” Shard said. “No wonder she was so confused on the issue when you are yet to discover the answer yourself.”

As one, the group turned to him, audience included.

Shard turned to Arla. “This isn’t the start of a relationship, it’s a business deal. I may be the first eligible winner and that may have won me your hand in your eyes, but I spent the last eighteen months trying to win you. If you can’t respect me for that, without any of these games, we can’t be together.”

She searched his face, the ice mask falling away. He didn’t mind the ice mask. She was something to behold with it in place—when it wasn’t used against him. But he preferred what he saw now: guileless powder-blue eyes, a sharp mind, a deep soul, and a full heart.

No one spoke around them and he had half a mind to glare them into at least pretending they weren’t eavesdropping.

“You love me?” she asked in a whisper.

He held her gaze. “I love you more than anything.”

Arla took a breath and nodded.

. . . Then she began taking off her clothes.

“Not how I saw it going,” someone whispered.

Shard glanced to the balustrade and saw Blizzard and Ice were peeking over the edge. For fuck’s sake.

Arla had removed her fur coat and draped it over his shoulders.

“Arla, what—”

She patted her coat pockets and her eyes widened. “I don’t have any food.”

Why would she. . . . Shard’s mouth dried as he realized what Arla was up to.

“Heads!” a voice called from the back.

Arla turned and caught a pear tossed down by Sanjay. Beaming, she offered it to Shard, who took it tenderly, taking a bite.

Then her pink mouth opened. “Oh,” she said, glancing up at him in despair. “How do I protect you?”

He couldn’t trust himself to speak immediately. “You protected me last night. Last night when you helped me recover from the fight. There are all kinds of way of protecting someone you love.”

Her chest heaved as Shard pulled her inward.

Her eyes were rounded and she licked her lips.

“Do you love me, Arla?” he asked.

“I just clothed and fed you.” A bite entered her voice.

Shard waited.

A small smile spread across her face, a hint of mischief filtering into her gaze. Somehow Shard knew that glimpse of cheekiness spelled out a lifetime of torture for him.

She placed cool hands either side of his face and the Dome full of people from the tri-worlds could have been shaking the entire place down around them and he’d have never known.

“I love you, Shard,” she told him simply.

Shard wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her against him. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

And as her eyes narrowed and her ice mask threatened to slip into place, he covered her mouth with his.

Epilogue

Shard hadn’t seen the melee fight between the three worlds over the following days. He’d been there. But he and Arla had scarce drawn breath since yesterday.

Drummond didn’t approve, and Shard honestly didn’t give a fuck if he ever did. After the queen’s none-so-subtle warning, he didn’t dare voice his dissent regarding Shard’s origins.

Arla would have a harder time finding new footing with her father.

They sat on a cushion in the back of the food hall—currently transformed into a ballroom for the closing ceremony of the Interworld Games. The brew was flowing, plates were smashing, and everyone appeared to be having a good time. The Ire in particular—after winning the melee fight earlier that day.

Rhone was in the midst of them, smiling and laughing. His smile dropped as he peered overhead. “Monikah,” he boomed. “Don’t drink and Soar.”

His wife circled him, and Rhone reached up, grabbing hold of her leg and dragging her downward. Her wings were promptly removed and tucked away.

Arla snorted as Rhone tucked the drunk inventor into his side.

“Do you think that’s an inventor thing?” she asked him. “They always get legless.”

Shard thought of Adnan. “Perhaps they spend too much time in their minds, and they forget how their body reacts.”

“Or they just don’t get out enough.”

He laughed.

The dance floor was crowded, but Sin was looping Lorna around in wide arcs, forcing everyone out of the way. Lorna was clearly trying to hold back her laughter.

“You know,” Arla murmured, “I haven’t slept with anyone else in a year.”

She lifted her head where she half-covered him, on her side with a leg and arm thrown over his body—just as he’d woken with her two days earlier.

Warmth suffused his chest. “Really?” he asked her quietly.

“Didn’t feel right anymore.” She sighed and tucked her head back against his neck, continuing her vigil of people-watching. “This feels right.”

It did. Like a stray cat who’d fought every day of her life and then found warm shelter and regular food, Arla’s claws had retracted. For him. And he looked forward to the times when those claws would pop out again.

With Arla, life would never become stale.

He tightened his grip around her shoulders.

They resumed their quiet people-watching, and Shard grinned at the sight of Greta standing on a table surrounded by Solati court members.

“What is she doing?” Arla asked.

Shard shot a look at Landon holding his arms up for Greta to get down, but the Bruma woman held her goblet in the air.

And began to sing. “Heeere’s to Tatum Landon, Tatum Landon, Tatum Landon. Heeere’s to Tatum Landon who’s with us today. He kicks and he maims and he wins all the games. Heeere’s to Tatum Landon who’s with us today. So drink, skank monsters. Drink, skank monsters—”

The Solati tipped back their goblets, draining the contents as she continued her chant.

“I think she’s teaching the Solati drinking games,” Shard said, watching as Landon tugged Greta down and carried her over to where Jovan and Lina were perched by the fire. Kendra was asleep in her father’s—the ultimate warrior’s—arms.

Shard had a feeling the Interworld Games was about to become a yearly Lina-versus-Jovan bid to outdo each other.

Jovan reached down and rubbed Lina’s stomach and Shard blinked. Shit. Baby number two already?

He peered down at Arla’s flat stomach. “What do you think about building houses in the Inner Rings of the royal sectors?”

“I think you better marry me first. But yes.”

He smiled against her hair, inhaling her scent. “How does next week sound?”

“I’ll see how I’m placed.”

Arla tilted her head back. “There’s one thing.”

“I’ll consider it,” he shot back.

She rolled her eyes, lips quirking. “I want to wait until we’re married until I screw you in every way I know how.”

His mouth dried as the sight of her in her dressing robe flashed across his mind. “Is that a mean way of asking if we can wait?”

Arla snickered. “It was.”

Shard nodded. “Of course. Can I know why?”

“Because I promised myself that with you it would be different.”

She mentioned a promise before. That’s what she’d meant? He tucked her in again. “You loved me that entire time,” he said, baffled.

“Pretty much. I mean, I noticed your eyes first. Then your abs. Then your ass. Then you just mystified me.”

He laughed with her.

“Thanks?” he asked. “Though I can’t talk. It was nearly the same for me.”

“My abs dazzled you,” she said in a deep voice, chuckling after.

He stroked the underside of her breast. “Close, but not quite.”

Sanjay leaped over the cushions before them, Rhone hard on his heels, Roman, Sole, and Adnan not far behind.

“What’s Sanjay done now?” he mused.

“I’ve learned not to ask,” she hummed. “But I always thought I could be friends with Fiona.”

Fiona was exactly the type of friend she needed. “Good, because it’s likely we’ll be living next to them in this sector.”

They sat intertwined with each other, watching the throng of people from the tri-worlds, a mesh of oranges, blues, and greens.

“After the war, I was never certain if anything would come of it.” Arla broke the silence. “I expected our histories were too filled with bloodshed, the hate too far gone. But looking at everyone now, I feel hope for the future of our worlds.”

Shard scanned the gathering. “There will be those who will resist, but I’m not sure anyone ever stood a chance against our current rulers.” He thought of the strength of Kendra’s kicks. “And I highly doubt the next generation of rulers either.”

Arla sighed happily. “I’m looking forward to life, Shard.”

He swallowed thickly at the emotion in her voice. Not just a sentiment of her own, but one echoed by most of the people in this very room. His friends—who were his chosen family. His new friends, who Shard looked forward to knowing better and better as years went on.

How far they’d come. How far he’d come. How far she would go.

Holding the woman he loved close and silently vowing to never let her go, Shard closed his eyes.

And said, “As do I.”

The end

Acknowledgements

Thank you for coming along on this novella ride. I’m so glad I got the chance to pen the stories of my four favorite secondary characters from the main series, and I have loved showing you flashes of Lina and Jovan’s life post-TTA.

After finishing Fantasy of Freedom, I took to the novellas as a way to wean myself out of this world and these characters. Suffice to say, it’s as hard to say goodbye now as it was two years ago, so that plan failed miserably!

Thank you to my wonderful husband who brings so much meaning to my life. Thank you to my friends and family who inspire me. Thank you to my manuscript team for coming with me on this journey.

To my readers, thank you dearly.

May this series and these characters live on in your heart, as they will in mine.

Happy Reading,

Kelly

Books by Kelly St. Clare

The Tainted Accords:

Fantasy of Frost

Fantasy of Flight

Fantasy of Fire

Fantasy of Freedom

The Tainted Accords Novellas:

Sin

Olandon

Rhone

Shard

The After Trilogy:

The Retreat

The Return

The Reprisal

The Darkest Drae (Trilogy) Co-written with Raye Wagner

Blood Oath

Shadow Wings

Black Crown

Pirates of Felicity:

Immortal Plunder

Stolen Princess

Pillars of Six

Dynami’s Wrath

Immortal Plunder

There are three types of people in the Exosian Realm—males, females, and pirates.

I’m a pirate. One with six overprotective fathers for a crew. And if I’m telling the honest truth, not just the pirate truth, having so many fathers is working pretty well for me so far.

When I’m caught eavesdropping on the pirates of Malice, they retaliate with violence, and my fathers become set on revenge. But simple payback cascades into shattering misfortune.

Unexplainable magical happenings and impossible creatures propel me toward a fate much darker than stealing plunder. A terrible beast drags forth horrible truths of my fathers’ pasts which call my entire life into question. Now, my sheltered upbringing is swelling into a furious storm that I must, for the first time in seventeen years, navigate without my crew.

An intense russet-haired landlubber seeks to help me. A savvy silver-eyed Malice pirate strives to hinder me. But the further I drift, the more I wonder—am I helping or hindering myself?

Now Available

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