He smiles again. “Apologies if my words offend. But life in Milthar demands we remain practical.”
Remanos’s tail lashes behind him. “If you have no further business, senator?—”
“Oh, I do.” Vaelen lifts a scroll from one of the boxes an attendant carries. “Here are the formal invitations to the duel, to be delivered to the outlying provinces. We’re inviting various local leaders to observe. Please ensure your… guest… behaves appropriately in front of them.”
Remanos takes the scroll with a barely concealed grimace. “I’ll handle it.”
Vaelen nods, casting me one last lingering look that makes my skin crawl, then turns and strides away with his little entourage. My shoulders ease the moment he disappears from sight, though the knot in my stomach remains.
I release a tremulous breath and refocus on Remanos. “He unnerves me. More than the rest of you combined.”
“You’re not alone in that feeling.” His voice is grim. “He wields significant power in the Senate, especially with the Vakkak class. We can’t afford to antagonize him directly right now.”
A flicker of dread surfaces as I consider the political forces at play here. Orcs, the Senate, Vaelen’s ambitions—and I’m stuck in the middle. My gaze snaps back to Remanos. “What do we do next?”
He looks at me with a steadiness that suggests he’s used to carrying burdens. “I’ll prepare for the duel. You’ll stay here, under my protection.”
I fold my arms defensively. “I can’t just sit in a room for three days like a caged bird. There has to be something—anything—useful I can do.”
“Can you fight?” he asks, a faint curiosity coloring his tone.
“I can hold my own against bandits or smaller threats,” I reply, “but let’s be realistic. I’m not going to fend off an entire orc raid.”
His eyes narrow slightly, as if he’s evaluating me. “Perhaps you can assist me in a different way. The city’s been experiencing… irregularities. Missing shipments, sabotage rumors. If someone is weakening us before the duel, it could be why the orcs are so confident.”
I straighten, adrenaline flaring. “So you suspect inside collusion?”
He nods. “Possibly. But I have little time to investigate while preparing for the fight. If you truly want to help, keep your ears open. Ask questions if you can.”
I recall overhearing minotaurs whisper about stolen armaments in the courtyard. It intrigued me at the time, but I was too consumed with my own predicament to delve deeper. Maybe this is an opportunity to do more than stew in captivity. “Fine,” I say. “Deal. I’ll pay attention, see if I can gather any leads. Just… don’t lock me in your estate like a prisoner.”
He studies me, a faint smile touching his otherwise stoic face. “I’ll grant you some freedom to move around. But the Senate insists you remain under guard.”
I grimace. “So I’ll have a shadow?”
“Yes,” he admits. “But perhaps that’s better than being confined.”
I purse my lips, reluctant to admit he’s right. “Agreed.” My anger simmers, but I cling to the idea that this might provide a path to leverage or an eventual escape. I pivot, glancing at the courtyard’s carved arches, noticing how the late-afternoon light is now creeping across the tiles, a reminder of how quickly time flows.
Remanos offers me a cautious nod. “I have training to attend in the morning. If you want to watch?—”
“Watch you fight?” I can’t help the wry twist of my mouth. “Why would I want to do that?”
The corner of his mouth shifts almost imperceptibly, as though he’s suppressing a reaction. “To see how your so-called captor handles himself in battle. Maybe you’ll realize I don’t relish this role.”
A swirl of uncertain emotions flashes through my chest. I want to reject the notion. Another part, the practical side, acknowledges it might be wise to learn how he fights if I’m tobe stuck under his roof. “Fine,” I say, crossing my arms. “I’ll observe.”
He exhales, relief mingling with the tension in his shoulders. “Thank you.”
The single phrase is so simply spoken that it catches me off guard. His sincerity is a jarring contrast to Vaelen’s oily politeness. I glance at Remanos again, suddenly aware of the physical presence he exudes—strong arms sheathed in short fur, a powerful chest, the scar that slices across it like a silent declaration of survival. There’s a flicker of heat in my face that I quickly tamp down. I shouldn’t find anything about him appealing. He’s still part of the system subjugating me, no matter how reluctant he is.
He steps back, giving me space. “Rest, if you can. Tomorrow will be another day of… challenges.”
I nod stiffly, then turn toward the corridor leading inside. My footsteps echo. Each one reminds me of the forced path I’m on and the precarious deal I’ve just made to keep my eyes open for sabotage. At least it’s something that sets me apart from being a voiceless victim.
As I reach the threshold, I throw a glance behind to see Remanos still standing near the fountain. The waning sunlight plays over the fur of his neck, highlighting the contours of his muscled form. His horns, curving forward, catch glimmers of orange in the final rays of day. There’s a somber watchfulness about him, as though he’s carrying the whole city’s fate on those broad shoulders, and still he spares a moment of concern for me.
My stomach twists with an emotion I can’t quite name. Sparks, perhaps, that I refuse to fan into a flame. I turn away, determined not to let guilt or admiration muddle my perspective. My anger remains, but it’s laced now with a reluctant curiosity about the champion who claims he never wanted me as a spoil. If he truly stands on my side, even in thesmallest way, maybe we can navigate this twisted labyrinth of politics and war together.
