The warmth that spread across his face was answer enough. "Your wish is my command, Little Dragon," he said.
As we made our way toward my quarters, keeping to shadows to avoid any late-night observers, I felt a curious mixture of emotions—joy at the deepening bond with Tarshi, worry about Septimus's reaction to our news, anger at his treatment ofTarshi, and beneath it all, a steady current of strength that hadn't been there before.
The ritual in the olive grove, the bonding with Tarshi as my Talfen mate alongside Sirrax, had changed something fundamental within me. I felt more powerful, more centred, as if the connections to both men had amplified my own inner strength rather than dividing it. Was this what Sirrax had meant when he spoke of the prestige and power that came to Talfen females with multiple worthy mates?
Whatever the source, I welcomed the feeling. In the days to come, with the festival approaching and the resistance plans moving forward, I would need all the strength I could muster. We all would.
As we slipped into my quarters, Tarshi pulled me into his arms, his lips finding mine with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the fierce passion of our earlier claiming. This was a different kind of intimacy—quieter, gentler, but no less profound.
"Thank you," he whispered against my lips.
"For what?"
"For accepting all of me. For helping me accept myself." His eyes, so close to mine, shimmered with emotion. "For being my mate in every sense of the word."
I brushed my fingers across the pulse point at his throat, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "Always," I promised. "No matter what comes next."
And as we sank onto my narrow bed, wrapped in each other's arms beneath the silver light of the twin moons, I renewed that promise silently to myself. Whatever happened with Septimus, whatever dangers the festival might bring, whatever secrets the Empire still kept hidden—I would stand by Tarshi, by Sirrax, by all those I loved.
Not because I belonged to them, or they to me, but because together we were stronger than we could ever be alone. Because together, we might just change the world.
20
Icouldn't sleep. Again. The darkness of my chamber pressed down on me, as suffocating as the thoughts that wouldn't leave me in peace. My body ached with exhaustion, but my mind refused to quiet, spinning through the same torturous circle that had become my nightly ritual.
Tarshi.
Even thinking his name sent a wave of conflicting emotions through me—disgust, desire, self-loathing, and something else, something deeper that I refused to name. I rolled onto my side, punching the thin pillow into submission, as if I could beat my thoughts into silence through sheer force of will.
It hadn't always been like this. Once, the world had made sense. The Empire was cruel but orderly. The Talfen were demons, monsters who had destroyed villages and led to the destruction of my own village and the deaths of my family and left me with nothing but rage and a promise to protect the one person who mattered. My hatred had sustained me throughyears of slavery, through the blood-soaked sand of the arena, through every horror the Empire had inflicted. That hatred had been clean, pure, righteous.
Until Tarshi.
I closed my eyes, but the darkness only made the memories more vivid. His hands on my skin. His mouth, hot and demanding. The way he looked at me after, when we both lay spent and breathless—that strange mixture of defiance and vulnerability that made something in my chest ache.
"Fucking half-breed," I muttered into the darkness, the familiar insult falling flat, hollow.
Because that was the problem, wasn't it? He wasn't the monster I needed him to be. In the weeks since I'd begun our sordid encounters, I'd searched for the demon in him, the taint of evil I'd been taught to see in all Talfen. I'd pushed him, provoked him, practically begged him to reveal the monster hiding beneath his skin.
But all I'd found was a man. A complicated, stubborn, passionate man who looked at Livia with such tender devotion that it made my throat tight. Who fought beside us with unflinching courage. Who somehow managed to retain his humanity despite a lifetime of being told he was less than human.
And that terrified me more than any monster could have.
I sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of the narrow cot, and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes until I saw stars. If Tarshi wasn't the demon I'd been taught to hate, what did that mean for everything else I believed? For the justifications I'd clung to my entire life?
The Empire had taught us the Talfen were monsters, that the war was necessary to protect humanity from their demonic taint. They'd used that fear to justify every atrocity—the burning ofvillages, the enslavement of populations, the public executions of anyone suspected of Talfen sympathy.
I'd watched my family die. Had held Tarus, Livia's brother, as he bled out in my arms. Had sworn on his cooling body that I would protect his sister with my life. And I had blamed the Talfen for all of it. Because that was easier, wasn't it? Easier than admitting that human beings—my own kind—could commit such horrors against each other without demonic influence.
But if Tarshi wasn't a monster...
I stood abruptly, pacing the small confines of my chamber. Five steps to the wall, turn, five steps back. A cage of my own making.
What was happening to me? I had never shared Livia’s hatred of the Emperor, had honestly believed that the Empire needed to take steps to eradicate the Talfen threat, and that included wiping out traitors and sympathisers. I blamed the Talfen for the Empire destroying our home, and yes, I had blamed Tarus and Livia’s parents for bringing the Empire’s wrath down upon us. Forged in fire, tempered by loss, hardened by the arena. I didn't question. I didn't doubt. I definitely didn't feel this... whatever it was... for a half-breed gladiator with defiant eyes and hands that knew exactly how to break me apart.
And yet, here I was, my certainties crumbling like sandcastles against the tide.
The worst part wasn't the desire. That, at least, I could understand—a base, animal urge that meant nothing. I could hate myself for it, but I could understand it. No, the worst part was the other feelings, the ones that crept in during unguarded moments. The grudging respect I felt when I watched him train. The unwilling admiration for his steadfast loyalty to Livia. The strange, unfamiliar warmth that spread through my chest when he looked at me with something other than contempt.
