Lynn

Lapona is a three-day journey from Gidel, the capital city of Herocratis, our destination. I hide my surprise as we're ushered into a carriage with Sadria and Finley. The horses take off at a clipped pace. I watch Lapona flash by, then disappear into the night.

Finley sits across from me, arms crossed over his chest, legs spread wide as he stares out the window. His pointed ears catch the moonlight, and in profile, his features look like they were carved from stone—sharp cheekbones, straight nose, the kind of face that belongs on ancient statues. My fingers twitch, rising halfway to my own clipped ears before I force them down. His gaze flicks to me, holds for a heartbeat, then returns to the darkness outside.

The carriage surrounds us with polished wood inlaid with silver. Velvet cushions. My fingers hover over the fabric before curling into a fist. They must have so much money, they don't mind that I'm getting blood everywhere. No doubt they'll simply rip out the bench seat and install a replacement after we reach our destination.

For people like them, it's no big deal.

Coin's small body presses against my good side, his eyes wide, taking in every detail. I rest my hand on his knee, drawing his attention away from Finley. The boy doesn't need to see the fae male's hostile stare.

"Twenty years at one house," Sadria observes, breaking the silence. She has the nerve to sound genuinely surprised. "Have you really been with Asmus all this time?"

"Yes, Matron."

"That's... a long time," she admits.

"Not long enough to learn proper etiquette," Finley mutters with a scoff. "Then again, I shouldn't expect much from a bottom-of-the-barrel bellator."

I flinch. Sadria tsks. Finley continues staring out the window.

I can't tell if she's genuinely interested or just filling the silence when she adds, "Most bellatis, those who survive long enough, are bought and traded every few years like cards. Even some in my house. I can imagine this will be a big change for you. Both of you."

Her gaze shifts to Coin, studying him. "How old are you, Coin?"

I start. That she remembers his name catches me off guard.

"Ten, Matron." His voice is steady.

"Is he your child?" she asks.

I rear back. There's a split second where I consider saying yes. He's as good as mine. "I found him on the streets. Convinced Asmus to bring him on."

She studies me a moment longer, then nods. "A good decision. You fought well today, Coin. Most first fights end badly, especially at Shadowcroft."

Where it's fight to the death.

Coin's shoulders draw back and his chin lifts. "Thank you, Matron."

She turns back to me. "For someone in your... position, it's dangerous to form attachments. But I'm certain you're aware of that. Such things cannot always be helped." She sighs, her gaze taking on a far away look. "It's the kind of love we try to avoid that becomes stronger than the kind we don't."

I swallow. I refuse to admit to loving Coin, but maybe she's right. If I avoid what I feel for the child, I'll only love him harder. It will only hurt more when he's taken from me. Today, he almost was. I'm on the edge of thanking her, but my mouth snaps shut.

"Speak, Lynn," she commands.

The words that come aren't the ones I'd planned. "Why did you agree to bring him?"

"Because you asked."

"Are you going to use him against me?"

She huffs. "I don't think that will be necessary. We've got a number of children. Coin will find a place with us. He'll be well cared for."

I scoff. He's a slave. No slave is well cared for.

"You think I jest?" The word is stilted as our carriage hits a rut in the road, jerking before smoothing out again. My head bobs with the motion. She must take that for a yes. "I do not jest. I know you'll cooperate. You'll fight for my house as you did Abaret's. In exchange, Coin will be cared for. He won't even have to fight, not for some time. You have my word."

I glance at Finley, trying to make sense of what she's saying. He simply watches the dark landscape roll by with the same infuriating coldness. There's a coiled tightness to his body, like he's ready to spring into action at any moment. As if he expects our carriage to be attacked.

"Finley is House Ravilon's overseer," Sadria explains. As if I'm curious about him. I'm not. Not even a little bit. "He oversees the training of our bellatis...among other things."

Just fucking great.

I must scowl because her lips twitch and she says, "How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight."

She hums. "Young, for a fae."

"I'm not a fae," I bite out. I need to be more careful, speaking to her like this.

"Clipping your ears doesn't make you any less fae." She hesitates. "Even if it does blunt your magic and slow your healing."

I feel more than see Finley's gaze snap to my face. I swallow and ignore the hot flush that spreads over my skin at his perusal. No doubt whatever he sees, he finds lacking.

"My mother always said a fae without magic is like a bird without wings."

Sadria sighs. "Magic isn't everything, girl, especially in today's world."

Hours pass. The steady rhythm of hooves against the road becomes nearly hypnotic. Sadria dozes, her silver hair gleaming in the moonlight. Finley remains alert, his gaze constantly sweeping our surroundings.

Coin slumps against me, his breathing deep and even. I stroke his hair absently, my own exhaustion pulling at me. The last fight in the arena seems like days ago instead of hours. Fortunately, my wound isn't screaming at me anymore.

I must doze off, a careless mistake around people I don't know, because I jolt awake as the carriage stops. Through the window, a coaching inn's lanterns cast warm light into the darkness.

"One hour," Finley announces. "Just long enough to change horses."

Sadria nods and exits first. I hesitate, then gently shake Coin awake. He blinks at me, disoriented. "Come on," I murmur. "Brief stop."

The night air is cool. I stretch, wincing as my muscles protest. The wound on my side choses that moment to tug and I suppress a groan. I don't realize I'm holding my side until Sadria's voice cuts through the darkness.

"You're injured." Not a question, seeing as that part of my tunic and light armor is soaked with blood.

I straighten, dropping my hand. "It's nothing."

And it's true. Even with clipped ears, my fae blood still heals wounds faster than any human's. By tomorrow, the slash will be a hearty scab. The day following, a pink line.

"Finley," Sadria calls, ignoring me. "Examine Lynn's wound. Make sure it won't slow us down."

"I'm fine," I snap, just as Finley's head whips around.

"You can't be serious," he says to Sadria.

"I am." Her tone leaves no room for argument.

Finley's jaw tightens. "Over here," he grits out, motioning to the side of the carriage, away from the inn's entrance. I don't move. "Now," he barks.

With a hard look, I follow. His authority is clear enough, but so is something else—the way he singles me out for his contempt. I've survived twenty years of oppression. I know when to fight and when to yield. Except where Finley is concerned, apparently.

"Show me," he demands once we're standing in the shadow of the carriage.

I lift my chin, defiant. "What's the magic word?"

The look he gives me could strip flesh from bone. "I'll give you two words: obey or suffer."

We stare at each other in the darkness. I'm not going to back down. Not for this arrogant—

"Lift your shirt," he says, his voice somehow softer yet more dangerous.

I exhale sharply through my nose, then turn so my back is to the carriage. With stiff movements, I lift the edge of my tunic just enough to reveal the slash across my ribs. It's not as deep as it could have been, thank the gods. I'm still cursing myself for letting that piece of shit with missing teeth get through my defenses. But I shouldn't be too hard on myself. I did have my hands full with five other criminals.

Finley bends for closer inspection, his face now level with my exposed skin. His breath ghosts across my wound, raising chill bumps over my skin. Without warning, warm fingers probe the area around the cut. I flinch.

"Hold still," he mutters. His fingertips work with practiced motions, yet something in me goes very still. I've been examined by healers, poked and prodded by overseers checking for damage, and it's never been anything but routine. This? This feels different.

Heat blooms where he touchs, my skin waking up where his fingers press against me, and I notice things I shouldn't. Like the careful pressure of his examination, the way his hair falls forward as he concentrates, the corded strength in his forearms. My pulse quickens, and I hate that it does. I hate that my body responds to someone who clearly despises me.

Because I know what's happening here and I know how dangerous it is. Attraction, even just a little bit, to someone so obviously above my station? It might just be the stupidest idea in the world.

Finley

The wound is superficial. Yet, I find myself examining it longer than necessary, just to be sure. My fingers itch, like they always do in circumstances like these. I ignore the pull as I prod at the surrounding skin.

The girl fought well, better than I anticipated for a backwater bellator, but not well enough to justify the exorbitant cost Sadria paid for her. Not for someone who fits in pits like an untrained wildcat. And not just any pits, but Shadowcroft. The worst of the worst. Sitting in the stands, I'd hoped to watch her fail. It would have made this journey completely pointless, but at least we would have found a better use for all that coin Asmus Abaret owed. Money I already allocated elsewhere in my mind until Sadria announced this ridiculous venture.

"Clean cut." I take a step back. It would be nothing to hand over the small vial of sanalis in my coin puch, and yet, fuck that. "Should heal without complication. No need for treatment."

The girl—Lynn—quickly tugs her tunic down and her armor back into place. Armor that has seen better days. I catch the flash of wariness in her brown eyes. Good. She should be wary. I bet she has no fucking idea how lucky she is right now. House Ravilon only acquires new bellatis after big matches, and certainly not from houses like House Abaret.

"Like I said before,"—she draws herself up—"I'm fine. Though I'm sure you enjoyed putting your hands on me."

My muscles tighten. I bet she wouldn't be so mouthy with her lips wrapped around my dick. Fuck. She's bating me. I bite my tongue and spin on my heel, dismissing her. Sadria emerges from the inn and I stride over. "It's superficial, just a minor flesh wound."

"Thank you for humoring an old woman."

"Old woman," I huff, trying to disguise my fondness. She sees it anyway, her eyes twinkling. They always soften when they land on me. While her hair might be graying, her skin displaying signs of aging, she certainly doesn't act like she's over eight hundred. A full life for a fae.

I spend the rest of the stop overseeing the exchange of horses. When I climb back into the carriage, I settle across from our expensive investment. I withhold a scoff at Sadria's use of the word because it's unjustified. Especially now that I've seen said investment with my own eyes. There's nothing special about her aside from her obvious beauty. Sure, she can hold her own with a blade. But anyone can fight a pit full of untrained criminals. I can already picture the amount of work she'll be, just to prepare her against real fighters, other bellatis who have spent decades in the arena. That will be what she goes up against in a house like Ravilon's.

We set off and I keep my gaze trained out the window, doing my best to ignore her and the child.

The journey passes in a blur of countryside and rutted roads that make my teeth clack. The young boy—Coin—spends most of his time pressed against the window, pointing at every shepherd and waterfall like he's never seen the world beyond the hovel he came from, and I suppose he probably hasn't. His wonder grates against my nerves, though I can't say why. Maybe because it reminds me how much time we've wasted on this venture. Or, more than likely, it's the girl's indulgent reaction each time he tugs her hand, pointing at something new. The way her eyes melt whenever they land on him.

They sleep off and on. It's during those moments I find my traitorous eyes falling upon her. But only so that I can unravel the reason we punched her. To understand why Sadria would invest so much into someone so inconsequential.

It wasn't for the plush shape of her lips, or the overlarge brown eyes that make her almost doll-like. Her features are feminine and beautiful, as is the case with all fae. My gaze snags on her cropped ears and a flash of anger slices through my chest. I glance down at my fist, clenched against the seat, then force it to loosen.

Beside me, Sadria's gentle breaths fill the coach's cabin. She's slept more often than not. I wish I could do the same. Close my eyes and block out the sight in front of me. Instead, I'm sitting here wondering how a female can look so pretty with shorn hair. Which then has me wondering why it's shorn in the first place.

Except, if I allow myself to examine that too deeply, the answer is plain as day. Considering where she comes from, it would be necessary to disguise her beauty. The flash of her fight in the pits, six-against-one, fills my mind. I picture one of those meaty fists wrapping around the long brown locks she doesn't have, and a surge of rage fills my mind. The image changes and now it's my fist, and she's on her hands and knees befor me. I bet she wouldn't be so mouthy with my cock buried in her cunt.

I suppress a groan, shifting in my seat as blood rushes downward.

No, what she needs is discipline. Clearly she hasn't had enough of it. Bellatis are salves, yes, but they're treated almost like military. Many of them are even better fighters. There's no excuse for her belligerence and disobedience. I'm almost tempted to insert myself more deeply into the bellatis training at the villa, if only so I can break her. Except, I have four males for that. The thought of letting Reyker handle the job gives me a mix of jealousy and satisfaction.

Ripping my gaze away, I focus on the increasingly familiar landscape around me. Over the past three days, we've changed horses six times. We could have stayed at inns and doubled the length of our journey, but neither Sadria or myself wanted to risk being away from the villa for that long. Flat farmland has given way to rolling hills. The rush of warmth that fills my chest has me breathing easier. I catch glimpses of the Aurelian Sea in the distance. Almost home.

As we approach the coastline, Sadria stirs. I don't pull my gaze from the window, but I know Lynn and Coin are awake, too, whispering as they take in the landscape.

Eventually, my curiosity wins. I glance around the cabin, taking stock of our situation. Sadria watches Lynn with that calculating expression I know well. "We're nearly there," she announces, and I hear the pride creep into her voice. "Villa Aurelium."

I straighten as brief glimpses the estate come into view, unable to suppress the surge of satisfaction at seeing my home rise from behind the hilly landscape. This is what real power looks like. Not some crumbling fortress in a the middle of nowhere. A territory few speak of and even fewer visit.

"Coin," Sadria says suddenly, "Have you ever seen the sea up close?"

The boy shakes his head, eyes wide as saucers.

"Then you're in for a treat. The view from Villa Aurelium is...unparalleled."

I roll my eyes at the exchange, glad no one notices my brief laps in composure. Sadria's always had a soft spot for strays, but coddling a slave child seems excessive, even for her. Though when I look at her face, softened with genuine warmth, I feel the familiar tug of affection. She took me in after my mother died. Made me her heir. The least I can do is tolerate her occasional sentimentality.

The boy glances at Lynn, seeking permission, and she gives him a small nod. "Is it very big?" he asks. His voice is still young, but it will begin to change, soon.

"Bigger than you can imagine," Sadria replies with a smile.

I watch Lynn's face as we climb the coastal road, cataloguing her reactions despite myself. Her breath catches when she sees the sea spread out below us, golden in the setting sun. There's something in her expression, not just awe, but something deeper. Recognition? Longing?

It shouldn't be surprising. A pit fighter from House Abaret? This might as well be the royal palace as far as she's concerned.

We crest the hill and Villa Aurelium spreads before us in all its glory. White stone and soaring architecture, towers and domes connected by graceful archways, terraced gardens cascading down the hillside. I've seen this view thousands of times, but watching Lynn's reaction makes me see it fresh. For some reason, I can't tear my gaze away from her.

Her face goes perfectly still, and for a moment I think she might not be impressed. Then I catch the way her hands clench in her lap, the careful control of her expression, and I realize she's overwhelmed.

Good. Let her understand exactly what kind of house she's been brought to.

We pass under the stone arch bearing the Ravilon coat of arms and motto, 'From the ashes we rise,' past the armored guards who snap to attention. The central courtyard opens before us, paved in intricate mosaic patterns, the fountain catching the afternoon sunlight.

When the carriage stops, I'm first out, moving with the fluid grace that comes from years of training. I turn to offer Sadria my hand, helping her descend with the courtesy due my aunt and the matron of our house.

Lynn follows, moving stiffly after three days of travel, the boy pressed close to her side as he stares open-mouthed at our home. I watch her take it all in—the scope, the grandeur, the sheer wealth on display.

"Welcome to Villa Aurelium," Sadria says, satisfaction evident in her voice as she watches their reactions.

I study Lynn's face, looking for some crack in that careful composure, some sign of proper deference or gratitude. Instead, she lifts her chin in that gesture I'm already coming to despise and meets my gaze directly.

"It's beautiful," she says simply. There's a sincerity in her voice that catches me off guard.

I hold her stare, letting her see the challenge in me. This is my domain, my responsibility, my burden to bear. She's here at Sadria's whim, for reasons I don't yet understand, at a cost that still grates.

But she's here now, and she'll learn exactly what that means.

Starting tomorrow.