“Tobias, my darling…” Leila tensed, as if she only just realized the words she had spoken. “Apologies.”
“Why? I like how it sounds—being yours. Say it again.”
“My darling.”
Tobias kissed her, compelled by the pull of her words, by his desperation to feel something good. His lips broke free from hers, and he cupped her face. “You. Are. Everything. Do you understand? Whatever happens to me, I need you to know that. Tell me you understand.”
“I understand.”
Leila dragged her fingers down his raw cheeks, wiping away what was left of his tears, and shame slithered through him. “This is embarrassing.”
“Why? You cry, and thus you’re human?” She forced a slight smile. “I’ve seen you bleed. I already knew you were human. It was no secret.”
“What you said before—it’s a lie. I’m not strong. I feel myself breaking.”
“Enough.” Leila grabbed his hands, looking him in the eye. “You are the strongest man I’ve ever known. And you’re kind. And you’re good. You are bruised by this tournament, but you are not broken.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Another blow, another burden, and God, I think I’ll lose it. I can’t take anymore. I can’t.”
The sadness in Leila’s eyes ripened, magnified.
“Stop it.”
Leila wavered. “What?”
“Whatever you’re doing. The guilt is etched across your face. Whatever the worry, abandon it.”
She hesitated. “Is there something that soothes you? Something to make it better? Anything—”
“You.”
She threaded her hands through his hair. “Then know that you have me.”
Tobias closed his eyes. Leila’s warm touch was a gift, the first good thing he had felt all day. Maybe I love her. He wasn’t in any capacity to decide, but the steady calm she had given him was the closest thing to love he had ever felt for a woman.
He took in a pained breath; his lungs were raw from abuse, but Leila was still beside him, and that was all he needed. He snaked his arms around her. “Can we stay here for a while?”
She nestled closer. “For as long as you’d like, my darling."
A haze covered the atrium. It had followed Tobias from the bedchamber, now his alone, to the bathhouse, cloaking each room in grey. It hadn’t dawned on him that the haze was his own, the mark of a still-fresh wound.
Of a brother lost.
Tobias plucked his utensils from their resting place and played with his food, attempting to appear present. The people around him feasted in silence, the ambiance refined, elegant, and uncomfortable. He and the other competitors sat at the head of the table with The Savior and Her court, a place of esteem that meant little to him. His black drape, his untouched chalice of the finest wine, the people in their rich silks—all of it was grand. All of it was meaningless.
The Sovereign sat at the opposite end of the table, his rancorous glare pointed right at Tobias. He chewed slowly, as if grinding Tobias’s bones between his teeth, and his one eye brimmed with hatred—a feeling they shared.
A warm hand crept into his. Leila sat beside him, her touch enough to calm the creature within, and he gave her palm a squeeze beneath the table. At his other side sat Cosima, a large jeweled crown on Her head and a self-satisfied smile on Her face. Tobias tried to pretend She didn’t exist—people will notice, you’re supposed to fawn over Her—but Leila was drawing circles on his palm, and that was far more captivating than anything Cosima could do.
Wembleton rose from his seat and cleared his throat. A line of guards stood behind him, but he ignored their existence, lifting his chalice high. “Esteemed staff of the palace of Thessen, thank you for joining us for this fine banquet. In just a few days, we will welcome our royal guests from beyond our glorious realm, and so it gives your Sovereign the greatest pleasure to share this feast with you.”
The Sovereign still glared at Tobias, a vision of pure loathing.
“Before you sit Her Holiness, Her court, and Her final five competitors.” Wembleton extended his arm toward the head of the table. “Tonight we honor them and their dedication to the Sovereign’s Tournament. May the best man win.”
Nothing—not a sound, not even a smile, the staff sipping their wine sullenly. Tobias nearly joined them in their lackluster toast, but that damn poisoned wine filtered through his mind, and he set his drink aside. Leila’s fingers entwined with his, and his stomach settled, granting