were ecstatic, while he was wrapped up in the struggle, the death, all for a Woman he didn’t know.
Cosima. A stranger.
The Proctor emerged from the portal, and the sanctuary became hauntingly quiet. “Gentlemen, a decision has been made.” He waited as the men clustered together. “Based on your first impressions, one man was chosen to spend extended time in The Savior’s company. Tomorrow, one of you will join Her for an afternoon of private conversation. And the rest of you will stay here. In the sanctuary.”
The men gaped at the Proctor, eager for him to continue, yet Tobias remained indifferent. Unmoved. Finally, the Proctor spoke.
“The chosen man—the winner of the First Impressions—is the Adonis.”
A series of long sighs filled the sanctuary. The most gloriously handsome competitor had been chosen. Of course. While the other men cursed under their breath, Tobias did nothing. Felt nothing.
The Proctor disappeared from the sanctuary, and though the space quickly filled with noise, Tobias’s conflicted thoughts rang louder than the surrounding conversations. Were his mother and sister faring well? Were their lives enriched? Every part of him needed the answer to be yes, as their comfort was his only solace—a beacon of hope while he fought to survive. While he forced feelings for a Woman he didn’t know.
He shook himself. He was overthinking things. Hell, he had only just met The Savior. Cosima. She was beautiful, a Woman he could learn to love. And he would learn to love Her, not because She was beautiful or because She was The Savior.
Because he had no choice.
A new day arrived, yet it began just as the others had—with Tobias staring in silence at the canvas tent above him. He tried to imagine the thatched ceiling of his cottage overhead, his mother and sister asleep on the other side of the room. The visions lingered, freeing him—and then he was left with the faded brown canvas.
He trudged from the tent, joining the other men within the sanctuary, many of whom were feasting on whatever sparse food had been brought while he slept. He grabbed an apple and chomped into it, hoping to remain unnoticed—until an arm plopped onto his shoulders.
Fucking hell.
“There he is!” Flynn said. “The Artist finally makes his debut. Have you been hiding in your tent all day?”
Tobias shook the man’s arm from his shoulder, taking another bite of his apple.
Flynn laughed. “Oh, I’ve forgotten. We’re not friends yet.”
“You’ve forgotten? Or have you simply chosen to pretend otherwise?”
“You know, you seemed much nicer back when you were dragging my ass out of the labyrinth. More talkative too.”
Tobias grumbled under his breath, “The situation called for it.”
“The situation called for nothing. You had no obligation to save me, yet you chose to without the slightest hesitation.” Flynn looked Tobias up and down, raising a sharp, black eyebrow. “You act hard and cold. You keep your mouth shut, wear your scowl like armor. But you don’t fool me, Artist. Not for a second.”
Flynn wore a knowing smirk, one Tobias detested, and he turned away, trying to ignore his unwanted comrade.
Voices sounded from the other end of the sanctuary. Delphi was preparing Beau for his visit with The Savior, oiling each muscle while he beamed with pride.
“Look at him.” Flynn gestured Beau’s way. “The cock, sitting there with that stupid, smug grin.”
“Are you jealous?”
“Of course I’m jealous! How can you not be jealous?”
Tobias didn’t answer. He wasn’t jealous, not even a little. In fact, he hadn’t thought of The Savior all day. He bit into his apple and turned away.
“His entire strategy was cheap, you know,” Flynn said. “‘You’ve stolen my heart.’ God, how unbearable.”
“At least he actually asked a question.”
“Hey, my move was a show of confidence. Women love it.”
“And yet Beau is off to see The Savior, and here you are, left behind.”
“At least I didn’t ask for Her name,” Flynn scoffed. “What a stupid question.”
“How was that a stupid question? Were we to call Her The Savior forever?”
Flynn scowled. “Oh, shut up.”
A hush fell over the room. The blonde in the olive cloak waddled into the sanctuary, fumbling with a large, ceramic jug, and at her side stood the Proctor.
“The time has come,” the Proctor said. “The Savior requests the company of yesterday’s winner. Adonis, join me.”
Beau stood quickly, knocking Delphi in the shoulder as he hurried toward the Proctor.
“For the rest of you, an afternoon of entertainment.” The Proctor nodded at the jug in the court girl’s arms. “Wine from the palace vineyards. It’s yours to