eyes became larger, her lips parted. The look tied his throat into a knot, and he hoped to God the emotion behind it was awe, or favor, or hell, anything good.
“You terrify me. Because I am not accustomed to being this bold, and unarmed, and stupid—”
The room erupted into a fit of giggles. Leila hid her mouth behind her hand, but he could clearly make out the smile in her eyes, and he couldn’t help but smile in return.
“But I’ll be stupid, if it pleases you. I’ll be stupid, if it means just a fleeting moment with you.”
Leila. She has to know I’m talking about her, right?
“You. Just you.” He lowered his shoulders, his frame tall and purposeful. “You are far more than a taste that I’ve acquired.”
Leila’s chest rose with a long, deep breath. She knew. That single assurance was his only comfort in that sweltering room.
“I don’t know if any of this constitutes a poem. But this is how you make me feel.”
Tobias stared at Leila, watching her stare back at him, her eyes still large, her lips still parted.
Clapping broke the silence. He had forgotten about the other women, but there they sat with wide grins, and in Pippa’s case wild applause. Everyone’s mood had shifted—except for the Sovereign, his glare sharper than ever.
“Kneel, Artist,” the Proctor said.
Tobias dropped to his knee, suddenly shaking. I swear, if anyone noticed… He cursed under his breath, standing as the Sovereign left the room, his scowl intact.
The Proctor nodded at the portal. “You’re dismissed.”
Tobias hurried away, evacuating his lungs. The challenge was over—a fleeting relief, as his mind battled itself, pitting every word he had spoken against Leila’s accompanying reaction. What were you thinking? Worse, what if she hated it? Each thought was a senseless torture, and by the time he reached the sanctuary, he was certain he looked as grim as everyone else.
“Artist!” Flynn dragged him toward their group. “Was that not the most wretched experience of your life? I mean, a poem? How humiliating.”
Tobias nearly cringed. “Wouldn’t have been so awful if the Sovereign hadn’t been watching the whole time.”
“Wait,” Raphael said. “The Sovereign was watching you?”
Tobias’s gaze darted across the group. “Did he not do that with everyone?”
“Oh my God.” Flynn’s face dropped. “You had to recite a poem to The Savior in front of Her fucking father?”
“That’s just cruel.” Orion chuckled.
“How are you still living?” Flynn said. “I would’ve thrown myself on my sword. What did you say?”
Tobias cradled his head in his hands. “I don’t remember.”
“Well, you covered the basics, right? Her eyes, Her hair, Her beauty…”
“I didn’t mention Her beauty.”
“Are you serious? Not once?”
“Not at all.”
“Tobias!”
“What?” Tobias glanced at the others. “I didn’t think it was relevant.”
“Are you trying to find yourself in another arena? You have to tell Her She’s beautiful. Everyone knows this.” Flynn shook his head. “What am I going to do with you?”
The very last man tromped from the portal, looking as though he would certainly vomit, and soon after came the Proctor. “All of you. Follow me.”
The men silenced, then reluctantly trailed after the Proctor into the passage. Flynn turned to Tobias, his expression bleak. “That was fast.”
Yes, it was fast—far too fast for Tobias’s liking. But soon enough he trudged through the portal, wincing as he made his way into the room.
The men formed a straight line, and instantly Tobias locked on to Leila: her stiff shoulders, her sullen frown.
She hated it.
Her eyes flitted toward him, then darted away, and his heart sank. You’ve ruined everything. She can’t even look at you.
“The Savior has deliberated,” the Proctor said. “A winner has been selected among you, the man who competes with the purest intent.”
Maybe you can take it back. Next time you see her in the sanctuary. Tell her it was a mistake. Tell her you didn’t mean it.
“The winner of today’s challenge—”
You didn’t mean it. You were rambling. It was for the challenge, nothing more…
“—is the Artist.”
Tobias froze. The Proctor stared right at him, as did every other man in that room—and Cosima, Her lips turned up into an inviting smile.
“Congratulations,” the Proctor said. “Your reward awaits you tomorrow in the form of extended time in The Savior’s company.”
Leila. Without a single look his way, she rose from her seat and left the room.
Gobs of oil streaked Tobias’s flesh. Delphi worked more diligently than usual, kneading his tense muscles, while he glanced over his shoulder at the envious glares of his competition. The other men were to spend