Page 35 of Bonded To The Arena Master

"The Council assigned Beatrix to my protection. Any demon who interferes challenges both my house and its decree."

"Protection is a generous word for possession."

"Call it whatever allows you to understand the consequence."

His red eye holds mine. The blind one points slightly past my shoulder.

I lean close enough that my remaining horns cast their shadow across his face.

"You entered the arena with two horns and sight in both eyes," I say. "Continue prying into my house, and you will discover how much more a demon can lose."

No shout follows the threat. No weapon is drawn. The nobles nearest us hear every word because they have been working hard to appear occupied.

Korgath's mouth curves, though anger pulls the expression unevenly around the scar beneath his dead eye.

"Your concern proves my point," he says. "The human matters."

"My house matters."

"Perhaps the court will believe the distinction."

He steps aside.

I pass him without granting the final glance he wants.

Court greetings resume behind me. The voices begin softly, then rise as distance makes everyone brave. By the time I reach the covered bridge leading toward House Obsidius, the gathering has already transformed the exchange into rumor.

By evening, Korgath will have been either fearless or suicidal, depending on which house recounts it. Both versions give him the attention he wanted.

Korgath did not approach merely to insult me.

He tested where my control changes shape around Beatrix. My refusal to strike him concealed the depth of the answer, but it did not hide that an answer exists.

He will use the court's interest first. He will question my authority, encourage challenges from lesser houses, and turn each act of Beatrix's independence into evidence that House Obsidius is weakening.

If gossip fails, he will seek another weapon.

The storm flashes beyond the bridge. Far below, the lower districts disappear beneath red haze. Somewhere inside my spire, Beatrix is claiming the abandoned solarium and forcing Grolm to justify every objection.

She believes the walls of House Obsidius are the cage she must resist.

Korgath has already marked those walls as a target.

And he has marked her with them.

11

BEATRIX

Draxon stands near the center of the room, eight feet of slate-grey plates and controlled stillness. His remaining horns catch the light like broken shale. The right side of his face is half-hidden by the long fall of black hair that has always covered the blunt stump where the other horn used to be. Silver eyes watch me the way they always have: storm-lit, giving nothing away until they do.

I stop three paces short of him. My grey gown is still dusted with rirzed powder from the morning’s work. The bone-handled knife sits at my hip out of pure habit. My hands are stained the usual blue-grey; I do not bother to hide them.

“You requested the inventory lists,” I say. “I brought them.”

“You could have sent a runner.”

The corner of his mouth moves. Holding back a smile. He takes the folded papers. His fingers brush mine. The contact is brief and careful, the same massive hand that once cupped mine without ever closing tightly enough to hurt. Heat radiates from his skin even through the carapace. I feel it in my palm long after he withdraws.