Em huffed. “Yeah, right. The men won’t talk to me and-”

  “I know plenty of women, many of them nobles, who have business dealings on the side. It isn’t because you’re a woman.”

  Biting her lip, Em sat back. “Then… is it because of my station?”

  As the younger sister and ward of ‘Marquis Grimshaw’, Em often had the highest social standing at the events she was invited to. It’s what kept people from commenting on her cheap clothes.

  But it was a precarious position.

  If Flint were to die, or she were to marry, she’d be subject to the social positioning rules that came with it. And very likely, she’d be marrying down not up.

  Madeline glanced at Todd. Eyes narrowed in consideration.

  “Todd’s my best friend,” Em defended immediately. Not sure what she was defending him from.

  “You trust him?”

  Todd squirmed. He was used to people talking about him as though he wasn’t there, especially when they found out he was lycan. That didn’t mean he liked it.

  “Yes.” Em stuck out her chin defiantly.

  “Fine. Then what I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this table.” Madeline sat back, lips pressed into a grim line. “You’re failing because the Emperor wants Grimshaw to remain powerless.”

  Em blinked. Bewildered.

  “What?”

  Madeline met her eye and didn’t blink. “You heard me.”

  “But-but why? Flint isn’t a Duke or anyone who could take the throne from him. He’s just a military sword.”

  It hurt to say, but it was true. That was what Flint was good at.

  Madeline snorted quietly. “Flint is also a good man.”

  “So?”

  “So, he has the characteristics that the Emperor lacks. Which allows him to make friends and inspire loyalty wherever he goes.”

  Em stared at her blankly. Her mind felt foggy. “I… don’t understand.”

  “No, I imagine you don’t.” Madeline stood up, taking the receipt. “It doesn’t change that the Emperor is interfering with your business prospects. I advise you to either learn investing and do it under a different name or create a self sufficient system within the March and make do.”

  “But-”

  “It was good seeing you, Emmaline. Take care.”

  Em exchanged a bewildered look with Todd as the Empress paid for their meal and left. However, she noticed the look on Chez’s face.

  “What did she mean?” Em asked Sir Chez as they left the cafe.

  “In a moment, miss.”

  Impatiently, she waited until they were in the carriage before asking again.

  “You know what she meant. What was it?”

  Sir Chez leaned back, arms crossed. Now certain no one would overhear, he answered bluntly. “She means the Emperor is an untrustworthy ass and realizes our Marquis is not.”

  Todd made a face.

  “The master is also an-” He cut himself off with a look at Em.

  She shrugged. “An ass,” she said for him. “Yes, Flint gets things done. But so does the Emperor.”

  With scary efficiency.

  She shuddered as the most recent war came to mind. A tiny island kingdom, so small it barely had 2000 people on the entire island. Thiago had wiped out the entire thing just because the royal couple had a young prince in the family.

  Flint had drunk himself into a stupor after coming home. For weeks. The first time she’d ever seen him do that. It made her heart hurt to see his frustration and pain.

  Chez shook his head.

  “It’s not about getting things done.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Chez paused. Trying to think of how to explain.

  “It’s… knowing that there are people who’d never betray you. Not because you have more gold and power than them, but because they respect you as a person. Knowing that they’d still be on your side even if the gold and power disappeared.”

  Em thought about all the knights and their families at Silver Vale manor. There had been seasons where they continued to work without pay and had poor quality food. Then accepted a payment plan to get the lost pay in small increments later.

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  “But not everyone thinks of Flint that way.”

  She could think of one knight and his cohorts in particular. Em wrinkled her nose in a scowl.

  “No. No one can make everyone like them.”

  Maybe it was her fatigue, but she just couldn’t wrap her mind around it. Thiago had all the power and Flint had none. None. Flint couldn’t even say no to an unjust and senseless war without risking the lives of everyone depending on him.

  And that would be true even if Flint could amass some wealth.

  “I still don’t understand.”

  Chez smiled and looked out the window. Apparently done trying to explain.

  Em sighed.

  This was proof. She wasn’t that clever. She was twenty, dang it! It shouldn’t be this hard! No matter how much she forced herself to learn, no matter how hard she tried, there were things that were just beyond her.

  Speaking of which…

  “Todd, where did you put my book?”

  “What?”

  Startled out of his thoughts, Todd blinked at her.

  “My book. Where did you put it?” She looked around the carriage.

  A slow grin climbed his cheeks. “Guess.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him.

  “If I wanted to guess, I wouldn’t have asked.”

  With a grin, he pointed at her seat. Confused, she looked at the space next to her.

  “Did you know that bench can open?”

  “Really?!”

  Dumb, useless, Em! Can’t you know at least that much? Em shifted to open it but Chez quickly reached across to put a hand on her shoulder.

  “When we stop. It’s dangerous to stand in a moving carriage.”

  I know that!

  Feeling even more stupid, she looked out the window. Maybe I’m just tired. I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep in months. I seem to recall that not enough sleep can slow your brain function.

  The thought depressed her.

  When was she going to study… and train… and go to all the Season functions she was expected to be at… and get enough sleep?

  … If what the Empress told her was true, did she even need to bother going to all those parties? No one would listen to her, anyway.

  But if she didn’t go, would she be painting a target on Flint?

  There had to be a solution. One that didn’t involve being under the Emperor’s surveillance.

  Wearily she leaned her head back. Nodding off as soon as she closed her eyes.

  When they got home, she startled awake and took a second to orient herself. Instead of jumping off as soon as Chez was out the door and offering her a hand, she pulled open the bench seat. It came up and her mouth fell open.

  There wasn’t just one book in there.

  There were several bulging bags.

  Hand trembling, she opened a bag and picked up the top book. It was one of the romances she had picked out for Madeline.

  She didn’t know why, but a tear fell down her cheek and splashed the cover before she could stop it.

  ***

  Asher lay back with his hands tucked behind his head. Staring up at the dark ceiling of the training room.

  Soon, they’ll be calling him upstairs. Where he’ll wait in line for his bout.

  His final bout.

  He closed his eyes and breathed out a long sigh. Eight years. Training, injuries, sometimes killing people as desperate as he was… now he was here. The highest level of the competition and in the Cyrin capital.

  All the other bouts were just to drag out the evening and rake in the bets. In reality, there was only one match everyone was interested in. The one between him and another champion.

  One of them would walk away the victor and with their promised prize.

  Freedom.

  Or money, depending on which one of them won.

  He laughed and gritted his teeth. His whole body ached.

  When he was a child, he admired the scars of his father’s warriors. They would talk about fighting monsters and attacking nations. Proud of their ability to defend their people. They would show off the scars like badges of honor.

  No one ever mentioned how much those scars could hurt. Even after healing.

  There was one injury in particular just above his knee. Damn Zaria had nearly cut off his leg during the match. It flared up to excruciating levels during a rainstorm and it took a lot of effort to hide his limp the rest of the time.

  I am a Prince of Wyngarde.

  That was the only thought he had left. He couldn’t give up.

  Not when freedom was only one bout away.

  “Hey, kid.”

  Asher forced open an eye and looked at the man leaning over him.

  Beastman had retired from fighting matches years ago but stayed on as an instructor. As Asher’s trainer, he was allowed to follow Asher to the capital arena. The man’s glasses dangled from a thong as the man leaned in further.

  “Are you just going to lie there?”

  “What else should I be doing?”

  “Warming up, maybe?”

  With a groan, Asher slowly forced himself to sit. Then accepted the water bottle Beastman handed him.

  Beastman sat down with him. Pulling a small book out of his pocket because it pinched his thigh.

  Asher took a sip of the water, throwing the book a glance.

  “What is it today? Philosophy?”

  “Religion.” The man handed Asher the book. “The prophecies of Helios, first patron god of the Cyrin empire.”

  Asher grunted and made a face.

  “Anything worth reading?”

  “Most things can be worth reading as long as you learn something from it.”

  It was Beastman’s favorite thought. Who knew a beef mountain would be so obsessed with education? Asher wasn’t complaining. If not for Beastman’s books, he would have spent the last eight years with only the arena and his mistress to occupy his time.

  Instead of warming up right away, he flipped open the book with one hand and sipped the water with the other.

  I told my servant to bow his head and he would not.

  I told my servant to call my name and he would not.

  I reminded my servant my blessings will cease with his decay. My servant proceeded with his thoughts.

  “I used to study the words of Felice,” Asher told Beastman casually. “She’s easier to understand. I recommend you dump this for that.”

  Beastman chuckled and took both the book and the water bottle.

  “Get up. Begin your warmups.”

  It must have been raining, or getting ready to rain, because Asher’s leg was sending stabs of pain up his spine. Against his will, his knee nearly collapsed twice in the middle of doing lunges.

  Beastman watched with growing concern.

  The big man’s mouth pressed more and more firmly together as he watched Asher go through the warmup routine. Unhappily, he tapped the ground with two, huge fingers. The tapping became more and more agitated with each passing moment.

  Normally, this wasn’t a problem. Asher was more skilled than most of the other combatants. And once the adrenaline kicked in, he rarely felt or showed the pain.

  But something else was on Beastman’s mind.

  Something that was growing heavier and heavier as he watched the young man slowly loosen up.

  It was almost time to go upstairs.

  Beastman hadn’t decided yet and he was almost out of time.

  If it had just been about the money, he would have already known the answer. But it wasn’t. It was about the boy he’d been watching over for the last eight years. Everything inside him twisted, but he didn’t know what was the right thing to do.

  Asher was on the last five minutes of the routine. His movements had smoothed out despite the shakiness of his leg.

  Beastman made his decision.

  While Asher’s back was to him, he picked up the water bottle and pulled a small vial out of his pocket. The alchemy potion was dark green, but Asher wouldn’t notice any color changes to the water.

  Heart heavy, he poured the whole vial into the bottle and put them both away.

  When Asher was done, Beastman casually handed him the water bottle.

  “Time to go,” he told the boy gruffly.

  Asher nodded and hurriedly drank the rest of the water. Beastman was right. The warmup was well needed.

  It wasn’t until the start of the second to last match that he noticed something was… off. The aches of his old wounds were just enough to mask the growing weakness, but it didn’t mask when his vision doubled.