Right now, Nero’s big form was covered in some fancy metallic armor for tonight’s fight. The pattern on the beaten silver metal resembled fish scales, and the armor covered the man’s tattooed arms and shoulders, and had a strip across his broad chest. He was scowling, which made his rugged face more threatening.
Lore knew that Nero hated armor. It went against his barbarian nature.
“Looking good, big guy.”
Nero made a rude noise. “Came to tell you that you need to get ready. Fight’s in under an hour.”
“I was about to head in.”
Nero grunted. “I suppose you have some tricks up your sleeve for tonight’s fight.”
“Always.” Spectators came to the arena for the show, and Lore liked to make sure they never walked away disappointed.
Over by the arches leading into the House of Galen, Lore spotted Madeline bustling along, talking with some of the kitchen staff. He stared at her, noting that since he’d seen her that morning, she’d changed her hair. Now it was cut off bluntly along her jaw line, the dark strands absorbing the sunlight. It was a businesslike style. He smiled to himself. Or at least she probably thought that. She probably also thought that it hid her femininity.
“I’m not sure I completely understand your interest in that direction,” Nero grumbled.
Lore looked back to his friend. “Madeline?”
Nero nodded. “She’s…cold, difficult, and broken.”
Lore shook his head. “We’re all broken somehow, Nero.” Lore thought of the family he’d lost so long ago. He’d been twenty, cocky, and thought he had the universe as his playground. Instead, his life had been destroyed, and there were still jagged pieces inside him that hurt. “Besides, she’s putting herself back together.”
Nero raised a dark brow. “She can be rude and abrasive.”
Lore chuckled. “A bit like you?”
His friend crossed his arms over his chest, his scowl deepening. “All I’m saying is I prefer a strong, fun woman looking for some good bed sport. Not one that will lash me with her tongue or freeze me with ice.”
“Easy can be fun, my friend,” Lore said. “But sometimes the good stuff requires a little effort.” He watched Madeline as she walked. She was waving a hand as she described something to one of the chefs. “There’s heat there, Nero, but she’s locked it up. She’s forgotten it’s there, and what to do with it.”
“So, you’re going to help her with that?”
“Yes.” The thought of being the one to help Madeline unleash her inner fire made his gut tighten. “I want to be the one to feel the burn.”
Nero shook his head. “Sometimes I can’t work you out.”
Suddenly, Madeline turned her head, and across the sand of the training arena, their gazes met. Even from this distance, Lore saw the flash of indecision on her face, then she set her shoulders back, waved to the people she was with and headed Lore’s way.
“I’m out of here.” Nero turned on his heel and stomped away, giving Madeline a brief nod.
“Lore.” Madeline reached him. “I was hoping to catch you before the fight.”
He spread his arms out. “I’m all yours.”
She stared at him for a second, before lifting the papers she held in her hands. “I’ve changed the party plans a little. I’ve gone with a bit of a water theme, since water is pretty valued on a desert planet. I’m also planning some entertainment during the party tonight. More than just music.” Her blue eyes settled on him. “I know that you like to put on a show.”
“Are you asking me to do some illusions at the party?”
She huffed out a breath. “Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Oh.” She relaxed. “Okay, great.”
“On one condition.”
She turned wary again. “What?”
“You act as my assistant for the show.”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I organize things behind the scenes, I don’t get on stage.”
Lore shrugged his shoulders. “Then I won’t do it.”
A flash of something hot in her eyes. “Lore, I’m not prancing around on a stage—”
“You want to help find your friend, don’t you? I need an assistant, and if you won’t do it, then there’s no show.”
“That’s blackmail!”
He liked seeing the color rising in her cheeks. “Your point?”
“Difficult man,” she snapped.
“I’m not, really. My mother always said I was a charming boy.”
“She was clearly biased. Mothers always think their sons can do no wrong.” Now sadness crossed her face, and he knew she was thinking of her son.