Finally, the Speaker turned back to the pit, raising his staff.
"After consultation with the sponsors and our ruler," he announced to the audience, voice strained, "it has been determined that this fighter has broken no law of the tournament."
Boos and cheers collided.
Dagan was smiling. Not in triumph. In anticipation.
He rolled his shoulders slowly, neck cracking as he straightened to his full height, eyes never leaving her. There was a looseness to him now, not the sharp coordination he'd shared with his brother, but something uglier. Something eager.
She felt it immediately.
The way his gaze lingered.
The way the crowd leaned forward.
Ah. So that was it.
Zahra exhaled slowly through her nose and shifted her stance.
Let him think that.
The Speaker's staff struck stone.
"Resume!"
Dagan lunged, not with precision this time, but with something akin to cruelty. His strikes came heavier, wider, meant to overwhelm, meant to hurt. A fist clipped her shoulder, another glanced off her ribs. The crowd roared at every impact.
She retreated two steps, then three.
Not because she had to.
Because she wanted him closer.
Atem's jaw tightened. This was different.
He could see it now, the change in the man's posture, the intent behind the blows. The desperation in his voice when he asked to finish her.
This wasn't a competition.
It was indulgence.
Atem felt something dark coil in his chest — cold, sharp, unwelcome.
Control yourself.
Yet his fingers dug into the arm of the throne again as Zahra staggered sideways under another blow.
She didn't fall. She adapted.
Tadal's breath hitched.
Not fear entirely, but anger.
He knew this part of the fight. The moment when men mistook her revealed body for weakness. When they assumed brutality would win where skill had failed.
He trusted her.
He hated this anyway.
And the way that man looked at his precious daughter…
He hated that even more.
Dagan grinned wider when she stumbled.
"There it is," he sneered. "Thought the little lion would bleed prettier than the others."
She wiped blood from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.
Smiled.
Then she moved.
Not back.
Forward.
She ducked beneath his next swing and drove her shoulder into his centre of mass, twisting sharply. He stumbled — not enough to fall, but enough.
Enough!
Her elbow snapped up into his ribs.
Once. Twice.
She felt something give.
Dagan roared, furious now, and grabbed for her, fingers grazing her arm. She let him touch her this time.
Then she turned it into a mistake.
She pivoted hard, trapping his wrist, and used his momentum to pull him past her. His balance broke completely.
She swept his leg.
Sand exploded as he hit the ground.
The roar of the crowd faltered.
She didn't let him rise.
Zahra dropped onto him, knee driving into his chest, forearm across his throat. He thrashed, strong — stronger than the others — but strength meant nothing without leverage.
She leaned closer, voice low enough only he could hear.
"You should have kept your temper."
His eyes bulged.
She tightened her hold.
Seconds stretched.
Then his movements slowed.
And stopped.
The sound of Dagan's body hitting the sand echoed louder than the crowd.
Atem rose halfway from his seat.
She stood.
Unhurried. Untouched by doubt.
She didn't raise her arms. Didn't seek approval.
She simply looked up at the throne again.
At him.
And something in Atem's chest answered.
Not obedience. Not fear.
Recognition.
The Speaker's voice rang out, almost cracking.
"Maahes is victorious!"
The crowd erupted. Louder than before, wilder, conflicted, exhilarated.
By the gods. She had done it again.
And this time, there was no illusion left to hide behind.