The munera was held for many reasons—so they said.
Entertainment, first and foremost. After all, what stirred the blood more than wagering fortunes on survival? Nobles paraded their loyalties with petals of specific colors, flowers raised high to honor their favored free gladiator—the ones who willingly stepped into death's arms. Cheers, laughter, spectacle. Fun, wasn't it?
I smiled at the thought.
But beneath the music and perfume, the munera served truer purposes—ones rarely spoken aloud.
To humiliate the conquered.
To keep the poor obedient.
To turn suffering into celebration.
Because it has always been our nature to ignore pain—unless it dares to reach us.
The Colosseum held more memories than stone should be allowed to carry. I could almost feel a flicker of sentiment as I admired it—seventy-five thousand souls seated in careful hierarchy, nobles above, commoners below, beasts and foreigners beneath them all. Gods, the things I endured to have it built.
And the best part?
The fighting.
Men and women bared beneath the sun, stripped of everything but instinct, battling not for honor but for the privilege of breathing another day.
Anyone could be thrown into the sand: beast-slayers, temple slaves, debt-bound citizens, war captives, state criminals. The arena was impartial. It devoured them all.
'She's going to love this.'
A low laugh slipped from me as I turned away from the open archway.
'Does she truly believe she still lives in the Empire of Rivasha?'
I felt irritation thrum beneath my skin, sharp enough to raise heat behind my eyes.
'Oh, my dear wife. Queen of my four moons. Mother of witchcraft and blood magic.
Rivasha never taught you what you married into, did it?'
I scoffed softly.
'You are fortunate those children are mine.
Otherwise, today's feast would have been… unforgettable.'
With that, I returned to my queen.
The murmurs struck me first—hushed but venomous.
"This has never been done."
"The gods will not tolerate such defiance."
"He favors the common filth now?"
My gaze swept over them coldly. Let them whisper. I would not bow to rotting gods or traditions that served only the weak.
When I sat beside her, I turned and offered my sweetest smile.
"Well," I said gently, "I did all this for you, my love."
A pause. Measured. Deliberate.
"I hope you are happy."
She met my eyes, fighting to steady herself. Her spine stiffened, her composure snapping into place like armor.
"Of course, my sovereign," she replied, honeyed and hollow. "I am delighted you would arrange such an event for me."
Before she could drown me in courtesy, I took her hand—slow, possessive—caressed it, pressed my lips to her skin, then rested my forehead against her knuckles.
Her breath hitched.
She stared at me the way a maiden might stare at a stranger who had come too close, too fast.
'What are you doing?'
I could hear the thought screaming behind her eyes.
Not yet.
"You know," I murmured, "I would do absolutely anything to protect myself… our four moons… and you most of all."
Her gaze sharpened. She felt it now—the wrongness. I was being too gentle.
She tried to pull away.
I tightened my grip.
And smiled.
Trumpets blared.
"The most influential participants of today's munera are many!" the herald cried.
The crowd erupted. Stronger fighters meant better bloodshed, and nothing thrilled them more than a battle between seasoned killers. Gladiators were adored not for survival—but for how beautifully they nearly died.
"FOR OUR MOST BELOVED GLADIATOR—SER DUNKEN STRONG!"
The Colosseum trembled beneath the roar. Flowers rained like blessings. His name thundered from tens of thousands of mouths.
"Come, my queen," I said brightly. "Let us show support for my most loyal champion."
She grimaced—just barely—and followed as we ascended the platform, flowers in hand.
The sight of us together only fueled the frenzy.
Then he emerged.
A mountain of flesh and muscle, stepping through iron gates as if they were made for him alone. His presence silenced doubt. A man like that did not need explanation.
"Who do you think will win, my lady?" I asked, drawing her closer.
"I think," she replied coolly, "it would be more interesting to simply watch."
Her voice sharpened. "After all, we are here as the royal couple—celebrating your mountain."
The sarcasm was thick.
I chuckled. "You could at least pretend. I did all this for you… my beloved."
She studied my face, unsettled.
Then the herald sneered.
"And now," he announced with relish, "the weakest among them. Can he even be called a gladiator?"
The crowd leaned forward.
"Born a bastard to a fallen noble house. Sold into slavery."
He laughed.
"INTRODUCING—LORD ASTROS!"
Mockery exploded. Insults rained down like stones. His name was shredded, his dignity crushed beneath laughter.
The hierarchy was merciless. Fall once, and survival was no longer owed to you.
I felt her go rigid.
Color drained from her face as if the sun itself had abandoned her.
She did not speak. Silence clung to her like a shroud.
Gods, I wish she were always this quiet.
"Everything has a price," I whispered, my lips close to her ear. "Even love."
I smiled as her breath trembled.
"You must be feeling so many things right now."
My voice softened—cruelly.
"But you see… I find myself incapable of caring."
I turned my gaze to her fully.
"What I truly wish to know is this—"
A pause. Delicious.
"How much do you love my surprise… my darling?"