Cheers erupted so violently in the arena that the stone beneath my feet trembled.
That imbecile—Ser Dunken Strong—was a monster.
Astros was strong, yes. Young. Beautiful. Skilled in ways that still lingered on my skin long after night had passed. But I knew—I knew—he would not survive this.
Astros was far too important to be slaughtered like livestock.
My thoughts spiraled despite myself.
How did he find out?
I had underestimated him. A mistake I rarely made.
When I allowed myself the smallest glance in his direction, I saw it immediately—King Kharun had been waiting for this moment.
Anticipating it. Gods, he looked almost… aroused by it. The thought alone made my stomach twist between intrigue and fury.
For weeks now, blood magic had whispered beneath my skin, eager, restless. I didn't know whether to seduce him… or burn him alive.
Today, if I did nothing, Astros would die.
Ten fighters were released from each gate—forty bodies hurled into the sand like offerings. The crowd roared with every new face, drunk on violence. Even the weakest among them could overpower Atros. If the Mountain did not kill him first, the others surely would.
The odds were obscene.
I steadied myself. Someone with Kharun's past should have been cleverer. So he knew.
The question was—how long? We had only been married a year.
I inhaled sharply and turned to face him, my eyes narrowing.
"I am not fond of surprises," I said coolly. "Not this kind."
A sigh, then a smile—measured, practiced.
"Clever little bird, King Kharun. I suppose your reputation precedes you—especially those… distasteful things you've done. Seeing as you managed to—"
He cut me off.
His grip tightened around my wrist, pulling me close. Our faces hovered mere inches apart.
"Let us be clear, Zaríne Tihara," he murmured, his voice low, stripped of pretense. He did not bother with my titles. "This was never a love match. We both know that."
His jaw tightened. He was no weak man—but the absence of his usual playfulness unsettled me more than any threat.
"And we all have secrets," he continued. "Yours included. Blood magic that nearly bled the realm dry."
I smiled.
He was interesting. For a fleeting moment, I wished I had never fallen for Astros. He was weak. Even I could admit that. Kharun was more fitting of the position but he lacked what I needed most.
"I thought you would say something more thrilling," I said lightly. "Like accusing me of keeping Atros as a lover."
His expression went glacial. Something dark boiled behind his eyes.
"Whoever gave you that scar," he said, brushing his thumb along my cheek, "did a poor job."
His hand lingered. "Zaríne… Tihara. I took land of clay and returned it as marble. If you so much as threaten that, Rivasha will vanish from the realm."
Madness flickered in him. We stood far enough from the nobles, but our proximity would invite whispers. They would mistake this tension for desire.
Not today.
I softened my voice, slid my arms around his shoulders.
"My sweet," I cooed, "we've shown enough spectacle. Let us take our seats."
Our eyes locked—promises and threats tangled between us.
As we returned, whispers followed like flies.
"They're openly affectionate."
"Heavens, that woman…"
"No respect at all."
I met their gazes one by one. None looked away.
A pulse of red flickered behind my eyes.
Just wait.
The crowd erupted again—feet stomping, voices tearing the air apart as the Mountain crushed yet another man into the sand.
Chaos consumed the arena. Fighters turned on one another, blades flashing, bodies falling. My gaze darted desperately across the battlefield.
I couldn't find him.
Panic clawed at my ribs.
The king leaned close. "Have you chosen your favorite yet, my sweet?" His green eyes gleamed with mockery.
"Of course," I replied flatly.
"Care to share?"
"I prefer my pleasures private."
Then an idea struck. "How about a game?"
"Oh?" Lord Tahkar giggled. "Games!"
"A wager," I said smoothly. "If it favors you, you may claim any wish."
"I'm in!" Tahkar said instantly.
I turned to Kharun. "And you, my sweet?"
"And the terms?"
"Ser Dunken Strong will survive," I said calmly. "But he will not win."
They laughed.
"In my bet," Kharun declared, "he will be the sole victor. Our children will bear his name."
How I hated him.
Tahkar frowned. "And the beast afterward? You expect them to survive that?"
Cold realization struck me.
I had forgotten the beast.
"May the best man win," Kharun said.
I wanted him dead.
IN THE ARENA
Blood soaked the sand.
Ser Dunken Strong smashed a man's skull against stone, dodged a spear by instinct alone. Fighters swarmed him, but he carved through them like meat, red spraying with every swing.
The crowd lost itself.
"SER DUNKEN STRONG!"
My eyes searched wildly—until I found Astros.
He was barely standing.
Blows rained down on him. His nose broken. Blood slicked his face. A deep gash split his arm. His hand hung uselessly at his side.
I stood.
"Leaving so soon, my love?" Kharun teased.
"I'll return shortly," I forced out.
Then Atros was struck again—his body thrown through the air, crashing into the sand.
Dust rose.
And then—our eyes met.
My heart collapsed.
His face was ruined, streaked with blood and sweat, yet still impossibly beautiful. I wanted to scream. To run. To burn the arena to ash.
I had seconds.
If I hesitated now, he would die.