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Melantha clenched and unclenched her fingers around Rharreth’s crown. Vriska was everything Melantha was not. She wore a sleeveless tunic, showing off her brawny, well-muscled arms. She sat straight, carrying a sword the size of Melantha’s arm as easily as if it were the small dagger Melantha wore. Vriska’s white hair was festooned with braids and woven bits of leather and antler beadwork. A true troll warrior, who would fight at the side of her husband.

But Melantha was not helpless. She would not back down. If she did, then she would make Vriska’s accusations true.

Zavni opened his mouth, probably to defend her again, but Melantha held up a hand, her gaze focused on Vriska. “I may not be a warrior. If I stepped into that arena, you would trounce me.”

As she spoke, Melantha drew on her magic, keeping it just below the surface. She leaned closer, then jabbed Vriska’s bared arm. “But do not mistake my inability to fight as weakness. I am not helpless.”

With the last word, she blasted her magic into Vriska. Vriska’s eyes flickered closed, and she slumped.

Zavni caught her, then lowered her to the bench. He glanced, eyes wide, from Vriska’s limp form to Melantha. “What did you do?”

“Just sent her to sleep. She will wake up in a few hours.” Melantha waved, trying to appear nonchalant. Inside, a part of her was trembling. She had never tested this ability apart from her work as a healer and that one time on Rharreth. But, she could use it to defend herself if needed...if she was close enough to an enemy to touch them.

A roar went up around the arena, and Melantha swiveled around to face the fight just in time to see Drurvas’s battle-ax score a line of red across Rharreth’s chest as Rharreth stumbled backwards.

Melantha’s stomach churned, and she returned both hands to gripping Rharreth’s crown. Surely Drurvas would not go so far as to seriously injure his cousin, no matter what point he was making. He was still a loyal troll. One of Rharreth’s trusted shield brothers.

As Drurvas swung again with his ax, Rharreth stumbled another step back, this time losing his balance and falling to a knee.

Melantha could not help the gasp. All it would take would be for Drurvas to miscalculate a swing, and he could easily separate Rharreth’s head from his shoulders.

But before Drurvas could change the direction to swing at Rharreth once again, Rharreth’s sword darted up and out, catching the ax and using the last of its momentum to send Drurvas off balance.

With his sword still locked at the place where the battle-ax’s head met the shaft, Rharreth came up from a crouch, the elven dagger Melantha had gifted him during their wedding now in his hand. He pressed the point of his blade to Drurvas’s throat. “Yield.”

Drurvas smirked, going still.

Melantha held her breath. Drurvas probably could jerk away from Rharreth, free his ax, and keep fighting.

But would he? He had made his point. Surely he would take this opportunity to gracefully yield the fight rather than keep pushing until he gained the victory over Rharreth. It did no good to anyone to publicly humiliate his king to that degree, not after he had already done enough damage by calling him out for a match.

“I yield.” Drurvas stepped away before Rharreth moved, showing just how easily he could break free.

The hush returned to the arena, as if the trolls were not sure if they should cheer over this strange ending to a tense match.

Drurvas swung his battle-ax so that its handle rested on his shoulder once again. He grinned and gestured to Rharreth, “Our mighty warrior, King Rharreth!”

The trolls surged to their feet, stomping and howling cheers and war cries.

Melantha frantically stuffed more magic in her ears, deadening the noise once again. She also surged to her feet and clapped, though she did not try to replicate the way the trolls were roaring and shouting.

Rharreth held up his sword and bobbed his head in something that was not deep enough to be a bow but was instead an acknowledgment of his people. He then sheathed his sword and strode from the arena, bounding over the wall to land on his feet facing Melantha. His mouth quirked. “You look like you were worried.”

“I was.” Her mouth was going dry, her ears heating in another blush. Even with his white hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and blood running down his chest from multiple gashes, he looked...he looked good.

He gently gripped her upper arms, tugging her closer.

Tingles ran down her spine as Melantha stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Even as she melted into his kiss, she rested her hands on his chest and called on her magic. By the time she stepped back, breathless, the gashes on his chest were healed, all except for the new, gray scars.

The gathered troll warriors had gone silent, and Melantha ducked her head, her ears burning, as she felt their eyes on her and Rharreth.

Zavni gave a whoop and stomped his feet. A few other troll warriors followed suit, and cheers filled the room. It was not as hearty as the cheers for the fighting bouts, but at least it was not a tense silence either.

Rharreth gave a wave, and then he took his seat on the bench once again, tugging Melantha to sit beside him.

As the cheering grew louder as the next two troll warriors sauntered onto the sand-covered combat floor, Rharreth leaned closer to her again, tipping his head toward the still unconscious Vriska sprawled on the bench behind them. “What happened to Vriska?”

“A lesson.”