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Alora’s eyes snapped behind his head in time to see the female Mystic become swallowed in Smokeshadows with a shrillscream. The High Prince never flinched. Never took his eyes from hers.

Garrik gripped the hilt, leather groaning under his grip. “Get the fuck out of the arena.” His deep voice was laced with the burning intensity of the stars themselves. Almost unrecognizable.

The sword retreated from her throat. Blackened eyes flickered to the last fighter with unfathomable rage.

Alora rushed to her feet. She raised her palm, begging her magic to pull the sword from his grasp before striking down the last opponent.

The sword did nothing more than flinch.

He whirled around and growled inside her mind,What the fuck did I say?

Refuse to surrender, remember?Alora snapped back.

But a wall of shadow and smoke blasted toward her. Tendrils licked at her boots and crawled up her legs until she was completely engulfed. Swirling silver clouds and ash began to turn her into shadows, into nothingness.

No.Alora’s body felt light, the High Prince’s power tearing at her being, dawning her from the arena.

With a fisted hand, Alora opened her arms. Shadows shook in an unnatural movement, slowing their intense surge around her.

Embers warmed in her palms as she opened clenched fists and burned with glowing intensity.

Smokeshadows burst from her body in an explosion of fiery power.

Sapphire eyes blazed into a winter sky’s glow.

“Hey!” she screamed to draw his attention, white flames dancing in her palms.

Darkened abyss glared back over his shoulder.

I warned you.Garrik turned toward her and lifted his hand with a murderous smile.Yield.

Never.

Before his Smokeshadows could enclose around her neck, Alora unleashed a blast of fire, and glistening sparks barreled toward the High Prince. The inferno circled him—and his shadows. A cage for a beast.

She panted with the pulse of flames, his shadows never relenting in their unpredictable destruction of her fire.

The final fighter took his chance. With Alora’s help, a small window in the flames opened. Enough room for him to maneuver his way inside.

Victory in his eyes. He swung his sword high.

Garrik’s head turned in time to counteract with his weapon, knocking the warrior down. His blade touched the flesh of the male’s throat, ending the last round of the competition.

The Savage Prince won.

Six of theseven victors entered the arena. Garrik stood, arms crossed, on the platform, and nodded. The final round continued without him.

One by one, they each fell and surrendered. By the end, Thalon and Jade remained.

Their swords clanged in a shower of sparks and screaming iron. Alora watched in nervous curiosity as to whose threat would become denouement; Jade with her fiery red hair in the dirt or Thalon thrown into the lake.

Hopefully Jade.What she would give to see Jade at the end of Thalon’s sword, in front of everyone. The thought tasted like a sweet, juicy apple, perfect and entirely satiating.

Jade danced. Her feet were rhythmic—calculated—precise.

Though Alora hated to admit it—beautiful.

Her fighting was art. Painted by an awful creature of hate and the worst death glare anyone had ever seen. Jade appeared as if she could dance on air. Spinning, twirling, contorting her body in graceful ways that worked to her advantage as she fought off Thalon.