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Coward.Kaine’s illusion snickered, his lips just as evil as she remembered them.

Darkness swirled in her vision as he began climbing those stairs. Each step, her heart pounded in unison, hearing the thumps of his boots.

And she knew she couldn’t take that step, knowing too soon the wooden boards would morph into marble, knowing the pit’s floor would soon be redwood instead of dirt. That the splattering of the other warrior’s blood across the ground would become piles of red petals.

Alora slammed her hand down on the handrail, catching her balance when it began to sway.

Coward.Kaine spit again, drawing closer to the top, and she began to see the manor. Began to feel his hands on her back, ready to push her down and down and?—

“Hey, clever girl.”

The calming cold of an icy palm clasped around the top of her hand. She almost burst into tears, the darkness clouding her eyes. Taking a step back, she hadn’t realized how close Garrik was until she bumped into his body, a solid wall of stone.

It steadied her at the very least.

She thought she heard him curse, but when she turned to meet his gaze, there was a flash of concern in his eyes. “Have you eaten today?” His eyebrows crunched, and she felt his hand on her upper arm, then the other lifted, grasping her near buckling body from collapsing.

Had she been that unsteady that he thought her weakened by a lack of food?

“No, I—” Alora swallowed, blinking away the vision of Kaine waiting on the coliseum stairs. “I’m … hot.” It wasn’t entirely a lie.

Garrik smirked, moving to speak, but she snapped, “Don’t.”

Her attention focused to the new female standing beside Thalon, ignoring the gentle caress against her mind. Ignoring Garrik silently asking to allow him inside to speak.

“I’m Alora. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Before her eyes, the female who arrived in nothing but a long, white robe, tilted her head as if in critical examination. Before their eyes, the female’s skin rippled—rippled like Garrik’s when he transformed into the face of the Savage Prince so long ago. The female’s tall body shrunk, wings vanishing, and short onyx hair lengthened and lightened into luscious white braids, twisting into a crown on her head.

And where lavender eyes had been, now gleamed a hue of sapphire. And on her body, now rested battle-black Dragon’s training armor.

Alora was speechless, almost breathless, scanning the female.

Scanning …herself.

Thalon stepped forward with captivated eyes. “Isleen is a shapeshifter.”

“I gathered that.” Still scanning, still marveling. And as if in emphasis, the perfect likeness of Alora quickly shifted into a near-perfect likeness of Thalon.

Isleen’s form rippled again, back into her true form before she outstretched a hand. “It’s a pleasure to be here. Our High Prince told me much about you.” Lavender eyes flickered to Jade as well.

Turning to her, Alora noticed Garrik’s slow rake across her training leathers—tight against her legs and ass —and up her body, appearing uncomfortable before he addressed her. “EscortIsleen to Deimon’s company, and then you and Jade report to the war tent.”

But Jade was speaking with Thalon, who bounced like a faeling playing in mud to the edge of the pit. Entirely vibrating with anticipation when Jade pushed his chiseled side and snorted when he almost fell over the edge.

“Gonna get your old ass down there and spar with me?”

Thalon barked a laugh. “Old ass? I’m only sixteen years older than you,sis.”

“Then prove it,Grandsire,” she taunted back.

Garrik’s smile lifted as a High Prince would, and Alora couldn’t stop herself from wondering just how high that smile could go if he weren’t in the company of a recruit.

Then Thalon whipped his head to Garrik, forgetting entirely their company and forsaking proper formalities to a High Prince. “You going to get your ass down there, too?”

Breathing a laugh, Garrik insisted, “I am far too old for that,” and smiled again, this time a little higher.

“Unleash Michael! You’re only a decade younger than me! Now who’s the grandsire?”