Page 11

Slowly, the medic finishes cleaning the wound and bandaging it. He instructs me to keep still, but I stand, refusing to lie down on a pallet in this corridor like a beaten dog. My side still burns, but I can breathe without black spots dancing in my vision now.

As soon as I rise, a wave of Senate officials floods into the hallway, led by Ortem and Vaelen. They wear bright smiles that feel like a mockery of my injuries.

Ortem clears his throat. “Remanos Ironhide, you have saved Milthar from the orcish threat once again. The city owes you a debt.”

Vaelen steps forward, drawing an audible hiss from Mira. “And you, champion, have earned the rightful spoils. As we declared, the human is yours to do with as you see fit.”

My gut twists at the phrase, but I keep my voice level. “I understand.”

He offers a thin smile. “We expect you to introduce her properly to the populace once you’ve recovered from your injuries. A sign of your triumph.”

Mira’s posture stiffens, and for a moment I fear she’ll punch him. She glances at me, eyes flashing with silent fury. I hold her gaze, a subtle plea not to escalate in front of the entire Senate.

She gives a small nod, but the tension in her shoulders doesn’t ease. “I’m not some show animal,” she mutters.

Vaelen pretends not to hear. He addresses the assembly. “Let it be known that we will hold a celebratory feast in two nights’ time, honoring the champion’s victory. All hail Remanos!”

The officials clap and cheer, oblivious—or uncaring—of the conflict swirling around us. I fight the urge to growl at them. As soon as they begin to disperse, I turn to Mira, the corridor clearing except for a few guards and the medic.

She crosses her arms. “What now, champion?” Her tone drips with sarcasm, but beneath it, I sense the raw edge of exhaustion.

I’m tired too, but I keep my voice gentle. “You’ll come back to the estate with me. I’ll arrange quarters for you again.”

She tosses her hair back. “And if I refuse?”

I bite back an exasperated sigh. “If you run, the Senate will have you dragged right back. You know that.”

Her eyes flash. “So it’s either I submit to this charade or get stuffed in a cell.”

My chest clenches. “I’m trying to keep you out of a worse situation. I never wanted you as a spoil.”

She huffs a bitter laugh. “You sure put on a good show in the arena.”

“I fought because I had to,” I retort, wincing at the sharp burn along my ribs. “What else would you have me do? Let the orcs spill into the city, capturing or killing whoever they please?”

She doesn’t respond immediately, and I see the swirl of conflicted emotions playing across her face. I sense the remainders of fear, anger, maybe even relief that I won.

I cradle my bandaged ribs. “Look, if you want to remain free from orc hands, you’ll have to stay under my protection. It’s not perfect. But it’s the only way I can ensure they don’t try to reclaim you.”

Her eyes lingers on me without speaking at first, her jaw tight. “And this protection… does it come with conditions?”

My pulse thuds. I catch a faint whiff of her scent—something like warm desert air and a trace of sea salt from the city’s coastal breezes.

“The Senate expects me to keep you visible for political reasons,” I admit.

“But I won’t force you to kneel. I won’t make you serve me.

I only ask that you be cautious—stay where I can keep you safe. ”

She exhales a shaky breath, glancing around the corridor. “That’s still a cage.”

Anger surges, though not at her. “I know,” I say, voice rough. “But if you work with me, maybe we can find a loophole. Until then, I can’t let them see you defying the Senate’s demands. It would spark an uproar.”

Her gaze flicks down, noticing the blood that mats my fur, then returns to my face. For a moment, her eyes soften. “Are you?—?”

“I’ll recover,” I say quickly, touched by her concern despite her simmering temper.

The air between us crackles with tension.

Neither of us chose this. Yet, the weight of her stare does something to my pulse.

I can’t ignore the flicker of awareness that churns in my gut whenever I see how the sunlight plays across her cheekbones or when I catch the determination etched in her features.

A part of me stands on unfamiliar ground, drawn to a woman who has every reason to hate my city, hate me.

She looks away first. “Fine,” she murmurs. “But don’t expect me to thank you for winning. This entire setup is still vile.”

I dip my head. “Agreed.”

She strides past me toward the exit, a guard trailing behind.

I linger, slinging the hammer over my good shoulder, ignoring the screams of pain from my wounded side.

For a brief instant, I watch her walk, noticing the stubborn lift of her chin.

Even battered by captivity and scorned by the orcs, she carries herself like someone who refuses to break.

There’s a spark in her spirit that calls to something in me I can’t fully articulate—admiration, perhaps, or a desire to see her find freedom.

The medic clears his throat pointedly. “Champion, you should rest.”

I wave him off. “I need to speak with the Senate about next steps, then I’ll head home.”

He mutters a curse about bullheaded pride, but he can’t stop me.

I begin my slow walk back toward the colosseum’s grand hall, where the senators wait to finalize the aftermath of the duel.

Each step sends a flare of agony through my ribs, yet my mind buzzes with the memory of Mira’s eyes.

The distrust in them is a knife to my conscience, and the undeniable spark I sense whenever we’re forced into conversation ties my thoughts in knots.

It’s the first time in all my years as champion that a so-called victory has tasted so bitter.

The city rejoices, hailing me as a savior, yet I feel more like a warden.

In the arena, I can handle the clarity of battle: two opponents, one winner, one loser.

Out here, the lines blur. Politics coil around me like serpents, and Mira’s presence is a constant reminder that not everything can be solved with a swing of my hammer.

My hand touches the bandaged gash at my side.

The pain is real, tangible, easier to handle than the turmoil in my chest. As I trudge deeper into the colosseum’s corridors, another cheer erupts from above.

They chant my name again, “Remanos! Remanos!” urging me to appear and celebrate.

If only they knew how hollow that accolade feels right now.

I press on, telling myself that I’ll figure out a way to free Mira from this arrangement.

But as the Senate’s shadow looms, I suspect the path to that outcome may be more treacherous than any orc champion I’ve ever faced.

And the more I stand near her, the more I realize I’m drawn to something about this fierce, unyielding human.

Sparks flicker whenever we clash, and though it complicates everything, I can’t deny it ignites a part of me I’ve long kept contained.

For now, I steel myself for the Senate’s endless praises and demands.

My body screams for rest, but I push forward, clenching my jaw.

The city might view me as a hero, but I feel like I’m standing on a razor’s edge.

One wrong move, and I could lose everything—and Mira would pay the price alongside me.

I brush aside a heavy curtain leading to the Senate’s reserved chamber.

With every step, I vow that, no matter what, I won’t let her become a casualty of Milthar’s hunger for spectacle.

Even if it means fighting battles far more insidious than any I’ve faced in the arena, I’ll find a way to honor my conscience—and guard hers in the process.