Page 8

We continue onto a main street, weaving through clusters of onlookers who either wave or stare.

By the time we reach Remanos’s estate, my legs feel like they’ve marched a hundred miles.

The gate opens, and we enter the courtyard I passed through yesterday.

The fountain’s gentle spray is a stark contrast to the chaotic arena I just left.

A breeze stirs the vines climbing the wall, carrying the scent of damp stone and citrus blossoms.

Before I can slip away to the quiet of my temporary room, a deep voice resonates.

“Mira.” I look up to find Remanos standing near the fountain, flanked by two minotaurs I don’t recognize.

They both wear simple tunics, possibly staff or freedmen employed here.

Remanos dismisses them with a nod, and they hurry off, leaving the courtyard to us.

My escort also retreats, but not without giving me a meaningful glance that suggests I shouldn’t try anything foolish.

I cross my arms over my chest. “So, you’re done taking your victory lap in the arena?”

He exhales, stepping closer. The taut lines of his shoulders speak of lingering strain. “There is no victory yet. I still have to fight the orc champion in three days.”

I tilt my chin, trying to mask the conflicting emotions swirling inside me. “You’re certain you’ll win.”

“I’m certain I must.” His tail flicks behind him, a sign of frustration or maybe determination. “I won’t let the orcs march on this city.”

“And that’s your sole reason for going along with the Senate’s plan?” I ask, voice laced with skepticism. “To protect your people?”

He meets my gaze, unwavering. “Yes. And to protect you, whether you believe that or not.”

The words stir something within me—reluctant gratitude tangled with stubborn resentment. “I don’t need your protection if it comes with the label of ‘spoil.’”

He presses his lips together, struggling for the right response. “I’m aware that term disgusts you. It disgusts me, too.”

My chest tightens. I glance away, noticing the fountain’s water trickling over carved stone. I feel raw, as though my anger is a thin cover over a deeper fear. “If you hate it so much, why don’t you defy the Senate?” I keep my voice low, but I can’t hide the challenge.

His expression hardens, though not with anger. “I did. They overruled me. The orcs made their conditions clear. The Senate’s convinced we need to uphold every aspect of the old champion’s duel tradition to avoid insulting them. Otherwise, blood spills.”

“And that’s more important than how I feel?” I snap.

His tail swishes with renewed agitation. “It’s not more important,” he says quietly. “But it’s bigger than both of us.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. I take him in once more—his formidable build, the polished curve of his horns, the scar on his chest that seems to catch every stray beam of sunlight.

He’s not the monstrous brute I initially assumed.

If anything, he carries a burden that weighs heavily in his stance.

Yet he’s still the reason I’m forced to endure public humiliation.

I step closer, lowering my voice so the staff peering from the edges of the courtyard can’t hear.

“I stood in that arena, surrounded by thousands who think I’m a commodity.

They cheered, Remanos.” I bite out his name, not sure if it’s a condemnation or a plea.

“You talk about honor, but do you realize what it costs me to have no say in my own fate?”

He rumbles a quiet response. “I do.” There’s a painful sincerity in his eyes. “I’m trying to find a way that doesn’t end in more suffering, for you or for Milthar.”

A complex swirl of emotion churns within me.

I want to despise him for being the champion who upholds these archaic customs, but I also sense that he never wanted this.

My heart thumps an uncomfortable beat, and I realize, with unsettling clarity, that the tension between us is electric.

Enemies by circumstance, but drawn to each other by something that feels beyond logic.

He glances down at my wrists. “They healed? No fresh bruises from the guards?”

“It’s fine,” I say, though the skin is still a little tender. “Your guard didn’t bind me this time, if that’s what you’re asking.”

His nod is curt. “Good. You shouldn’t be treated like a prisoner.” Then his voice quiets further. “Even if the Senate insists you remain in my custody.”

Custody. That word drags an exasperated sigh from my lips.

I rake my fingers through my unwashed hair, which still smells faintly of dust and sweat from my captivity.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can stomach.

Being forced to stand on that arena floor while they chant your name…

it’s like something out of a nightmare.”

A flicker of remorse crosses his features. “I can’t change the city’s hunger for spectacle. But I swear I won’t allow them to degrade you again, if it’s within my power.”

Despite everything, I sense he means it. The sincerity in his voice tugs at something fragile inside me. I can’t afford to trust too quickly, but I can’t keep ignoring the possibility that he might be my only ally in this labyrinth of politics and tradition.

Before I can frame a response, Vaelen’s voice rings out from the courtyard’s threshold. “Ah, champion. Attending to your spoil so diligently?”

I jerk around to see the senator approaching. A few attendants trail behind him, carrying scrolls and small wooden boxes. Vaelen’s polished horns and embroidered robe suggest he came straight from some official proceeding. His gaze flicks to me, lips curving in a faint, smug grin.

“Why are you here?” Remanos asks, tension rippling through his shoulders.

Vaelen spreads his hands. “Why, to ensure the arrangements for our upcoming celebration are in order, of course. The Senate wants no mishaps.” He flicks a glance at me. “We can’t have our prized guest wandering off, can we?”

I bristle at his condescending tone. “I’m not wandering anywhere under your watchful city.”

He gives a low laugh. “Precisely. I’d advise you to stay by Remanos’s side. It’s the safest place you’ll find here.”

Remanos steps forward, putting himself between Vaelen and me. “She’ll remain in my estate. That’s final.”

The senator cocks his head, arching a brow.

“Protective, are we? Good. We need you in top form for the duel, champion. Our entire economy rides on a swift victory. Failure would mean the orcs seize supplies, farmland, maybe even—” He gestures vaguely toward me. “—this lovely little bargaining chip.”

I clench my fists at his blatant dismissal of my autonomy. There’s a cold, calculating edge to Vaelen that sets me on alert more than any chain-wielding orc. At least the orcs wore their brutality openly; he masks his with polite smiles. “You talk about me like I’m a bag of coins,” I mutter.

He smiles again. “Apologies if my words offend. But life in Milthar demands we remain practical.”

Remanos’s tail lashes behind him. “If you have no further business, senator?—”

“Oh, I do.” Vaelen lifts a scroll from one of the boxes an attendant carries. “Here are the formal invitations to the duel, to be delivered to the outlying provinces. We’re inviting various local leaders to observe. Please ensure your… guest… behaves appropriately in front of them.”

Remanos takes the scroll with a barely concealed grimace. “I’ll handle it.”

Vaelen nods, casting me one last lingering look that makes my skin crawl, then turns and strides away with his little entourage. My shoulders ease the moment he disappears from sight, though the knot in my stomach remains.

I release a tremulous breath and refocus on Remanos. “He unnerves me. More than the rest of you combined.”

“You’re not alone in that feeling.” His voice is grim. “He wields significant power in the Senate, especially with the Vakkak class. We can’t afford to antagonize him directly right now.”

A flicker of dread surfaces as I consider the political forces at play here. Orcs, the Senate, Vaelen’s ambitions—and I’m stuck in the middle. My gaze snaps back to Remanos. “What do we do next?”

He looks at me with a steadiness that suggests he’s used to carrying burdens. “I’ll prepare for the duel. You’ll stay here, under my protection.”

I fold my arms defensively. “I can’t just sit in a room for three days like a caged bird. There has to be something—anything—useful I can do.”

“Can you fight?” he asks, a faint curiosity coloring his tone.

“I can hold my own against bandits or smaller threats,” I reply, “but let’s be realistic. I’m not going to fend off an entire orc raid.”

His eyes narrow slightly, as if he’s evaluating me. “Perhaps you can assist me in a different way. The city’s been experiencing… irregularities. Missing shipments, sabotage rumors. If someone is weakening us before the duel, it could be why the orcs are so confident.”

I straighten, adrenaline flaring. “So you suspect inside collusion?”

He nods. “Possibly. But I have little time to investigate while preparing for the fight. If you truly want to help, keep your ears open. Ask questions if you can.”

I recall overhearing minotaurs whisper about stolen armaments in the courtyard.

It intrigued me at the time, but I was too consumed with my own predicament to delve deeper.

Maybe this is an opportunity to do more than stew in captivity.

“Fine,” I say. “Deal. I’ll pay attention, see if I can gather any leads.

Just… don’t lock me in your estate like a prisoner. ”

He studies me, a faint smile touching his otherwise stoic face. “I’ll grant you some freedom to move around. But the Senate insists you remain under guard.”

I grimace. “So I’ll have a shadow?”

“Yes,” he admits. “But perhaps that’s better than being confined.”

I purse my lips, reluctant to admit he’s right.

“Agreed.” My anger simmers, but I cling to the idea that this might provide a path to leverage or an eventual escape.

I pivot, glancing at the courtyard’s carved arches, noticing how the late-afternoon light is now creeping across the tiles, a reminder of how quickly time flows.

Remanos offers me a cautious nod. “I have training to attend in the morning. If you want to watch?—”

“Watch you fight?” I can’t help the wry twist of my mouth. “Why would I want to do that?”

The corner of his mouth shifts almost imperceptibly, as though he’s suppressing a reaction. “To see how your so-called captor handles himself in battle. Maybe you’ll realize I don’t relish this role.”

A swirl of uncertain emotions flashes through my chest. I want to reject the notion. Another part, the practical side, acknowledges it might be wise to learn how he fights if I’m to be stuck under his roof. “Fine,” I say, crossing my arms. “I’ll observe.”

He exhales, relief mingling with the tension in his shoulders. “Thank you.”

The single phrase is so simply spoken that it catches me off guard.

His sincerity is a jarring contrast to Vaelen’s oily politeness.

I glance at Remanos again, suddenly aware of the physical presence he exudes—strong arms sheathed in short fur, a powerful chest, the scar that slices across it like a silent declaration of survival.

There’s a flicker of heat in my face that I quickly tamp down.

I shouldn’t find anything about him appealing.

He’s still part of the system subjugating me, no matter how reluctant he is.

He steps back, giving me space. “Rest, if you can. Tomorrow will be another day of… challenges.”

I nod stiffly, then turn toward the corridor leading inside. My footsteps echo. Each one reminds me of the forced path I’m on and the precarious deal I’ve just made to keep my eyes open for sabotage. At least it’s something that sets me apart from being a voiceless victim.

As I reach the threshold, I throw a glance behind to see Remanos still standing near the fountain.

The waning sunlight plays over the fur of his neck, highlighting the contours of his muscled form.

His horns, curving forward, catch glimmers of orange in the final rays of day.

There’s a somber watchfulness about him, as though he’s carrying the whole city’s fate on those broad shoulders, and still he spares a moment of concern for me.

My stomach twists with an emotion I can’t quite name.

Sparks, perhaps, that I refuse to fan into a flame.

I turn away, determined not to let guilt or admiration muddle my perspective.

My anger remains, but it’s laced now with a reluctant curiosity about the champion who claims he never wanted me as a spoil.

If he truly stands on my side, even in the smallest way, maybe we can navigate this twisted labyrinth of politics and war together.

I disappear into the estate’s interior hall, uncertain whether the day’s events have brought me any closer to freedom or simply deeper into a trap.

The memory of that roaring arena and Vaelen’s smug grin lingers like a shadow.

So do Remanos’s quiet words, promising to shield me from further humiliation.

A swirl of conflicting emotions churns within me, fueling a spark of defiance that, for the moment, keeps me from unraveling.