Page 44

A fresh wave of resolve ignites. With a guttural snarl, I plant my hooves, ramming forward, using every ounce of will left.

Korsa’s eyes widen as I break the horn-lock, swinging my axe in a brutal arc.

He tries to parry, but I shift my angle mid-swing, slamming the blade into his shoulder guard.

The impact jars me, rattling my bones, but it tears through the armor’s seam.

Blood spurts, and Korsa staggers with a pained roar.

The stands explode in a deafening uproar.

I hold my ground, panting. Korsa clutches his shoulder, glaive drooping.

This is my chance. Despite screaming pain, I lunge, hooking the axe’s head behind his blade.

With a sudden wrench, I disarm him, sending the glaive spinning across the sand.

Korsa stumbles, eyes wild. He tries to raise a fist, but I slam the axe’s haft into his ribs. He gasps, doubling over.

One final blow is all it takes. I bring the axe down in a sweeping strike, feeling metal bite flesh.

Korsa collapses to the sand, blood blooming around him.

He tries to speak but only coughs, breath rattling.

The crowd hushes, awe mingled with horror.

My heart pounds, adrenaline surging. I stand over him, chest heaving, blood trickling down my flanks.

The champion’s eyes roll back, and he goes still. It’s over.

An immediate wave of noise engulfs the arena—some cheer, some cry out in shock.

My horns hum, body trembling with exertion.

I sense Thakur up in the stands, face twisted in disbelief.

My vision swims as I step back, letting the battered remains of my axe hang at my side.

The champion lies unmoving in a widening pool of crimson.

The herald stumbles forward, voice echoing.

“The Senate’s champion has fallen! The Warden stands victorious!

” The stands erupt with ear-splitting cheers or jeers, but I barely hear them.

My entire body wants to collapse. Yet I force my battered limbs to remain upright.

I scan the seats for Naeva, my chest tight with desperate need to see her safe.

She’s there, face streaked with tears, a tremulous smile blossoming as relief surges.

I catch her eye, inclining my head. Her lips form my name, though the roar drowns it out.

The sight of her relief fuels me. I turn, setting my axe’s butt into the sand for support, and lift my horns high. The hush returns, anticipation thick.

I gather breath, voice resonating. “Thakur accused me. Claimed I was unfit. This duel proves otherwise. I will not kneel to false Senate charges.” My horns angle, scanning the crowd.

“My brand stands. Naeva— my prisoner— is not a traitor. She’s under the crest of House Rhek’tal, and no Senate decree can alter that. ”

Thakur leaps to his feet in his seat, stammering protests, but the crowd’s roar drowns him. Some boo, others cheer me on. The herald tries to maintain order. The Senate’s watchers are forced to acknowledge the arena’s verdict.

I keep moving, pushing past the sharp pull beneath my ribcage.

“I reject Thakur’s demand to remove me from command.

I remain Warden, but do not call me a senator.

” My voice resonates in the stunned silence.

“I renounce any further illusions of Senate ties. The Bastion is my charge, not the Senate’s puppet show. ”

A shockwave of murmurs surges. Some senators appear outraged, but they cannot deny the arena’s final word. A new chant rises from the stands, praising the Warden who defied Thakur. My chest burns, fatigue threatening to buckle my knees, but I stand tall, refusing to show weakness.

Then I fix my eyes on Naeva’s vantage point, lifting an arm to beckon her forward. The hush intensifies. She steps onto the edge of the stands, uncertain, the guard behind her. My breath shivers. I speak, voice hoarse but resolute, letting the entire arena hear.

“This brand is not just a legal bond—it’s a vow. I claim Naeva not as prisoner, but as lifemate. She fought for me, saved me from poison, and stands at my side by choice. I stand at hers. Anyone who challenges that stands against House Rhek’tal.”

The stands erupt anew, half in cheers, half in shock. Thakur sputters, flanked by senators who shuffle uneasily. Davor, near the front rows, looks stunned, but then nods with approval. A wave of relief floods me, though exhaustion gnaws at my bones.

Naeva presses a trembling hand to her lips, tears glinting.

I sense her disbelief. The brand might have started as forced protection, but it’s become something deeper.

A vow we forged in secret, now laid bare before the Bastion.

My horns tingle with the finality of it.

We can’t hide. The entire fortress sees.

The herald tries to maintain order, stammering the official results.

“Warden Saru Rhek’tal is victor! Thakur is overruled.

The crest stands, the prisoner’s charges nullified!

” The crowd roars again, releasing tension built for days.

Some fling hats or cups in celebration. Others glower, evidently loyal to Thakur, but unable to contradict minotaur tradition.

I breathe, letting my gaze linger on Naeva.

She presses her fist to her chest, returning my vow with silent emotion.

My limbs shake, blood trickling from multiple cuts.

Adrenaline fades, leaving me unsteady. But triumph warms me.

We’ve defied Thakur, saved her from execution, and reaffirmed the Bastion’s code.

Guards rush in to secure the champion’s body, while Davor enters the arena with a proud salute. He helps me remain upright, steadying me. I grunt in thanks, chest burning. He dips his head. “Well fought, Warden. Thakur is forced to slink away in disgrace. Word is the Senate may exile him.”

“Good,” I rasp, horns drooping. “He’ll trouble us no more.”

Davor nods, supporting my weight as we head toward the exit.

The crowd parts, some reaching to clap my shoulder or cry out congratulations.

They blur from focus as I lock onto Naeva—she darts through the stands, heading for the passageway that drops into the arena’s lower tier. I limp after her, pain forgotten.

At last, we converge in a dim corridor beneath the seats, the dust-laden air swirling with the day’s heat. She pushes past a few onlookers, tears streaking her face. I cast aside Davor’s help, stumbling to her. She catches me around the waist, breath hitching.

“You’re alive,” she whispers, voice trembling with relief.

I nod, pressing my forehead to hers. “I told you. I’d fight for us.”

She breaks into fresh tears, lips trembling. “You were so close to— I thought…”

I hush her, arms wrapping around her slender frame.

Blood drips from my side, but I ignore it, letting the closeness steady me.

The crowd’s roar muffles in the corridor, leaving only our ragged breathing.

She clutches my neck, and I hold her, horns angled protectively.

My entire body pulses with exhaustion, yet I stand firm, refusing to collapse.

She saved me from poison, I overcame the champion— together, we shattered Thakur’s plan.

Footsteps echo behind us. Davor coughs lightly, half-smiling. “Warden, we should get you to the healers. You’re losing blood, again.”

I let out a pained chuckle, nodding. Naeva presses her lips to my chest, voice muffled. “We can’t make a habit of this,” she says, half-laughing, half-sobbing.

I hush her, ignoring the ache. “No more. We ended it.”

She lifts her tear-streaked face, eyes shining. “You declared me lifemate.”

I swallow, horns tilting. “I meant it. If… if you accept.”

Emotion wars on her face, relief and love warring with disbelief. Then she exhales, nodding slowly, tears slipping anew. “I accept. Always.”

My throat tightens. The brand on her arm glints in the dim corridor, a symbol of forced beginnings turned into chosen vow.

Davor intervenes, guiding us toward a quieter passage.

Guards form a respectful circle, letting us pass.

My breath comes in shallow gasps, each step jarring my cuts.

Naeva practically supports me by the waist, though she’s half my size.

I sense her ferocity, refusing to let me fall.

We exit into the Bastion’s main corridor, where the hush intensifies.

Onlookers part like waves, some cheering, some stunned.

Whispers about the brand, the vow, lifemates.

I pay them no mind, arms locked around Naeva.

The day’s ordeal ends with Thakur’s downfall.

We have no illusions that politics vanish, but we stand on firmer ground.

Soon enough, we reach the infirmary, already braced for my arrival.

The staff gasps at the torn flesh along my flank and battered armor.

Naeva helps lower me onto a cot, then steps aside, letting the healers scurry in.

She waits at the edge, a handful of Bastion officers near her.

The old minotaur healer from before snarls that I’m a fool for fighting so soon after the last injury, but sets to work. I grin wearily.

Blood loss makes my mind hazy. I let them stitch me again, each tug a reminder of the champion’s near-lethal skill. But I overcame him for her sake, for ours. Once the worst is bound, I wave off extra fuss. “I’m fine,” I mutter, voice thick with fatigue.

They clear away, revealing Naeva stepping forward, eyes brimming with relief. My chest tightens with longing, ignoring the staff’s presence. She moves to my side, rests a cautious hand on the fresh bandage. “Does it hurt terribly?”

I let out a strained laugh. “Hurts like a thousand stings, but it’s worth it.” I cradle her fingers, pushing past the scratch in my throat. “You’re safe.”

Her lips tremble, a tear escaping. “Yes,” she whispers.

She bows her head, pressing it to my shoulder.

My horns droop, pressing my brow to hers.

We breathe in tandem, letting the battered hush envelop us.

The brand on her arm glistens in the lantern glow.

A vow reaffirmed not by forced code, but by choice.

The officers stand at a polite distance, some sharing relieved smiles.

Davor reenters, clearing his throat. “Warden, the Senate’s official decree has arrived.

Thakur is exiled from Bastion affairs, recognized as a traitor to House Rhek’tal.

No further charges stand against you or your… lifemate. Congratulations.”

My heart warms at that word: lifemate. I meet Naeva’s gaze, finding a reflection of my own mixture of relief and exhausted joy. She sags in silent gratitude. We’ve fought so hard for this outcome. My horns hum with the sense that we’ve found victory, if not final peace.

Davor departs, leaving us in the hush of after-battle. I grip Naeva’s hand, voice cracking. “I disclaim any Senate seat. I want no part of politics. The Bastion is enough for me, for us.”

She nods, tears glinting again. “I’d follow you, but I’d prefer no more duels,” she jokes softly, though her voice wobbles.

I laugh, then wince at the sting in my ribs. “Agreed.” My thumb grazes her scabbed crest. “We have a future beyond forced codes. Maybe a home by the sea, if we want it.”

Her eyes light with hope. “A home free from the Senate’s glare.”

“We’ll shape it,” I murmur. “But first, let me heal.”

She laughs softly, brushing hair from her face. “Yes, heal. Stop nearly dying, or I’ll truly kill you.”

I grin, ignoring the dryness in my throat.

The infirmary staff lingers, politely waiting to see if I need more attention.

My head feels light from blood loss and relief.

But the anchor of Naeva’s presence steadies me.

We won. Thakur is exiled, the Senate forced to concede.

No more challenges. The brand we once loathed is now our rallying cry for a new beginning.

I slump deeper onto the cot, letting weariness claim me.

Naeva leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to my brow.

My heart swells. The entire fortress can watch, or gossip, or call it scandal.

I don’t care. The vow we forged in private is now a public statement: we stand as lifemates, beyond the old shackles.

Even if battles remain, we overcame this darkest hour.

As the infirmary dims with the hush of late afternoon, I let my eyes drift shut, exhaustion dragging me under.

Naeva’s small hand remains in mine, warm and firm.

I dream of a sea-swept cliff, a home carved into the rocks, free from Senate games.

And in that dream, she stands beside me, brand no longer a cage but a bond we chose.

Thakur might gather allies from afar, but his power here is shattered.

The Senate will think twice before challenging us again.

We emerged from the war within battered but unbroken, forging a vow deeper than forced marks or old codes.

Let the Bastion remember the day a wounded Warden slayed the Senate champion for the life of a once-condemned prisoner— now his lifemate.

Yes, let them remember. I drift into a heavy sleep, lulled by the sense of Naeva’s breath close to my ear, her heartbeat echoing mine, the brand knitting us in a vow that no Senate decree can sever.