Page 31 of Champion (The Outlander Book Club… in Space! #6)

That left me to fight Pavo. The towering Romvesian stood at least twice my height, but his muscular frame wasn't intimidating thanks to the bond of friendship we’d built.

Our blades clashed in a flawless dance; each movement precisely choreographed by Adtovar.

To an outsider, it would appear as if we truly tried to harm one another.

In reality, the only thing our swords meant to injure were eardrums, thanks to the resounding clang of metal against metal.

“Let me know when you are ready, Lady Willa,” Pavo hissed, dodging a swipe of my blade.

I glanced over to where it appeared Adtovar knocked Xabat out with a kick to the head, leaving him to face only Cristox, who bled from a cut to his shoulder.

I’d been adamant that nobody get injured, but Adtovar convinced me that there needed to be some bloodshed for authenticity. With his thick pelt and the rapid healing abilities of his kind, Cristox offered to take the cut.

I let myself fall into the rhythm of clashing blades with Pavo again for a few minutes until I saw Adtovar take the upper hand in his fight with Cristox.

“Now Pavo,” I murmured.

The Romvesian towered over me, using his immense size to push me back with each strike.

I’m sure to the crowd, my defeat seemed imminent.

But I had one move that could turn the tide in my favor.

One maneuver he couldn’t defend against. The one thing that would signal to Nansar that his plan remained in motion.

I touched him.

With a gentle caress of my hand against his outer thigh, Pavo’s body reacted as if hit by a surge of electricity.

It was like watching a marionette controlled by invisible strings, his movements sudden and rigid.

His muscles tensed and jerked before he crumbled to the ground in a cloud of dust. He lay there, a heap of limbs and dirt, defeated.

Damn, Pavo should really get into the theater.

I spared a quick glance at Duke Ako’s box, my eyes darting past Pearl’s exuberant cheering to land on Nansar, who sat with a self-satisfied smirk stretched across his face.

Fucking asshole!

A deep, guttural grunt filled the air, and my attention jerked to Cristox. His body seemed to glide off the end of Adtovar’s gleaming blade, falling into the dirt with a heavy thud. All just a well-rehearsed act, but executed flawlessly, as evidenced by the gasps and screams from the audience.

Adtovar’s chest heaved with exertion as he turned towards me, his muscular form glistening with sweat.

He bowed slightly, a gesture of respect, before raising his blade, bloodied just enough from Cristox’s injury.

His head tilted back, and a fierce growl rumbled from deep within his chest, stirring the audience into a frenzy.

The sound of their cheers and screams echoed off the walls, sending a frenetic energy throbbing through the air.

With my feet planted firmly on the ground, I shifted into a fighting stance. My scimitars gleamed in the sunlight; the curved blades held securely in my grasp.

Adtovar was twice my size and triple my strength, but he’d taught me not to linger on my deficiencies but to play to my strengths.

I might be small, but I was fast. Which was why every spin away from the swipe of his blade or punch seemed realistic.

While our match was the least even-handed, I held an advantage that would make my victory believable.

Adtovar was an elder warrior. I simply needed to make it look like I’d worn him out… without wearing myself out as well.

We circled and swiped and punched and kicked.

Granted, I resembled a kitten standing against The Rock during most of the fight.

Yet, I persevered. I’d been a fit sixty-four-year-old before the aliens grabbed me, but with my young-again body and due to Adtovar’s training, I felt in the best shape of my life.

The clang of blades echoed through the arena, their metallic screams drowning out any other sound.

Adtovar and I moved in a fierce dance, our sparring moves practiced and perfected.

The crowd watched in hushed awe, their eyes following every calculated step and strike.

As we circled each other, sweat dripped down my back and between my breasts, the intense sun adding to the heat of our battle.

But I didn’t let it hinder me, driven by the adrenaline and determination coursing through my veins.

Every move was precise, every parry and thrust aimed with deadly accuracy.

This was a performance but also a test of skill and strength.

I saw Adtovar’s pale eyes glance toward the Duke’s box, followed by a roll of his shoulders and neck. To anyone watching, it was just the elder warrior setting himself up for another strike. To me, it was a signal.

He rushed, swinging his sword in a wide arch aimed at my head.

Just at the last minute, I ducked and spun, coming to a stop behind the warrior and delivering a roundhouse kick that hit him squarely in the spine.

Adtovar’s stumble and near fall were so convincing that I almost dropped my blades and rushed to his side, but a stern look from him froze me in place.

He limped forward, his broad shoulders squared as he extended his longsword towards me, gracefully lowering himself to one knee.

The crowd went bat-shit crazy. I glanced at the royal box, noticing Pearl lost in her own frenzy of cheering, while at her side, Duke Ako smiled and applauded. Behind him, Nansar skulked like a snake in the grass, a deviously smug smile plastered across his face.

I hope he enjoyed himself. I was about to slap that fucking smile right off his face.