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T his was it.

I’d faced death more times than I could count, but this time was different. My body was slowing, and my mind, usually sharp in these moments, was too focused on the pain, too distracted by the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me. The fever burned through my skin, weakening me and I stumbled. The crowd roared, sensing blood.

The fighter circled me, his blade gleaming as he shifted his weight from side to side, testing me like a predator stalking wounded prey. He was big—bigger than most—and every heavy step he took sent vibrations through the blood-soaked sand. His armor was battered but sturdy, his face hidden behind a dented helmet that left only his eyes exposed. Those eyes gleamed with savage delight.

I had no weapon, no shield, no advantage. My gladius lay several feet away, glinting mockingly in the low sunlight. My shield arm hung limp at my side, useless after the mace’s crushing blow. My breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, and my legs felt like they were made of stone.

The crowd roared louder, sensing the end.

The fighter’s lips curled into a grin as he raised his sword, the blade catching the light. He was savoring this moment. I knew that look—the confidence of knowing the kill was yours. I’d worn it myself countless times.

If I was going to die, I thought bitterly, I’d at least make him bleed first.

Dying wasn’t something I feared—death had been my shadow for years, close enough to feel its breath on the back of my neck. I’d faced it countless times in the arena, and every time I’d walked away, I’d wondered if it would have been easier to let it take me.

But now, with the sand shifting beneath my bare feet and the weight of the crowd’s bloodlust pressing down on me, I felt something I hadn’t expected: regret.

Not for the life I’d lived. Not for the men I’d killed or the blood I’d spilled.

For not taking Livia to my bed that night she’d come to me. I’d thought of it every night since, knowing it had been the right thing to do to turn her away, but at the same time, unable to banish the feel of her soft body against mine. The gentleness in her wide brown eyes as she’d looked up at me. It would have been a memory I could have taken with me to the Eternal Fields, a memory that could have kept me warm until the gods woke us once more.

I would still go down fighting. I couldn’t reach my gladius, but I didn’t need it. A weapon was only as good as the man who wielded it. If I could get close enough, I could take him down with my bare hands.

The fighter lunged, his blade slicing through the air toward my chest.

I twisted to the side, the edge of his sword grazing my ribs as I dodged. Pain flared, sharp and hot, but I ignored it. His momentum carried him forward, and I used it.

I threw myself at him, slamming my shoulder into his chest. He stumbled back, his balance faltering, but he was too big to go down easily. His elbow shot out, catching me in the jaw, and I tasted blood as my head snapped to the side.

The crowd roared again, their cries blending into a deafening wall of sound.

The fighter recovered quickly, his sword swinging toward me in a wide arc. I ducked under the blade and surged forward, grabbing his wrist with both hands. He was strong, stronger than I expected, but I didn’t let go. I twisted his arm, forcing his blade down, and drove my knee into his gut.

He grunted, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second. It was enough.

I wrenched the sword from his hand and drove it downward, aiming for the gap in his armor at his shoulder.

Pain exploded through my side as his fist collided with my ribs, the force of the blow knocking me off balance. The sword slipped from my grasp, clattering to the ground.

He was on me in an instant, his massive hands closing around my throat. I clawed at his wrists, my vision blurring as he squeezed. My knees buckled, and the sand shifted beneath me as he forced me down.

This was it.

My strength was fading, my body screaming in protest as I struggled against his grip. The edges of my vision darkened, and for a brief moment, I thought about letting go. About giving in. But then I heard it.

A gasp from the crowd, louder than the roar that had filled the arena.

My opponent stiffened, his grip loosening slightly as his head turned toward the source of the sound.

And then I saw her. She was at the edge of the arena, her sandalled feet already stained with the sand’s blood and grime as she ran towards me. Panic filled me. What was she thinking?

“No,” I rasped, the sound barely escaping my crushed throat.

The fighter above me loosened his grip further, distracted by the crowd’s collective gasp. His head turned fully now, following the direction of their gaze. It gave me a fraction of relief, enough to gulp down a desperate breath of air, but my chest was still burning, my body too weak to take advantage.

She didn’t stop. I thought at first she’d tripped, but she dipped down as she ran, scooping up an abandoned sword from one of the fallen.

“Livia, no! ” I bellowed, my voice hoarse and raw.

The fighter turned back to me, his face twisting into something between confusion and amusement. He looked at her, then back at me, as if asking, What is this?

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My chest tightened as she closed the gap, the gladius gleaming in her hands.

She was fast—faster than I expected—and before he could react, she raised the blade and swung. The sharp clang of metal rang out as she struck his sword mid-swing, deflecting the blow meant to end me. Her arms trembled under the force, the muscles in her shoulders straining as she locked eyes with the fighter towering over her.

I couldn’t believe it. She wasn’t just standing there—she was fighting. Her stance shifted as he swung again, his blade coming down in a deadly arc. She braced herself, her legs steady in the sand, and raised the gladius to block. The impact reverberated through her body, but she held firm, her knees bending slightly to absorb the shock.

My mind raced as I watched her. This wasn’t instinct. This wasn’t some desperate, flailing attempt to save me. She knew what she was doing. Her movements were deliberate, calculated. She wasn’t just trying to survive—she was trying to win. How had I never seen this before?

I forced myself to move, my body screaming in protest as I dragged myself to my hands and knees. My gladius was gone, buried somewhere in the sand. I needed to find another weapon, anything to help her, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

The gladius in her hands was too heavy, I could see that much. Her strikes were precise but lacked the power to do real damage. The fighter quickly realized this, his attacks becoming more aggressive, more relentless. He wasn’t just trying to kill her—he was trying to break her. Her breath came in sharp gasps, her arms trembling more with each block. She was holding her own, but only just.

The crowd loved it. Their cheers and shouts grew louder with every clash of blades, their bloodlust feeding off the sight of her defiance.

I hated it.

I hated every second of watching her fight, knowing she was one mistake away from being cut down. She was strong—stronger than I’d given her credit for—but she wasn’t invincible. And she was tiring .

Her opponent saw it too. He pressed harder, his strikes faster and more brutal, driving her back step by step. She stumbled slightly, her footing faltering on the uneven sand.

“No,” I growled, forcing myself to my feet.

My eyes darted around the arena, searching desperately for a weapon. A dagger glinted in the sand a few paces away—a short blade, but it would do. I staggered toward it, my legs unsteady beneath me, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. Behind me, I heard her cry out—a sharp, pained sound that sent a surge of panic through my chest.

I grabbed the dagger and turned, my heart pounding as I saw her struggling to block another blow. The fighter’s sword came down hard, the sheer force of it nearly knocking the gladius from her hands. Her arms were shaking, her shoulders sagging, her feet sliding in the blood-soaked sand. She wouldn’t last much longer. The fighter raised his sword again, his face twisted in a triumphant snarl.

I surged forward, the dagger clenched tightly in my hand. He didn’t see me coming until it was too late and I drove the blade into his side, aiming for the gap in his armor at his ribs. The impact jarred my arm, but I didn’t stop. I twisted the dagger, driving it deeper, and he froze, his sword slipping from his grasp. His body convulsed once before crumpling into the sand.

The crowd erupted, their cheers deafening, but I didn’t care. I turned to Livia, who was still standing, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her hands were trembling, the gladius slipping from her fingers to the ground.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I growled, my voice thick with anger.

Her eyes snapped to mine, wide and defiant despite the exhaustion etched into her face.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I growled again, louder this time, as I staggered toward her. My voice was raw, hoarse from shouting and from the fire burning in my chest. Livia’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath coming in sharp gasps, her face streaked with sweat and blood—not hers, thank the gods. Her wide brown eyes locked onto mine, and I could see the defiance burning there, as fierce and wild as the cheers of the crowd.

“I was saving your life!” she snapped, her voice trembling but steady enough.

“Saving my—” I started, but my words cut off as a wave of dizziness crashed over me. I swayed on my feet, my legs screaming for rest, my vision blurring for a moment before I managed to steady myself.

“You shouldn’t have been here!” I roared, louder than I intended, my chest tightening painfully with the effort.

She flinched, just barely, but then stepped toward me, her chin lifting in challenge. “And what was I supposed to do? Just stand there and watch you die?”

“Yes!” I snarled, the word tearing from my throat before I could stop it. “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do! You had no business being in this arena, no business risking your life —”

“And yet here I am,” she shot back, cutting me off. Her voice was sharper now, her tone slicing through my anger like a blade. “Alive. And so are you.”

I took a step closer, towering over her, my fists clenched tightly at my sides. Her defiance only infuriated me more, and yet I couldn’t look away from her—the flush in her cheeks, the fire in her eyes, the way her chest still heaved with exertion. She looked like she belonged in the arena, like she was part of it, and the thought made my stomach twist.

“You don’t understand what you’ve done,” I said, my voice low and rough.

Her brow furrowed, her lips parting slightly as she stared up at me. “I saved your life,” she said again, softer this time, like she was trying to make me see reason.

“No,” I snarled, leaning closer, close enough that I could see the droplets of sweat clinging to her dark lashes. “You risked my life. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened if you’d failed? If you’d fallen? If he’d turned on you?”

“I didn’t fail,” she said stubbornly, though her voice wavered slightly.

“Not this time,” I snapped, my voice rising again. “But what about next time, Livia?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but I grabbed her arm before she could speak, my fingers wrapping tightly around her wrist. Her skin was warm, slick with sweat, and I felt the strength in her muscles as she tried to pull away.

“You will not do this again,” I growled, my grip tightening. “Do you hear me? You will not step into this arena again. Ever.”

Her eyes flashed with anger, and she yanked her arm free, her strength surprising me. “You don’t get to decide that,” she said, her voice low and furious.

“I’m your superior,” I snapped. “I absolutely do get to decide that.”

“You’re not my master,” she shot back, her voice dripping with venom.

The words hit me harder than I expected, and for a moment, I couldn’t find a response. She was right, of course. I wasn’t her master. I wasn’t her anything. And yet…

I forced the thought away, shoving it into the darkest corner of my mind. It didn’t matter what I felt—what I thought I felt. It didn’t matter that the sight of her standing in the arena, defying death and the gods themselves, had stirred something in me I couldn’t name. It didn’t matter that every time I looked at her, I felt like the ground beneath me was shifting, like I was losing my footing in a fight I didn’t even know I was in.

None of it mattered.

Because she was a slave. And so was I.

There was no future for us—no possibility of a life beyond the chains that bound us. Slaves weren’t permitted to marry, weren’t permitted to feel. Whatever this was, whatever I was feeling, it had to stop. I grabbed her arm again, not as tightly this time, and started pulling her toward the edge of the arena.

“We’re leaving,” I said through clenched teeth. She resisted, digging her heels into the sand.

“Marcus—”

“Don’t argue with me,” I snapped, my voice trembling with the effort it took to stay upright. My vision was starting to blur again, the heat of the fever burning through my skull. Sweat dripped down my temple, stinging my eyes, but I kept moving, dragging her with me.

The crowd’s cheers were deafening now, their bloodlust shifting to amusement as they watched us. I could hear them laughing, shouting jeers and taunts, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was getting her out of the arena, away from the chaos, away from the danger.

“Marcus, stop,” Livia said, her voice sharp and clear despite the roar of the crowd.

I ignored her, my grip tightening as I stumbled forward. My legs felt like lead, my body screaming in protest with every step.

“Marcus, you’re not well,” she said, her tone shifting to something softer, something almost gentle. “You need to stop. You’re going to—”

I didn’t hear the rest.

The world tilted suddenly, the ground surging up to meet me. My knees buckled, and I collapsed into the sand, the heat of it searing my skin. My head spun violently, and the sounds of the crowd faded into a distant roar, like waves crashing against a shore far, far away.

“Marcus!”

Her voice cut through the haze, sharp and panicked. I felt her hands on my shoulders, shaking me, but I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t even open my eyes.

The fever was too strong, the heat consuming me from the inside out. My chest heaved as I fought for air, my body trembling with the effort.

“Help!” I heard her shout, her voice frantic. “Someone, help him!”

I wanted to tell her to stop, to save her breath, but the words wouldn’t come. My mouth was dry, my tongue heavy and useless.

The last thing I felt before the darkness took me was her hand on my face, her fingers cool against my burning skin.

And then everything went black.