Page 24

Alaysia

Slave attendants fussed over Alaysia’s appearance the next morning, their hands working through her red waves with practiced efficiency. She stared at her reflection in the polished metal mirror, barely recognizing herself beneath the elaborate styling and shimmering fabric they draped her in.

“Hold still,” one attendant muttered, weaving golden threads through her hair.

Alaysia’s stomach knotted with each passing minute. The championship match loomed closer, and with it, her fate hung in precarious balance. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her racing heart.

“Arms up,” another attendant commanded, cinching the silk dress tighter around her waist.

The fabric whispered against her skin, reminding her of softer touches from the night before. Heat crept into her cheeks as fragments of memories drifted through her mind—Dernin’s gentle hands, his whispered promises, the way he’d looked at her as if she was precious beyond measure.

“Your hair is particularly vibrant today,” an attendant remarked, pinning another section in place. “The champion will be pleased.”

Alaysia’s jaw clenched. “The champion hasn’t been decided yet.”

“The way you’re fidgeting, one might think you have a preference,” another attendant said with a knowing smirk.

She forced herself to remain still as they continued their work, though her mind raced with possibilities. What if Dernin lost? What if Bariv won?

Alaysia took a deep breath, trying to focus on the memory of Dernin’s promise: “I won’t let anything happen to you.” His words from last night echoed in her mind.

The attendants stepped back to admire their work. Alaysia didn’t recognize the woman in the reflection—dressed in flowing golden silk, hair cascading in perfect waves adorned with golden threads, skin practically glowing. She looked every inch the prize she was meant to be.

But underneath all the finery, her heart pounded with equal measures of hope and fear for what the day would bring.

The door suddenly burst open, and Marcella stepped into the room, her presence commanding immediate attention. “Out,” she ordered the attendants, who scattered like startled birds. “Now.”

Alaysia caught Marcella’s conspiratorial wink as she held the door, and then Dernin slipped inside. Her heart leaped as he walked toward her, his golden scales shimmering in the lamplight.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, even as she moved toward him. “If they catch you—”

“I’m not worried.” His tail curved protectively around her as he drew her close, his warmth enveloping her. His fingers traced the elaborate styling in her hair. “They’ve sure made you look like a prize.”

“I hate it,” she admitted, leaning into his touch. “All this finery feels like chains.”

He tilted her chin up, his golden eyes intense. “You’re just as beautiful without their decorations.”

He leaned down and kissed her. Alaysia melted into him, clutching the fabric of his fighter’s tunic. The silk of her golden dress rustled between them as she pressed closer, trying to memorize every detail of this moment.

Breaking away, she rested her forehead against his chest. “Please be careful today. Bariv fights dirty, and after what we overheard...” Her voice caught. “I couldn’t bear it if—”

“Shh.” His thumb brushed her cheek. “I can’t promise to be careful. A careful fighter is a dead fighter.” His jaw clenched in that way she’d come to recognize. “But I can promise you this: I intend to win.”

“Dernin...” She traced one of the scars on his arm, fear knotting in her stomach again. The championship match started soon, and she couldn’t shake the dread that had settled in her bones.

He reached for her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Trust me.”

Alaysia nodded, trying to draw strength from his certainty. The golden silk dress suddenly felt too tight, too confining, like her anxiety had taken physical form.

Dernin reached for her other hand, his warm grip enveloping both of hers. The touch sent tingles up her arms as he drew her closer.

“Four days,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “In four days, we’ll both be free of this place.”

Alaysia’s heart fluttered at the conviction in his tone. “If the warriors come when they’re supposed to.”

“They will.” His thumbs traced circles on her palms. “And when they do, I want to show you everything you’ve ever been denied. First, I’ll take you to the crystal falls of Nirum.”

She nodded, the golden threads in her hair catching the light.

“The water cascades down cliffs of pure crystal. When the sun hits it just right, it creates rainbows that dance through the mist.” His eyes grew distant with memory.

“Next, the floating gardens of Veridia—they hover above the ground, supported by nothing but air currents. The flowers there bloom in colors you’ve never imagined. ”

The tension in Alaysia’s shoulders eased as she lost herself in his descriptions. She stepped even closer to him, drinking in every word.

“What about the sea?” she asked. “I’ve never seen it.”

“I’ll take you to the Sapphire Coast,” he promised. “The water there is so clear, you can see straight to the bottom, even in the deepest parts. And at night, the waves glow with bioluminescent creatures.”

“It sounds beautiful.” She leaned into him, picturing the places he described. When Dernin spoke about Nirum, freedom felt tangible, like something she could reach out and grasp. “Tell me more?”

“There’s a city built entirely in the trees,” he continued. “The buildings are connected by bridges made of living vines. And the night markets in the desert cities—they only come alive after dark, when the heat fades. The air fills with spices and music...”

His words painted pictures in her mind, replacing her fears with dreams of possibilities. For these precious moments, she wasn’t a prize to be earned—she was a woman planning her future with the Naga she loved.

Her fingers traced the elaborate jewels adorning her neck, a painful reminder that nothing she wore truly belonged to her in this place. Her gaze drifted up to Dernin, standing tall and powerful before her, and her heart ached to give him something meaningful before his fight.

“I wish I had something of mine to give you,” she whispered. “For luck.”

Dernin’s tail shifted closer to her. “You don’t need to—”

“Wait.” An idea sparked in her mind. She reached up, her fingers finding a section of her red hair near the nape of her neck, hidden beneath the elaborate styling. “This, at least, is mine to give.”

She pulled small scissors from the wooden dresser drawer. With a quick snip, she cut free a lock of her flame-colored hair.

“Here.” She wound the silken strands around his wrist, knotting and tying them securely. The red gleamed against his golden scales. “So you’ll remember what you’re fighting for.”

Dernin touched the makeshift bracelet with reverent fingers. “As if I could forget.”

The door creaked open and Marcella’s head poked in. “Guards are coming this way on their rounds.” Her eyes darted between them. “If you don’t want to be caught...”

“Just a moment,” Alaysia pleaded, turning back to Dernin. Her heart hammered in her chest as she reached up to touch his face.

He leaned down and captured her lips in a fierce kiss that left her breathless. When they parted, she pressed her forehead to his chest again.

“I’ll win.” His voice held the same unwavering certainty she’d come to rely on. “I promise.”

“Go,” Marcella hissed from the doorway.

Dernin squeezed Alaysia’s hand once more before slipping away, his movements fluid despite his size. As he disappeared through the door, Alaysia’s fingers went to her lips, still tingling from his kiss.

The lock of hair around his wrist might not have been much, but it was hers to give—perhaps the only thing that had ever truly belonged to her. She prayed it would be enough to bring him luck in the fight ahead.

Marcella dabbed a final touch of shimmer to Alaysia’s cheekbones. The familiar scent of rose water lingered in the air of the small preparation room.

“There.” Marcella stepped back, examining her work. “You look absolutely perfect.”

Alaysia studied her reflection one last time.

The silk dress hugged her curves, its golden fabric making her red hair stand out even brighter down her back.

One section remained slightly shorter where she’d cut the lock for Dernin.

The memory of tying it around his wrist brought warmth to her chest.

“You seem different,” Marcella observed, adjusting a fold in the dress. “More... settled.”

“I am.”

“Well, whatever the reason is, it suits you.” Marcella helped her stand. “Now come on. They’ll be expecting you in the viewing box shortly.”