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W est mentally chidded himself for causing her to run off faster than he intended for her to. He also told himself to find her after her round, right after if he wished to catch her. He needed to figure out what to do with her before Altivar figured her secret out too and dragged her off for whatever secret task he was determined to involve her in.

As he found the Prince along the Gold Balcony tonight, he noticed that he wasn’t alone. The perfumed male sat on a cushioned couch that was raised to the perfect vantage point to see down in the arena. It was emerald green, with soft buttons that held the velvet fabric in place. Bulbous, citrine legs held it upright, with round cushions along the corners.

But across Altivar’s scandalously clad lap, which was spread out far wider than it should have been considering the very public company they kept, and the prying eyes that could land on him at any moment, was a younger boy.

He at least was over the age that was considered inappropriate, but the way that Altivar’s sneaking hand kept dipping below his waist was not. West was all for public displays of affection, but this was something else entirely. It wasn’t like the Prince held a relationship with the man anymore than for the evening.

Nor did he think the Prince would.

As West approached the heir, he could already sense the dread that knotted firmly in his lower abdomen. The conversation with Crimson already left him feeling all sorts of ways, but this was something else entirely.

Altivar rotated his diamond head to his left, barely glancing at him. “Ah, Captain, you came after all. And here I was wondering if you’d even show.”

“I had things to attend to in my apartments.”

“Forever busy, you always are.” He skimmed across the pale skin of the boy in his lap. “Why not take a break every once in a while? Enjoy all the pleasures and pretty things that life has to offer us ?”

West contained his disgust, but barely.

He didn’t care who ended up in whose bed, regardless of what was between their legs. That was for no one but those two to decide. Or three. He leaned more one way than the other, preferring females for himself but there was no judgement in any who sought out their pleasure in either sex, or neither. But it was the blatant way that the Prince used their statues as Saints without care or caution.

“You’re a Saint, too?” The male’s eyes widened, the turquoise appearing near sea foam blue with a curious shimmer. “Which one?”

“Guess, Torrhen.” Altivar bent forward and began to nibble on his ear, licking up the curve of it in a way that some might find seductive. “Look at his handsome face, the way his hair is almost as black as night . The way his skin almost shimmers with golden light, or how his eyes are the richest blue to ever be seen. Do you see the illecebrous stars hidden within them? ”

“The Northern Star!” Torrhen gasped out as the wandering fingers found something as hard as rock below his lavender skirt. It wasn’t like the Saints-damned thing was covering anything, considering how sheer it was.

“Correct. You’ve guessed right. Shall I give you your prize now?” The Prince murmured with the voice of a drunken lover, lowering his mouth to his.

West had seen enough.

Red Lyric would be up soon enough, if his guess was good. The last match had just finished, and the body was in the middle of being removed as the gate swung open and the announcer came out. If he wanted to catch her in the act, then he needed to be on the first level. It would be easy enough to demand access to the back hallway where the fighter came from with his status of Captain of the Watch.

Even if Grimm owned the Pits.

Their last encounter nearly resulted in his death, which was the reason for the scar that West bore on his neck. And why Grimm disappeared for a couple of years.

He zigged past the second balcony, finding the stairs to the first and heading down as the announcer spoke to the gathering mass of people that all held their breaths anxiously for the next match to start.

“You know his name!” Zion called to them all. “You know his colour!” Once again, that three syllable cheer began up anew.

Red Lyric.

Crimson Bard , West thought.

Red Lyric.

The rose petals began to fall again, as red as the fresh blood that had been split here tonight, as red as the more to come would be .

Red Lyric.

A twenty something year old girl, trying to survive in a cruel world that dealt her a shit hand from the get go. That was pity for her, deep down. For the girl that never truly enjoyed a childhood, that had to give away her life by the day for someone that should have been a brother, a sibling, not a son.

Red Lyric.

“Are you ready to witness another fast round?”

The crowd deafeningly screamed in answer, multiple versions of the same confirmation over and over again, until nothing else could be heard over it.

“Are you ready to see his one hundredth match?”

The yelling was abhorrent, loud and a parallel to a head wrecking ruckus that West had never heard before in his entire, immortal life. One hundred rounds, though. If he was correct about Crimson and her secret identity, that meant that she’d fought, and won, one hundred different rounds in the arena.

He couldn’t deny that he was mildly impressed.

He couldn’t even deny that she was more than decently attractive. Gorgeous, he even dared to think to himself. But that sort of interest wasn’t something he’d ever pursued, no matter how distractingly stunning the mortals were. Even half Saints, it wouldn’t end well.

So he never bothered to try.

Never wanted to try.

“I give you, RED LYRIC! ” The announcer cried out and whipped his hand towards the closed entrance. The gate rumbled open to reveal her small figure standing there, already palming both of her deadly knives.

West kept his eye on her, focusing as he slipped past a handful of people and into the gate before it had the chance to shut and trap him out. The metal bars swung shut and he watched from the inside of the darkened hallway as she started the round.

As quick as lightning, Red Lyric struck.

The clash of metal filled the stadium with cheers rising up every now and then as they fought. She dodged a well placed swipe from her opponent, who was at least a foot taller than she was. The man was monstrous in size, and for a moment, West became concerned that she might not walk out of this round alive.

His hands came up to the bars, grasping them lightly as she jumped back. Her footwork was incredible, almost as if she’d studied under the Warrior himself. Even the way she rode the breeze seemed to be stolen from the Saint. Red Lyric added a slice to her opponent’s face, a growl erupting from his vermillion mouth as he charged for her like a raging bull.

He almost cracked his large head on the guarding rail as she avoided his attack. Her legs moved and she was like a leaf in the wind, switching positions within a matter of seconds. The man stopped just inches before the wall, fumbling to brace himself before spinning around and hurdling for her once more. Anticipation was heavy in the thick air, reeking of sweat and mead as she hit his crossed axes. Her toned arms shook with something that wasn’t quite restraint but she managed to push him back a couple of feet with a thrust and a grunt.

A sound that was high for a man.

No one else seemed to notice, though.

West didn’t notice that he gripped the bars even tighter now. This match was taking longer than the previous one.

Was she struggling?

Why hadn’t she taken him down yet ?

There had been several openings that she could have, if she wanted to. He watched as she fell to her knees and rolled, just as her opponent tried to lop off her pretty head with a swing of his axe.

Lyric’s scarlet hood seemed to waiver with the motion, nearly coming off. She kicked the back of his ankle and he went down, losing his grip on both of his axes. She rose behind him like a stealthy panther. The black cowl only added to that fascinating illusion. He didn’t see her coming, must not have heard the footsteps as she approached him.

Fifteen minutes had gone by, and she still hadn’t finished the match. Money was being passed around faster than he could count, last minute bets landing on the massive male that scrambled to find his weapons. His fingers happened across the handles, and then it was all over for him. She leaped into the air, flipping her right knife around until it plunged straight into his back.

He let out a wet sound, as her other blade came around to his front and she jerked it forward. It bit into his meaty skin, down to the bone. He let out a fatal gasp as red sprayed and she slit his throat. With an extra twist of her wrist, his head came clean off. She released herself from the back dagger, finding her footing on the solid ground once again.

Applause burst into action as she heaved.

Her chest rose and fell with every breath she took, exertion clear on her face. Her name became a prayer on the mouths of the many above her as they all praised her over and over again. She bent at the waist, bowing before them all before walking over to the body and freeing both of her blades from his skin.

West didn’t need to see anymore as he turned and let go of the gate. She’d be finding her way down here soon enough. And when she did, he’d have words with her.

Crimson hadn’t expected the second fight to happen right after the first. A momentary reprieve, at least, but it seemed as though Grimm had other plans in mind for her as the gate rumbled open and a second competitor ran out. She barely had the chance to catch her breath before engaging in the second round of the night.

One that she almost lost, thanks to her lack of energy.

It was almost fifteen minutes, but her life was worth more than five extra crowns. Without her, Cobalt would have no one to take care of him. So when she couldn’t dance around the fighter any longer, she ended it. A well placed thrust of her knife and it was over. There was so much sweat that crested down her spine, over her face, through her leathers. They would need a good wash before she could wear them again without cringing.

Crimson tucked her blades away at her hips and made for the gate as it opened for her.

Grimm was there, waiting already.

“I thought I told you to make them longer.” He barked at her, folding one arm over the other on his chest. “That was hardly half an hour worth of good fighting.”

“You didn’t tell me that it would be back to back matches, instead of spread out over the span of the entire evening.” She fought back. “That’s not what I agreed to when I said I would make them last. Next time, break them apart or lose your best warrior.”

He laughed, low in his massive throat and held his arm out to her, a sack dangling from it. “Fine. Here. I hope four additional crowns is satisfactory since it wasn’t a full half an hour.”

“It’s not, but I don’t have any other choice.” She snapped. “Make sure to fill it all the way next time, or that will be the last time that Red Lyric steps into the ring in this arena.”

Grimm towered over her, a furious expression on his scarred face. “Don’t forget who owns the Pits, Red Lyric. I can make or break you, in a matter of seconds . Just because Zion schedules the matches, doesn’t mean that I can’t change them up at the last minute.”

A bucket of ice water dumped over her, chilling her to the bone as she took in his threat. But she was too tired to mind her mouth, to watch her tongue.

“And don’t you forget, that you need entertaining fighters for your onlookers. I can make and break you just as much, Grimm.” With that, she pushed past him and headed for the additional chamber off to the side.

“You’re up in four days, Lyric!” He added with a growl. She simply waved her hand in the air in acknowledgment and vanished around the corner as she turned into the room. There were five fighters along the wall, bodies pressed together but she avoided them all easily enough. She found her bag and tossed the coins inside before departing to find the bathing room.

Crimson felt sticky in places that she should never feel that way, and she wanted nothing more than to bathe but that wasn’t an option. Not when she had a shift with Roland in twenty minutes. She glanced towards the hallway, searching for any passerbys before having the chance to slip behind the door.

It wouldn’t do her any good to appear as Red Lyric one moment before shutting the door, only for a female to magically take his place as she came out. Especially not when they were the same height and build. Renfri would never spill the secret, but Crimson was still more than cautious down here.

She waited until it was clear, quickly entering the chamber and swiftly locking the door after it shut. The bag dropped from her shoulder as a hand clamped around her mouth and she was forced to swallow her scream .

His head angled against hers, whispering, “Don’t make a sound, Red Lyric.”

His breath was warm against her neck, and it sent the wrong kind of shivers down her shoulders. She gulped, forcing the noise down into her lungs as he huffed lightly and tugged the pin out of place. Her hood slipped from her head, revealing her ruby locks.

With a brush of his mouth against her ear, he murmured, “Or should I say Crimson?”