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Offering a careless shrug, Sinadim claimed a platter of fruits and cheese and rejoined his royal parents. “Ahmelek is a coward who prefers to fight from the shadows,” Sinadim returned. “Snipping away at his betters from a place of safety. It’s shameful what they say about his methods, but with a powerful wife indebted to me for her elevation, he’ll be forced into reckless action sooner than he meant.” A wife grateful enough for the gift of her elevated station that her sons would belong to Sinadim, too, no matter her marriage to that sniveling little weasel.

“That was not your place,” Hadim snapped, but stood, raising one hand to signal the females to prepare for battle.

Sinadim said nothing, knowing he’d done what he set out to do. That pushing harder now would only enrage his father and force an untimely confrontation.

The Heir’s hand fell, and with it, the show began.

Demure was the first to move. Her long limbs naked and oiled, gleaming bronze in the beating, merciless afternoon sun. She really was a beautiful thing, Sinadim mused, watching the grace and strength as she danced across the sands. Blonde hair plaited down her back in an elaborate twist, the gold of her tail sailing behind her in a high, proud arc.

But it was Teliah who had his attention. Rich brown hair slicked back into a single braid, she was still. Watching the younger female rush through the heavy sands. Motionless as the distance between them burned away, Teliah didn’t so much as bother to extend her claws.

Demure’s voice splintered on a magnificent battle cry, her claws flashing as she lunged over the last few feet.

Spinning, Teliah evaded. Her elbow found Demure’s spine on the tail end of that spin, and as if she hadn’t moved at all, resumed her relaxed yet defensive brace. Offered nothing but a cruel smile.

An insult scarcely hidden.

Seething now, Demure repositioned and lunged again. Fighting against the sands and Teliah at once with the reckless vigor of youth.

On the next approach, Teliah ducked. Jabbed. And came away with claws wetted by gore.

“First blood!” Hadim shouted, awarding Teliah three points.

Demure snarled, clutching at the back of her thigh, where four long slashes had opened her flesh without going deep enough to offer real damage or the promise of cherished scars.

“She offers insult instead of challenge,” Samina said, grinning at the elder contender.

Sinadim flicked a smirk over his shoulder and caught Balkazar’s eye. Adjusting his princely cock as his bloodlust began to rise with every blow Teliah landed. “She’ll make a fine wife,” he said, agreeing with his royal mother.

“Yes, and the kits she’ll breed will be the envy of all the clans,” Samina added, eyes gleaming with unmistakable greed. Her delicate mane flaring when she watched Teliah land another insult—this one across Demure’s chest.

One taut breast popped free when the straps of Demure’s shirt were shredded, and it was Balkazar’s turn to adjust himself.

Demure’s father snarled, glaring not at Teliah, but at his daughter for allowing herself to be disrespected in such a manner. Dishonoring their house and name.

Heaving for breath, the younger female slipped into a rage. Her mane fully risen, all hints of control gone, her tail bristled as she dipped and weaved. Trying to expose a weakness in her opponent, to bait the elder female into attacking properly.

Teliah held her patience. Displaying the sort of mature skill that spoke of her potential as a ruler. Wasting no energy fighting the sands, she let Demure burn herself out.

And when Demure was close enough, Teliah struck her final blow. Claws sweeping up, she caught the younger female under her jaw. Deadly hooks pierced straight through into Demure’s mouth, through her tongue and curled out, over her bottom lip.

Squealing, both of Demur’s hands went to Teliah’s wrist, she howled in pain and went still as prey. Helpless and impaled, mane plastered flat—instant submission. Eyes wild, her tail tucked between her thighs as she conceded defeat and couldn’t bear to so much as try to wriggle free.

Sinadim stood in a rush, clapping for such a casually brilliant show of dominance. That the elder female offered defeat without dealing serious damage.

“Well done, Teliah! Impressive, as always.” He grinned, the dregs of rut awakening as he looked upon the blood-spattered face of his new wife. The female who’d fought so brilliantly, and who’d lift the tail to take his seed and give him an Anhur legacy even the Nine should envy. “Ahmelek!” he barked, enjoying the throbbing want pulsing against his thigh. “Come and tend to your new bride, brother. She deserves a… gentle touch.”

Sniggering laughter followed his backhanded compliment, but Ahmelek’s face was a mask of pandering gratitude. “You honor me, nephew,” he said and hopped over the short wall and into the pit. Freeing Demure from those wicked claws, he scooped his new bride into his arms and planted a kiss on her bloody lips. Tongue laving her chin clean of gore and spittle.

“Congratulations,” Samina said and stood. Exposing the swell of early pregnancy, her hand cupped Sinadim’s cheek. “She’ll make a fine wife.”

Watching the royal entourage as they made to leave the tent, Sinadim’s eyes flicked to his father’s. An unspoken challenge simmering in the air between them. One that couldn’t be answered.

Not yet.

“Arrangements for her delivery will be made,” Hadim drawled at length, picking at a speck of lint on his sleeve. “She won’t be yours until the eve of her next season, and until then, she’ll be held in confinement to ensure her womb remains empty of impostors to the Karahmet bloodline.”

“I’m familiar with the rules of courtship,” Sinadim returned, watching Teliah’s kin as they swept her up. Congratulating her. Calling for drink.