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Bekn laughed, quieter now. “Ah. There he is.” He tilted his head, chains clinking. “You think this is justice?”

“No. But hunting innocent people isn’t justice either.”

The words sounded harsh spoken aloud. Ryneth expected the man to justify himself. To explain why he’d done it. Maybe even act sorry.

But Bekn just grinned. “You wouldn’t understand. You don’t seem like the cleverest of them, do you?” When Ryneth went still, Bekn pressed harder. “You really don’t know your prince at all, do you?”

Ryneth’s chin jerked up. “Don’t mention him.”

“Don’t mention him?” Bekn tipped his head back and let out a barking laugh. “Let me tell you. Before you landed in his lap, Daven Caelith fucked anything that looked at him twice. Pretty things. Dangerous things. Anyone stupid enough to think it meant something.”

Ryneth’s stomach dropped. Standing there, he felt like a target. Like Bekn had dragged him into the center just to tear strips off him in front of the whole arena, not the other way around.

“So tell me.” Bekn’s smile was sharp as a knife. “How does it feel being the latest body he dragged out of chains and into his bed?”

That hit. Hard.

“It’s not like that.” Ryneth flexed his fingers and cracked his knuckles. His palms burned. Static spilled brighter now, crawling over the backs of his hands in pale blue threads.

The nearest guard took half a step back.

“It’s exactly like that.” Bekn jerked hard against the chains, eyes blazing. “You were bought under lights like the low-class piece of property you are.”

“No.” Ryneth’s voice trembled.

“Gold doesn’t change what they put a price on.” Bekn laughed. “Out of all people, you should know. You monster. You freak. You want to kill me? Go on then. Kill me.”

The drums pounded. The crowd screamed louder.

Ryneth looked up. Through the blur of faces and floodlights, he saw the boy again, high on his father’s shoulders. Small hands gripping his father’s head. Wide eyes fixed on the sand.

Tavi. Tavi. Tavi.

The boy was looking right at him.

“No!”

The word tore out of him, but the skin over his hands prickled. His forearms tightened. His incisors started to ache. Pressure built at the roots, sharp and crawling, like his body was remembering how to bite. Power climbed under his flesh, hot and wrong and eager, answering every beat of his pulse.

Bekn was still talking. Still smiling.

But Ryneth didn’t hear the words anymore. He knew, dimly, that he should step back. That he should breathe. That he should let the guards finish it. But his body had already gone somewhere he couldn’t follow, all instinct and heat and the old animal panic of being cornered.

He stepped forward, and static cracked sharp across the sand.

The first lunge happened so fast the crowd gasped.

Ryneth crossed the space between them in a burst of blue light and teeth.

“Freak,” Bekn gasped, but he barely had time to twist aside before Ryneth’s hand closed around the chain at his wrist and ripped him off balance.

Metal snapped tight. Sand sprayed. One of the guards cursed and stumbled back as Ryneth dragged Bekn forward hard enough to tear him straight out of formation.

The crowd lost its mind. A roar slammed down from every side of the dome, loud enough to rattle his bones.

Bekn hit the sand on one knee and laughed through the impact, breathless and wild. “There he is,” he spat, blood on his teeth. “That’s the monster they wanted.”

Ryneth didn’t answer. His body was on fire.