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The attendant helped me tug the dress on, looping the fabric over my neck and crossing my breasts, leaving my stomach bare as she wrapped my hips in more sheer fabric and arranged my hair. All the other slaves were dressed similarly in an array of colors, each with a unique flower in their hair, their dresses, and sarongs displaying all their freshly waxed flesh. There weren’t any mirrors for me to inspect myself, but judging from the changes in the others, I wouldn’t recognize what I saw anyway. Gone were the waifish, dirty slaves of before. Now their bodies appeared toned and curvaceous, with plump lips and glossy hair.
“Line up. Quickly.” Carita demanded as she looked us over, her expression nowhere near as sanguine as before when she’d told Zija off for dismissing this crop of concubines. Aella walked to stand beside me, choosing her steps carefully to avoid jostling her new piercing. I clicked my tongue, my nerves getting the best of me, as Carita led us out the doors back into the hallway.
I followed our procession through the colosseum halls, noting all the turns, past the vendor stands filled with human ‘guests’ from all corners of the empire. The press of people grew thicker as Carita led us to the viewing platform opposite the royal booth, where we’d be displayed for the entire arena. Aella shivered beside me despite the blast of heat as we went outside and I gripped her hand.
Movement in the royal box caught my attention as a man clad in leather and bone armor stood, towering over the others. His black hair flowed loose on his wide shoulders, framing a face that didn’t hold any kindness. It was hard, outlined with barely restrained anger that promised pain and destruction to his enemies. His bronze eyes glimmered in the sunlight like molten gold as he made his way across the platform to where an Elf I didn’t recognize sat on the throne. Theron Axidor, the Marshal of this hell and my personal nightmare.
My lip curled as he smirked and I had to fight to keep from vaulting over the banister to attack him, regardless of the consequences. But I held back, forcing myself to think of the mission instead. This was why the others didn’t want me here. They didn’t believe I’d be able to handle seeing him again after what had happened.
I took a shuddering breath as Carita moved us into place on the viewing platform and Theron’s gaze settled on me. His lips twisted into a wry grin that made my heart pound in my chest, the urge to end him almost overwhelming. I glared back, unable to school my features to anything other than rage. My brother was right. I shouldn’t have come. And now I was going to get myself killed.
Chapter 2
Theron
Ipressedmylipstogether, ignoring Theodas as he attempted to impress the Emperor with tales from the front line. He flashed me a haughty grin as he sipped frostberry wine, a delicacy from Vechen that Rhazien had shipped in for this visit. As much as I’d been dreading the court descending upon Adraedor, my brother’s distraction for the last few months had been a welcome change. He hadn’t tried to kill me once.
“The Zerkir Remnant strongholds are tough, but the Niothe are making headway with me at their head.” The corner of his thin mouth lifted as he shot me a cruel look, his cobalt eyes locked on me, as if to drink in every drop of my impotent anger. I ignored him, stepping to the rail to watch the battle below.
Asshole.
I’d lost my position as Lord Marshal to Theodas Vennorin five years ago after I’d disobeyed the emperor and had been stuck here ever since, spending my days chasing slaves and picking sand out of my ass crack as I avoided Rhazien’s attempts on my life.
“Theodas hasn’t done shit for the Niothe,” Zerek said in a low voice behind me, his red hair glinting under the bright sunlight of the colosseum as he tossed a grape in his mouth. “He just watches from the rear while the Senthenna does all the hard work. Then he acts like some kind of warrior prince.”
Raenisa laughed dryly. “More like a court jester,” she muttered as her sharp eyes scanned the crowd. She hated these things almost as much as I did; always seeming more comfortable at battle than in court functions. She’d refused to wear a gown, instead wearing her golden armor.
“He doesn’t care about clearing out strongholds, only appearing to do so with few losses.” Our naval force, the Senthenna, had seen more battles in the last five years than centuries before under his command.
“Think he’ll be the heir?” Zerek asked, leaning against the rail as his hawkish gaze swept the packed stands. As much as he tried to separate himself from his family, the Amyntas’ blood ran true in him.
I shrugged, not wanting to dwell on it. “Who knows?”
“You and Rhazien have the strongest claim. The Vennorins are only married to the throne. The snakes shouldn’t even be here.”
“We all know why the She-snake is here,” Raenisa said with a smirk. I winced as the warrior fighting a taudrin lost an arm to the great lizard-like beast, ignoring Raenisa’s pointed comment. Another fighter sprinted forward with a pike, pushing the creature back into its pen. Atar’s hammer. What was Thanja thinking when she created these desert beasts?
The smell of sweat and blood filled the air as I looked around the Colosseum. Rhazien had spared no expense; showcasing Adraedor’s wealth at every turn—gilded armor on the guards, waving scarlet flags with the Carxidor sigil, and ladies fanning themselves with spider-silk against the desert heat. The arena was an impressive sight; a massive circle of sand lined with carved red sandstone pillars and topped by stands that seemed almost too high to reach. Vibrant mosaics depicting the Godsfall adorned the walls, and the stands below filled with excited faces eager to watch the bloodshed. The entire spectacle was absurd; a show of affluence and authority more akin to a game of chance than an actual way of choosing the next ruler.
And at the center of it all was Emperor Varzorn.
He sat atop a throne constructed from bloodstone and quartz, his elfin features stark against its glow. His jet-black hair was cropped at his shoulders and his golden eyes shone with an unnerving intensity. I shivered as his gaze swept over me, my skin prickling under the weight of his scrutiny. He was more tyrant than emperor; cold and calculating, but with an air of power that made even Rhazien take pause. Rumors abounded about his ruthlessness in court, with the murder of his brother an open secret. And I had the bad luck of being his sister’s son.
Varzorn surveyed the crowd before pinning Theodas with his stony stare. “Why don’t you join them? Show the court what you can do on the sands.”
His eyes shone with cruel mirth as he smiled at Theodas, whose mouth snapped shut before he plastered on a smile.
“Of course, your majesty. Trying my hand against these desert creatures would be an easy warm-up.” Theodas’ gaze darted to mine, and I sighed, ignoring his comment.
Varzorn caught the look that passed between us and his teeth shone in a smile that sent a fissure of fear down my spine. “No doubt these beasts wouldn’t pose a threat to the Lord Marshal of the Niothe.” Theodas inclined his head, not seeing the obvious trap he’d led himself into. Vennorins may strike true, but that wasn’t a match for a Carxidor. “Only our formidable warriors would present a challenge to you.”
“An excellent idea, uncle,” Rhazien called, striding into the space, his favorite concubines trailing behind him in a flutter of golden silk and horns. He always favored Inferi Remnants for his harem; said their cunts were warmer. “I prepared prizes should you desire an exhibition. If you’ll allow me?”
Varzorn gestured for him to continue, an amused smile twisting his cruel lips.
The crowd hushed as Rhazien paused at the edge of the platform. His bald head shone in the sunlight, tattoos snaking across his scalp and down his neck. Living in the same palace with him for the last half a decade hadn’t lessened my fear of him, only increased my cunning. Every day was a gauntlet, as he sought to eliminate the only other male heir with Carxidor blood, not that I claimed it.
“For the victors of today’s games, I have prepared a special prize,” Rhazien announced, arms spread wide. “A bounty of courtesans to reward the strongest fighters; each one named for a different type of flower. As you can see,” he gestured towards the platform opposite them, revealing dozens of beautiful Remnants with exotic eyes and luscious bodies, “they are a truly exquisite bouquet.” Rhazien continued, and I ignored him, grabbing a glass of expensive wine and tossing it back.
