POV: Ravenna
The arena was packed.
I'd never seen it this full. Every noble in Cindravale had come, along with what looked like half the common population. They filled the stone seats in a sea of red and black and copper, their voices a constant roar of anticipation.
Everyone wanted to witness this. A trial by combat for the princess's hand. A fight to the death.
Like we were entertainment. Like this was a GAME.
I sat in the royal box beside Father, my spine straight and my hands clenched so tight in my lap that my nails were cutting into my palms. I'd changed into formal dress—deep crimson gown that matched Cindravale's colors, heavy silk that weighed on my shoulders.
My hair was pinned up with golden dragon ornaments that dug into my scalp. Every inch the perfect princess.
But inside I was screaming.
Solace was with me, her small form perched on the edge of the box, her silver-white scales catching the afternoon sun. She was keening softly, a sound only I could hear through our bond, desperate and afraid.
Her mate was about to fight. Possibly die.
"He'll be fine," I whispered to her. Or to myself. Hard to tell anymore where she ended and I began.
Father said nothing. Just stared down at the arena with an expression I couldn't read. Stone-faced. Unreadable.
Theron and Lucien stood at opposite ends of the sandy pit. Theron in dark leather armor, his face carved from stone. Lucien in polished silver that gleamed like a promise.
They couldn't have looked more different.
Master Veyron walked to the center of the arena, his voice magically amplified to reach every seat.
"Trial by combat!" he announced, and the crowd roared. "Theron, The Warrior of Cindravale versus Lucien of House Ashford. Combat continues until surrender or death. Dragon form is required. No interference from others. Any violation of these rules results in immediate execution."
The crowd roared louder. Bloodthirsty.
I felt sick.
"Do both combatants acknowledge the rules?" Veyron demanded.
"I do," Lucien said, his voice carrying clear and confident.
"I do," Theron said quietly. But even quiet, his voice reached every corner of that arena. Steady. Unshakeable.
Veyron stepped back. Raised his hand. The crowd went silent in one breathless moment.
"Begin!"
The shift happened simultaneously.
Lucien's dragon materialized first—light orange with golden undertones, sleek and well-maintained, built for speed. Beautiful in a conventional way. The kind of dragon nobles bred for.
Then Havoc appeared and the entire arena seemed to hold its breath.
He was massive. Red-black scales that looked like they'd been forged in a volcano, scars crisscrossing his hide like a map of every battle he'd survived. Black warrior stripes marked his chest. His eyes were amber fire and ancient fury.
He made Lucien's dragon look like a pampered pet.
Solace made a sound—half recognition, half terror. Her mate was about to fight. Possibly die.
The two dragons circled each other slowly. Predators assessing. Looking for weakness.
Lucien attacked first.
He was fast—gods, he was SO fast. He darted in with a burst of speed, claws extended, fire breath preceding him like a weapon. Havoc took the hit square in the chest, flames washing over his scales, but he didn't flinch. Just countered with a devastating swipe that would have torn Lucien in half if it had connected.
Lucien dodged, using his smaller size to his advantage. Dancing away. Already repositioning for another strike.
The crowd roared.
I couldn't breathe.
They clashed in the center of the arena—fire and fury, claw against claw, two dragons trying to kill each other while thousands watched. The impact shook the ground. Heat washed over the stands in waves that made people gasp and lean back.
Lucien was clever. He used his speed to avoid Havoc's powerful strikes while landing quick hits. Death by a thousand cuts. Havoc was relentless, pressing forward with single-minded determination, accepting hits to land his own devastating blows.
Fire filled the arena. Both dragons breathing flames, superheating the air until it shimmered and rippled. I could feel the heat even in the royal box, my skin prickling with it.
Lucien created a wall of fire to blind Havoc, using the environment strategically like this was one of Father's war games.
Havoc simply pushed through.
Just walked through the flames like they were nothing, accepting the burns to reach his target. Because that's what Theron did, wasn't it? Survived through refusing to quit.
They separated, circling again. Both scored with scratches and burns now. First blood drawn on both sides.
The crowd was chanting something. I couldn't make out the words through the roar in my ears.
Solace was shaking beside me, her small body trembling with the need to DO something. To help. To protect. But she couldn't. None of us could.
Lucien lunged again, going for Havoc's throat. Havoc twisted with surprising speed for something so large and caught Lucien's wing instead. His jaws closed on delicate membrane.
Lucien SCREAMED. A sound that made everyone in the arena flinch.
Havoc shook him like a dog with a rabbit before releasing. Lucien crashed into the sand, wing torn, bleeding. But he was up again in seconds, fire blazing from his jaws in fury.
They circled. Struck. Separated. Again and again. A brutal dance that painted the white sand red.
Time stopped meaning anything. Seconds felt like hours. The sun beat down mercilessly. Sweat ran down my spine beneath the heavy dress but I couldn't feel it. Couldn't feel anything except the hum between me and Theron, between Solace and Havoc, stretched so tight I thought it might snap.
Lucien landed a solid hit on Havoc's side, his claws raking deep. Blood welled up, dark against red-black scales.
I made a sound I didn't recognize. Something between a gasp and a scream.
Father's hand found mine. Squeezed once. The only comfort he could offer.
Havoc roared—pain and rage combined—but he didn't slow down. Didn't hesitate. Just turned the pain into fuel and pressed harder.
Because that's what he'd always done. Survived. Endured. Refused to quit.
The fight had been going for nearly an hour now. Both dragons were bleeding. Both exhausted. Both still fighting with everything they had.
One of them was going to die today.
I'd chosen Theron this morning. Told him I wanted a future. Kissed him like it might be the last time.
Please, I prayed to any god who might listen. Please let him survive this. Please let him come back to me.