POV: Ravenna
Havoc shifted back to Theron without warning.
One moment the massive red-black dragon stood over what was left of Lucien's body. The next moment Theron was on his knees in the sand, human and vulnerable and covered in blood that wasn't his.
He was shaking. His entire body trembling like he was freezing despite the heat still radiating from the arena floor. His hands—those careful, steady hands—were stained red to the elbows.
Solace shifted back too. I felt the transformation ripple through me, felt my dragon form dissolve back into human. My arm exploded with fresh pain as the torn wing became a deep gash running from shoulder to elbow. Blood immediately soaked through my dress.
I didn't care.
I staggered across the sand toward Theron. My legs barely held me. Everything hurt. But I needed to reach him. Needed to touch him. Needed to make sure he was real and alive and here.
I sank down beside him in the sand. It was wet beneath us. Dark. I didn't look at what made it that way.
"Theron," I whispered.
He didn't respond. Just stared at his hands like he'd never seen them before. Like they belonged to someone else. Someone capable of tearing another person apart.
A scream cut through the arena.
High and agonized and breaking. Seraphine ran onto the arena floor, guards trying to stop her but she pushed past them with strength born of grief. She threw herself over what remained of her brother's body.
The sound she made wasn't human. Wasn't anything that should come from a person's throat.
I looked away. Couldn't watch. Couldn't bear witness to that kind of loss even if Lucien had brought it on himself.
Cassian followed his sister onto the sand, his face white as bone, his usual charm completely gone. He knelt beside Seraphine and tried to pull her away but she wouldn't move. Just clung to Lucien's broken body and screamed.
Guards surrounded them. Surrounded us. The arena was chaos now—people shouting, crying, trying to leave or trying to get closer. Master Veyron was yelling for order but nobody was listening.
Then Father's voice cut through everything.
"SILENCE!"
The word cracked like a whip. Magically amplified. Impossible to ignore.
The arena went quiet. Even Seraphine's sobs faded to broken gasps.
Father stood in the royal box, every inch a king. His face was carved from stone. Unreadable.
"The trial by combat is concluded," he declared. His voice carried to every corner of the arena. "Theron, The Warrior of Cindravale is the victor. All challenges to Princess Ravenna's hand are settled. Lucien of House Ashford violated the rules of combat by attacking a bonded mate. The berserker response was justified under ancient law."
Justified. Like that word could erase what happened. Like it could make Seraphine's grief any less real.
"The arena is closed," Father continued. "Everyone will disperse. NOW."
People started moving. Slowly. Reluctantly. Still looking back at the carnage. At Theron covered in blood. At me bleeding beside him. At Seraphine sobbing over her brother's remains.
This would be talked about for years. Decades. Maybe centuries.
The princess whose bonded warrior went berserker and killed a candidate in the most brutal way possible.
Hadrian appeared beside us like he'd materialized from smoke. His face was grim but his eyes were gentle when they landed on Theron.
"Come on, brother," he said quietly. "Let's get you out of here."
Theron didn't move. Didn't even acknowledge that Hadrian had spoken.
"Theron." Hadrian's voice was firmer now. "You need to stand up. Can you do that for me?"
Nothing. Just that thousand-yard stare at his bloodstained hands.
Hadrian looked at me. A question in his eyes.
I reached for Theron's hand with my uninjured arm. Wrapped my fingers around his. His skin was cold despite the heat. Cold and sticky with blood.
"Theron," I said. "Please. Please look at me."
He blinked. Slowly. Like waking from a nightmare.
His eyes found mine. Amber meeting blue. And the devastation in them made my chest crack open.
"I killed him," he whispered. His voice was raw. Broken. "I tore him apart. I was CONSCIOUS for all of it. I felt everything. Every—"
"Stop." I squeezed his hand. "Stop. We'll talk about this. But not here. Not now."
Lysander appeared on my other side, his healer's bag already open. He knelt beside me and examined my arm without asking permission.
"Deep," he said quietly. "Very deep. You'll scar. But it will heal."
"I don't care about a scar."
"I know." He started cleaning the wound. It burned like fire but I didn't flinch. Just kept my eyes on Theron.
Hadrian managed to get Theron to his feet. He swayed dangerously and Hadrian caught him, supporting his weight.
"I've got you," Hadrian said. "I've got you."
Lysander wrapped my arm in clean bandages. Tight. Too tight but I didn't protest. The pressure helped. Kept me focused.
"You should rest," Lysander said. "This kind of injury—dragon wounds that transfer to human form—they need time to heal properly."
"I will." I stood up. My legs shook but held. "After I make sure he's okay."
"Princess—"
"After."
Lysander sighed but didn't argue. Just packed up his supplies and stood.
I crossed the few feet between me and Theron. He was staring at nothing again. Lost somewhere inside his own head.
I reached for his hand with my uninjured arm. He gripped it desperately. Like I was the only thing keeping him anchored to reality.
"It wasn't your fault," I said. Made sure he could hear me. "Lucien cheated. He attacked Solace. He broke every sacred rule. Any bonded dragon would have done the same thing. ANY of them."
He didn't respond. Didn't even seem to hear me.
Father descended from the royal box. His face was carefully neutral but I saw the concern in his eyes when he looked at me. At my bandaged arm. At Theron's vacant expression.
"Hadrian," Father said. "Take Theron to his quarters. Make sure he's cleaned up and resting. Post guards outside but tell them he's not a prisoner. Just... keep him safe."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Hadrian started guiding Theron away.
Theron's hand slipped from mine. The loss of contact felt like losing something vital.
"I'll come find you," I called after him. "Soon. I promise."
He didn't turn around. Just let Hadrian lead him away across blood-soaked sand.
Father touched my shoulder. Gently. "You need medical attention. Proper medical attention."
"I know."
"And rest."
"I know."
"Ravenna—" His voice cracked slightly. The first time I'd heard emotion from him all day. "You could have died. When Lucien attacked Solace. If Theron hadn't... if he'd been even a second slower..."
"But he wasn't." I looked at Father. Really looked at him. "He saved me. Saved us. And now he's destroying himself over it."
"Berserker rage is—"
"Justified," I interrupted. "You said so yourself. Under ancient law."
"The law and living with what you did are two different things." Father's expression was sad. Knowing. "He will carry this forever. The memory. The feeling of it."
I knew that. Could see it in Theron's eyes. The horror. The guilt. The way he'd looked at his hands like they belonged to a monster.
"Then I'll help him carry it," I said. "Because he didn't have a choice. And I won't let him face this alone."
Father studied me for a long moment. Then nodded once.
"You've changed," he said quietly. "Grown up. When did that happen?"
"Three weeks ago," I said. "When a scarred warrior walked into the competition late and everything I thought I knew turned out to be wrong."
Guards were cleaning the arena. Covering Lucien's body with a white cloth. Leading Seraphine and Cassian away. They'd collapsed into each other, both broken by grief.
I'd caused this. Not directly. Not intentionally. But my existence, my competition, my bond with Theron—all of it had led to this moment.
To Lucien dead in the sand and his sister destroyed by loss.
"Come," Father said. "Let Lysander treat you properly. Then you can go to Theron."
I let him guide me out of the arena. Let Lysander fuss over my arm. Let Morgana help me into clean clothes when we reached my chambers.
But I didn't rest.
Couldn't rest.
Not while Theron was somewhere in this castle, covered in blood and convinced he was a monster.