POV: Ravenna
The arena reeked of blood and sweat and anticipation.
I was trying very hard not to look at Theron from the royal box, which meant I was absolutely, definitely looking at him. He stood at the far end of the arena with the other candidates, and even from here I could feel it—that stupid hum that had been driving me INSANE for three days now.
"The human trials proved skill," Veyron announced, his voice carrying across the packed arena. "Now we see TRUE strength. Dragon form. Combat to yield or incapacity."
My stomach twisted. Dragon combat was brutal. Necessary, Father always said, to prove a warrior could protect the kingdom. But watching it? Watching claws and teeth and fire tear into scales?
I hated it.
"First match," Veyron continued. "Brock of House Thorne against Lord Roland of House Kerr."
Oh good. The lecher versus the coward. This would be quick.
They shifted simultaneously.
Brock's dragon emerged dark orange, massive and brutal-looking. All bulk and aggression, built to intimidate. Roland's red-and-gold dragon was smaller, prettier, and I could already see the problem—it moved like it had never seen real combat.
"He's going to get destroyed," Morgana muttered beside me.
"Good," I said, probably too loud. Several courtiers turned to stare. I smiled sweetly. Let them stare. I didn't WANT to be here watching men show off for my hand like I was some prize cow at market.
The dragons clashed.
It was over in minutes. Brock's dragon was vicious, brutal, going for killing blows that Veyron had to intervene to stop. Roland's yielded quickly, shifting back to human form and limping off the field.
"One down," I said cheerfully.
Father's look said he did not appreciate my attitude. I didn't care.
"Next match," Veyron called. "Lord Lucien of House Ashford against Lord Edmund of House Selfman."
Now this would be interesting.
Lucien shifted first. His light orange dragon was beautiful in that calculated way—everything about him was calculated. The dragon circled the arena, showing off, and I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.
Edmund's dragon emerged red and gold, solid and steady. The black warrior stripes across his chest caught the light.
They fought like their personalities—Lucien with flashy aggression, Edmund with patient defense. Lucien wanted to win, to impress. Edmund just wanted it over.
"He's holding back," Theron said.
I jumped. Hadn't realized he'd moved to stand behind the royal box, close enough I could hear him over the crowd.
"What?" I twisted in my seat to look up at him.
"Edmund. He's holding back." Those amber eyes met mine. "Doesn't want to be here."
"Well OBVIOUSLY," I snapped. "None of you want to be here. You're just here for a crown."
Something flickered in his expression. Gone too fast to name.
"Not all of us," he said quietly, and walked away before I could ask what he meant.
The hum pulsed. I dug my nails into my palms. Stupid bond. Stupid hum. Stupid—
Lucien's dragon landed a brutal hit. Edmund's yielded immediately.
"YIELD!" Edmund's voice, human again, called out. "I yield."
Lucien shifted back, smirking. Bowed to the royal box—to ME—and I wanted to throw something at his perfect face.
"Final match of the day," Veyron announced. "Theron, The Warrior of Cindravale against the victor—Lord Lucien of House Ashford."
The arena went silent.
This was it. The warrior with five rejections against the golden nobleman. The monster versus the prince.
They shifted. And oh gods. Oh gods, I wasn't prepared.
Havoc - Theron’s dragon - emerged like a nightmare made flesh.
Massive didn't cover it. He was easily twice the size of Lucien's dragon, all scarred red-black scales and burning amber eyes. Wings that could blot out the sun. Claws that looked like they could rend stone.
The crowd gasped. Someone behind me whimpered.
I couldn't breathe. Not from fear, from something else. Something that made the hum ROAR between us like a living thing.
"He's magnificent," I whispered without meaning to.
Morgana's hand found mine. Squeezed. "Rav—"
"I know." I couldn't look away. "I know."
Havoc's eyes found me across the arena. Found ME. And held.
The world narrowed to that gaze. Ancient, tired, and certain.
Ours, something in my chest whispered. Solace, stirring. Ours, ours, ours.
"No," I breathed. "Not ours. Not—"
Lucien's dragon attacked. It wasn't a fight—it was a lesson.
Lucien came in fast, aggressive, trying to use speed against Havoc's size. Clever. Might have worked against a lesser opponent.
Havoc moved like water. Like wind. Like something that shouldn’t be able to move that fast but did.
He caught Lucien's dragon mid-strike. Slammed him into the arena floor. The ground cracked. Lucien's dragon screamed—high and sharp and terrified.
"He's going to kill him," someone gasped.
But Havoc didn't. Just held him there. Pinned. Waiting.
Lucien's dragon thrashed. Havoc's claws tightened—not enough to break, just enough to hold.
"Yield," Veyron called.
Lucien's dragon snarled. Refused.
Havoc's jaws opened. Positioned at Lucien's dragon's throat. One bite. That's all it would take.
"YIELD!" Lucien's voice, human words from dragon throat. "I yield!"
Havoc released him immediately. Stepped back. Shifted to human form without ceremony.
Theron stood in the center of the arena, covered in dust and glory and something that made my mouth go dry. And the crowd erupted.
Father stood. "Victor—Theron, The Warrior of Cindravale."
Theron didn't bow. Didn't smile. Didn't do anything except look at me.
And I—gods help me—I looked back.
The arena was chaos. People shouting, celebrating, arguing. Some cheering for Theron, others whispering about the brutality, the danger, the "monster" who'd just destroyed Cindravale's golden noble.
I sat frozen. Couldn't move. Couldn't think.
Just felt the hum. Thrumming. Insistent. DEMANDING. Ours, Solace insisted. Home. Him. Ours.
"Ravenna." Father's hand on my shoulder. "You're pale."
"I'm fine." My voice came from very far away. "I'm—I need air."
I stood on shaking legs. Morgana reached for me but I was already moving, pushing through courtiers, needing out, needing away from that look, from those eyes, from the certainty that everything had just changed and I couldn't—I wouldn't—
I made it to the corridor outside the royal box before my knees gave out.
Pressed my back to the cold stone and tried to breathe.
The hum was so loud now. So loud. Like Solace was screaming at me. Like something inside me was screaming too.
He's ours, Solace insisted. Why are you running?
"Because," I whispered to the empty hallway, to myself, to the bond I didn't want, "I'm terrified."
And for once, I wasn't throwing a tantrum. Wasn't demanding my way. I was just telling the truth.