Chapter 31 #3
Daven’s hand never left him. It stayed fixed at the back of Ryneth’s hip as they moved through the secured corridor, broad and possessive, thumb hooked just above the waistband of his trousers.
Gold-and-black uniforms lined the walls instead of academy silver.
The guards were bigger, harder, built for spectacle as much as protection.
Ryneth kept his head up because Daven had told him to. He kept walking because Daven was guiding him forward. But by the time the final doors opened, his mouth had gone dry.
The Imperial viewing chamber above the arena was nothing like he expected.
Glass curved around the front of the room, looking down over the vast open bowl below where the arena floor gleamed under white light.
Beyond it, tier after tier of seats climbed high into the structure, already packed with bodies.
The sound hit harder up here, louder, wilder, pressing against the glass in waves.
The sight of it made his stomach twist.
Low black seating curved through the room, the silver tables already set with drinks.
Attendants moved quietly between them. And along the sides, built into the curve of the wall, sat a row of private glass alcoves half-screened in dark tint and gold lattice, each one deep enough for a couch, a locked door, and whatever Helion’s princes wanted while they watched the blood below.
Ryneth slowed without meaning to.
Daven felt it, his hand tightening on Ryneth’s hip. “Keep walking, baby,” he murmured. “You’re fine.”
Ryneth dragged in a breath.
Daven’s mouth brushed his temple as they moved. “They’re looking because you matter now,” he said softly. “Not because you’re prey.”
They were all already there.
Milanov stood nearest the glass with one hand around a drink, dressed in black with gold flashing at his collar and cuffs.
Moargan leaned against one of the low tables, his ceremonial jacket already open at the throat.
Helianth was stretched across a couch like he owned the room.
Even Cyprian, pale hair catching the light, looked less like an artist and more like a prince raised on power, right up until he smiled.
Milanov’s whole face changed. “There he is.”
He crossed the room in three easy steps and stopped in front of Ryneth, his gaze flicking once over the marks on Ryneth’s throat before settling on Daven’s hand still fixed on him.
“You came.”
Ryneth almost laughed. “I was invited.”
Milanov barked out a laugh. “Good. Means you’re learning.” His hand landed once on Ryneth’s shoulder, solid and approving. “I’m glad you’re here today.”
From across the room, Moargan lifted his glass. “You should be. He’s been walking around like he conquered a planet.”
Helianth snorted.
Cyprian glanced at Ryneth and smiled, gentler than the rest of them. “Ignore them. You’ll be fine.”
Even so, his gaze drifted toward the nearest alcove.
Inside it, the lights were lower. A black couch curved around the back wall. The glass was dark enough to hide details from the outside while still giving a clear view of the arena below.
His stomach dropped.
Daven’s mouth brushed his ear. “Eyes on me.”
Ryneth dragged in another breath.
Across the room, Aviel moved past with Theo a step behind him, a golden thread looped loose around Theo’s throat, decorative more than restraining now.
Ryneth’s gaze caught there and stayed.
Helianth laughed softly into his drink.
Daven turned him toward him just enough to steal one quick kiss. “Stay with me until I go down,” he said, his forehead brushing Ryneth’s once. “After that, keep your head up and make Bekn regret having eyes.”
Ryneth swallowed. “That’s your comforting speech?”
Daven’s mouth curved. “It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Before Ryneth could answer, the roar below swelled again, louder now, rolling through the chamber like the whole building had a heartbeat.
Kylix pushed off the wall. “When he comes out, you only keep your eyes on Bekn. Don’t look at anyone else. If you look at them, they’ll make you feel smaller. He won’t. He’s a beast, and if he could kill you, he would. You’re not prey.”
Milanov set his glass aside and turned from the arena. Around the room, guards straightened. The low murmur near the bar died almost at once. He crossed to Ryneth without hurry, but by the time he reached him, even Helianth had gone quiet. “Listen to me.”
Ryneth straightened before he meant to.
“This is the Aureate. It’s not a trial. It’s not punishment. It’s a rite. A spectacle. Helion shows its people what protects them, and the people answer by believing in it.”
The roar outside pressed harder against the glass.
“It’s about you.”
Ryneth frowned.
Milanov’s gaze dropped again to the marks on Ryneth’s throat, then to Daven’s hand still fixed on his waist. “They want to see what Daven claimed.”
Ryneth’s stomach tightened.
A few weeks ago, the words would have felt like a collar closing.
Now, with Daven’s hand still firm on his waist and the bond warm under his skin, the words landed differently. He’d been claimed. Chosen. Protected.
Seen.
“What happens next is up to you. There’s no script. No timing. The only things that matter are Bekn’s death and the people understanding why. They hate Attica. What it did. What it took. They need to see it end.”
Static flickered at Ryneth’s fingertips.
Milanov looked at the sparks, then back at him. “Good. Let them see.”
A horn sounded below.
Milanov stepped back. “Take your place.”
Ryneth only saw Daven.
The roar outside dulled to a distant throb. The glass, the princes, the blood waiting below, all of it fell back until there was only Daven.
He leaned in and pressed one quick kiss to his mouth. Daven’s hand caught at the back of his neck and held him there for one extra beat, forehead brushing his.
“That’s it,” Daven murmured. Then he pulled back, eyes bright and merciless and entirely his. “Now show them.”
The Aureate had already begun.