Chapter 23 #3
His breath brushed my skin, sending an involuntary shiver through me.
“Perhaps I won’t.” I murmured. “Perhaps you’ll be distracted and lose for once. It might temper that ego of yours and release me from your insufferable presence.”
Before he could answer, I slipped from his hold and reached the carriage door. I had barely set my foot on the step when his hand came down hard against my ass, the sting sharp before his fingers closed in a slow, possessive press. Heat flared low in my body. Embarrassment followed just as quickly.
He inhaled deeply, a knowing glint in his eyes.
“There is nothing that would make me lose, Valentina. I always win. Remember that.”
I stepped down into the square, lifting a hand to shield my eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, refusing to look back at him even as the sting of his touch lingered.
He was right. If his piercing was the same as mine, he would never be caught off guard. I didn’t have time to dwell on it. His hand found my lower back, guiding me away from the carriage.
The Aurexium Lanista stood upon a raised wooden podium, a towering Saber Warrior at his side, guards flanking them in a tight formation. Legionnaires lined the perimeter of the square, their armor catching the sun as they held the crowd in place.
Above it all, the Imperator’s fountain loomed, water cascading down carved stone, the drifting spray offering little relief against the heat pressing into the cobbled streets. The crowd swelled around us, restless, expectant.
I scanned the edges of the square for black cloaks marked with gray, for the glint of silver at a hip. Anything out of place.
Marcus pulled me from my anxiety and guided us through the parted center of the square. At the podium, he nodded in greeting.
“A formidable warrior you’ve brought, Leonus. It seems you were not boasting after all.”
The Aurexium Lanista reached for a cup of wine resting on the table beside him, already swaying despite the hour. It was barely midday, yet his cheeks were flushed and his thick belly shifted beneath his robes as he drank.
“Marcus,” he drawled, raising the cup in loose salute, “an honor that you accepted my challenge. Your champion appears in top form, as always.”
A flicker of disgust crossed Marcus’s features before he masked it, dipping his head in measured thanks. A servant approached me. “You are to sit beside the Aedile and his wife. Follow me.”
I sighed. At least Aelia and the Praetor didn’t seem to be here. Was he still trying to suppress the rebellion? I hoped he’d fail.
Marcus gave me a brief nod before taking the empty seat beside Leonus, his posture already stiff with restrained tolerance. I followed the servant to the front and lowered myself into the empty seat. Cassara regarded me, cool and appraising as she took in every detail of my appearance.
“So,” she said at last, her tone edged with disdain, “you have bonded with the Ringbreaker.” It wasn’t a question.
“Lovely to see you again as well, Cassara,” I said. “And yes, I have been assigned to the champion. But no, we are not bonded.”
“Mind your manners,” she reprimanded.
“Of course,” I replied smoothly, dipping my head enough to satisfy propriety. “You will have to excuse me. I am not entirely well, as you can see. I apologize.”
“Yes, you do look rather run down,” she remarked, her nose curling. Her chin tilted toward the bandages at my wrist and head. “No wonder Aelia speaks so lowly of you. She told me you two had an unfortunate accident at Carnis Noctyra.”
She cast me a sidelong glance, her mouth curving into a knowing smile.
Anger flared. These women, circling like carrion, eager to tear me down simply because the Praetor had become obsessed with me. The unfairness burned.
“Yes, it was most unfortunate,” I replied. “But lessons were learned. I assure you.”
“We will see,” she murmured. Seemingly satisfied, she turned toward the Aurexium Bondward like she hadn’t just tried to wound me.
I watched the crowd. Thanor crossed the square with unhurried confidence, taking his place at the center, the space already his.
The Aurexium champion followed a moment later, and even from where I sat, the man’s size was unmistakable—broad and towering, large enough that even Thanor had to tilt his chin slightly to meet him.
Thanor fastened his dark hair back with care before rolling his neck.
A flicker of satisfaction touched my lips. So he was concerned. The thought vanished just as quickly. When he lifted his head again, there was no unease in him. Only a slow, anticipatory smirk.
Servants stepped forward bearing their weapons. He accepted his axes without comment. The Aurexium champion was handed a massive spiked hammer, its head brutal, iron studs glinting with promise. One clean strike would be enough to shatter bone.
I forced myself not to care.
The Aedile rose from his seat, lifting his hands until the noise of the crowd subsided.
His voice carried across the square, stoking anticipation with measured words meant to inflame and entertain.
The scene reminded me of the match in the Maw, only then it had been the Imperator commanding the crowd’s devotion.
He clapped sharply, signaling the start of the match.
The crowd erupted, then fell into a strained hush as the Aurexium champion began to move. Each step carried weight, pressing into the square with force.
Thanor would need speed. Brute strength alone wouldn’t rival such mass.
And yet he was still smirking. An answering curve touched my mouth before it faltered.
He accused me of playing with him, but to him everything seemed like a game.
Perhaps it was. He was used to his opponents not knowing his advantage.
He held his ground, making no effort to strike first. The Aurexium champion charged instead, closing the distance with surprising speed, the massive hammer swinging in a brutal arc meant to end the match in a single blow.
Thanor rolled aside at the last moment, the hammer crashing into stone where he had stood. The impact thundered through the square.
The colossus swung again,
Again, Thanor evaded—never countering, never overextending, only moving at the final second and letting the brute expend himself. The pattern continued. The larger man drove forward in bursts of violence while Thanor yielded ground with controlled precision, dismantling the rhythm of each strike.
Frustration crept across the larger champion’s face. His jaw tightened. Sweat poured freely beneath the midday sun. The hammer struck the cobblestones again and again, leaving deep craters in its wake, each blow shaking the square.
The Aedile laughed openly at the destruction. “I will cover the cost of repairs,” he declared. “It is well worth the expense to witness such titans face one another.”
I watched the way Thanor’s muscles flexed with each movement, sweat tracing slow lines down his bronze throat and arms. My piercing pulsed. I took a sip of the water beside me.
The next moment almost made me drop my cup.
The giant shifted tactics without warning and drove his elbow forward, catching Thanor across the face before he could evade. The crack of impact carried even to the podium. Blood split open at his brow, running dark along his jaw and splattering across his chestplate.
I rose halfway from my seat before I realized what I was doing, the gasp already spilled from my mouth. Shame followed swiftly. I lowered myself back down, schooling my expression, hoping no one had noticed.
He looked different when he straightened. Not rattled—angry. He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand, smearing red across his knuckles before dragging his fingers through his hair which had come loose from its tie and shaking his head once.
He rolled his shoulders. Violence gathered around him in waves, no longer playful, no longer patient. His stance changed. He was finished dodging.
When the hammer swung again, he didn’t evade.
He caught the blow head-on, crossing his axes before his face as iron met steel with a deafening crack.
The force drove him backward, boots scraping over stone as the larger man pressed forward, pushing him across the square and straight through a spice stall that splintered beneath the impact.
The champion continued to bear down on him, driving him toward the wall of a nearby villa as the crowd scattered, unwilling to be crushed between titans.
Thanor roared. The strain of holding the hammer’s weight bordered on inhuman—yet he didn’t fall.