Chapter 29
Iclimb the etched stone stairs, and by the time I reach the top, my legs ache and my breath comes ragged. I’m bloody, sweaty, and exhausted. When I glance at Seraphina and Zyrel, both as fresh as they were at the start of the challenge, a hysterical laugh slips out.
It’s suddenly very funny to me that I’m always the one half-dead by the end, while those two look like they’ve strolled through a garden instead of a battlefield.
If I weren’t fighting for the win, I’d pay good coin to watch them battle each other in the next Challenge just to see which of them would end up with even a single hair out of place.
At last, I straighten my spine and lift my gaze toward the raised dais where the Sibyls stand. Forcing what little composure I have left into place, I give them a small, deliberate nod.
Then, unable to stop myself, I glance over the edge of the pillar. I spot Kaelzar already standing at its base, panting heavily. He looks up at me. Our eyes meet.
He smiles.
That smile—bright and warm and real—steadies me. It spills through my chest like warm honey, spreading through my limbs, and I forget the pain, the fear, the doubt.
For a moment, there’s nothing else. Just him. Just that impossible softness in his expression, so at odds with everything he’s been.
The wariness, the cruelty, the weight of those chains—none of it exists in that smile. And somehow, it’s enough. Enough to hold me steady, to remind me I’m not alone.
I smile back.
Then the Sibyls’ voices draw my focus back, perfectly in sync, carrying across the arena like a tolling bell. “Today, your king shall judge. Each Champion will present a single offering. When all are revealed, the king will dismiss the one he values least.”
For a moment, I forget how to breathe. I thought the third Challenge was over. I thought all three of us would move on, but the challenge isn’t won yet.
A low rumble trembles through the air, vibrating in my chest. I look up. Breaking through the clouds, Zyrel’s gift takes shape in the sky. It's a massive flying ship, its body gleaming with metal plating, cannons lining its sides. The thing looks unstoppable.
My jaw slackens.
I hadn’t even considered what kind of power a wish could hold. But it really could be anything. Next, the Sibyls call on Seraphina.
She leans forward and whispers something into her box.
A moment later, gasps ripple through the arena as Ryker begins to glow in his royal box, set near the Sibyls’ dais and overlooking the center of the arena.
Then, in a flash, he’s clad in golden armor.
Flames curl along the gauntlets. He flexes his fingers, and fireballs ignite in each palm.
“Unbreakable,” Seraphina calls out. “Fire-wielding. The perfect weapon and shield for the wars to come. It appears and vanishes at will.”
I stare at them both, Zyrel and Seraphina, trying to breathe through the pressure crushing my chest. They’re both smirking, confident I have nothing that could match their grand gestures. Confident I’ll be eliminated.
I grip the edge of the box. My mind scrambles. What can I give him?
A weapon? He’s already got two. A creature? A beast?
Even if I could think of one, it would pale beside Zyrel’s warship. Magic? Power? A show of strength?
No. That’s what they expect from me, what they expect from all of us. But I’ve seen where power leads. I’ve felt its weight. I know how easily it rots the hands that hold it.
I close my eyes, heart pounding. My thoughts spiral. What can I give a king who already has everything?
A memory flickers behind my eyes. Mael’s voice, the sweet taste of spiked wine. How many times have I relived it? How many times have I hoped for Ryker to believe me, only to be met with doubt, with questions, with eyes that looked through me?
My gaze lifts up, to the glowing Divinity Gazes waiting above.
Maybe the only thing I can give Ryker is what I was never given. The truth.
I lean forward, voice trembling, and whisper into the box, “Show Ryker what really happened that day with his brother.”
I don’t know how it’ll work or what he’ll even see, but when the Divinity Gazes ignite, I remember, too late, that everyone will see it, not just Ryker.
The images appear in the Divinity Gazes, crystal clear showing Mael entering my chambers. A hush ripples across the arena. One by one, the whispers die. I can feel thousands of eyes shifting, leaning in.
My gaze flicks to the royal box. Ryker sits on the throne, but Mael’s seat is empty. He must have chosen not to attend. The council members are there behind him, but not all. Consul Montague is missing from the group.
Ryker’s brows draw together, confusion darkening his expression. I force myself to look back at the magical mirrors. Don’t miss it. Don’t miss the moment.
Mael moves easily around my bedroom, setting two wine glasses on the table.
The Divinity Gaze mirror hanging in my receiving chamber, angled just so that, with the door left open, it offered the gods and the Sphere a clear view into my bedroom, into what happened there.
Mael must never have considered that letting them witness his cruelty would matter.
Countless horrors have played out beneath their gaze, and never once have Gods cared enough to stop or expose them.
I’m not there yet, still in my bathing chamber. A low murmur ripples through the crowd as he slips something into one of the glasses. A pinch of herbs.
Then the mirrors show the rest.
I walk into the room. I speak. The conversation plays out as I remember. Except now, everyone hears it.
And when I finish the first glass, Mael pours another. Adds more herbs, right in front of me while I’m not looking. The crowd is speechless.
The truth is no longer hidden.
Then, when I fall asleep, he leans over and plants that damned kiss on my lips. And just like that, the red string appears.
There’s a collective inhalation from the stands, as if the entire kingdom has just watched something sacred defiled.
And even though it revolts me to watch Mael’s hungry gaze sweeping over me, his hands roaming my body for a few moments longer, a heavy weight lifts from my shoulders as I watch the truth register on Ryker’s face. He finally knows.
And so does everyone else.
Mael leaves my chambers and hurries off somewhere. The silence breaks into chaos as voices erupt. Dozens, then hundreds.
“That’s her room! He drugged her!”
“He lied! He lied to the court!”
I start to climb down, unable to bear standing exposed under the crowd’s gaze any longer. But then I stop, heat prickles along my skin, as if Ryker’s eyes are burning into me.
I look up, and our eyes lock. And in that instant, I see it.
Remorse. Regret. Shame. So much shame.
Slowly, he lifts his hand to his lips, touches them softly, then rubs his fingers together in that old, familiar motion.
And for a breath, I feel his understanding, his belief. Maybe even his acceptance. The thing I once begged for. The thing I thought would fix everything. It’s here now, written across his face. And I feel nothing but the sting of it coming too late.
I thought it would feel like justice. Instead, I feel the last need for him slip away.
That’s what hurts the most. That I’ve stopped needing what I spent so long trying to earn. And somewhere in that realization, a different kind of heartbreak settles in. It’s quiet and final.
Once, this sacred gesture meant everything, a silent kiss sent across the space between us. Now, it feels hollow. As if, in grinding his fingers together, he’s not sending love, but erasing it, crushing the last fragile traces of what we used to be.
I let myself breathe, but it’s a cracked, hollow breath. He’s lost me. And it’s nobody’s fault but his.
People are shouting Mael’s name now. The consuls are on their feet, yelling something. But Ryker doesn’t look at any of them. He only looks at me. And for a moment, it’s like he’s asking if it’s enough. If this remorse will save us.
I’m sorry, he mouths.
A hot tear slips down my cheek. I turn my head away, unable to give him what he came too late to earn. Then, suddenly, silence falls over the arena again.
My eyes snap back up as Ryker rises from his throne, his guards stiffening to attention. Without a word, he turns and strides out of the arena, his consuls following close behind.
No one moves. No one speaks. Even the Sibyls remain frozen, as if the gods themselves have nothing more to say.
But just as Ryker is about to disappear from everyone’s view, the Sibyls’ voices rise, amplified by magic.
“Your Majesty,” they say. “Before you depart, you must choose the one Champion whose gift displeased you.”
Ryker doesn’t hesitate. “Seraphina,” he barks, not even looking in our direction. He’s already walking away before the final syllable leaves his mouth.
I’ve won.
But a strange sadness washes over me as I look to the pillar beside mine.
Seraphina sinks to her knees, her chin dropping to her chest. Her arms hang limp at her sides. It’s as if all the strength drains from her body. And for a moment, she doesn’t look like a warrior at all. Just a girl who tried too hard to be everything her parents wanted her to be.
I climb down slowly. Kaelzar’s strong hands reach up to help me, and the moment my feet touch the ground, I stumble into him, straight into his chest.
The chains are fully gone, already pulled back into their ink-like form. I press into him hard, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders. My body trembles with a strange mix of relief and dread. I don’t know what comes next, but for this moment, I’m safe.
His arms hold me tight, and his warm breath brushes against the top of my head.
“You’ve won, Trouble,” he murmurs, low and steady. “You’ve won.” Then, even softer, “Even if it didn’t feel like it.”