The gates yawned open with a groan that echoed across the stone coliseum.
King Aldric ascended the throne carved from obsidian and etched with ancient runes.
Draped in ceremonial crimson, his face was calm and regal, but beneath the mask, a storm was brewing.
Prince Kaelith stepped out onto the sand-covered ground. His armor, forged in the heart of Zarethrone's oldest forge, caught the light like molten silver.
A hush fell over the crowd as if the very wind dared not move in his presence.
Then.
A thunderous cheer erupted.
The earth trembled beneath the roaring of voices chanting his name.
Up on the elevated throne, King Aldric raised his hand, silencing the crowd like a god pressing a single finger to creation. Cloaked in black and crimson, his presence was as sharp as any blade in the field. Beside him stood Darius.
On the far side of the arena, Tharen entered.
He wore no armor. Just dark leather strapped tightly around his torso, his arms bare, his movements calm. The air thickened with the weight of his presence. He didn't look around, didn't bask in the cheers or sneers. His eyes were fixed only on Kaelith, burning like twin coals on a winter night.
Hale stood by the prince's side, tucked near the shadowed edge of the arena gates, muttering just loud enough for Kaelith to hear.
"You can do it" he shouted.
Kaelith didn't look at him. "Stay out of the ring," he said.
A horn sounded. The kingdom's battle signal.
The announcer raised his voice. "By decree of the King, this trial shall be settled in combat. Should the challenger win, he shall claim his prize. Should the Prince triumph, the challenger shall surrender to the King's justice."
Prince Kaelith stepped forward.
Tharen bowed barely. Prince Kaelith did not.
The arena fell silent.
Steel rang as both warriors unsheathed their blades. Kaelith's was a sword of legend Erethros blackened steel with a crimson edge, forged in the breath of the dragon's mouth. His opponent wielded twin blades, short, curved, and deadly.
Then, motion.
A blur of silver and black.
Kaelith struck first a wide arc meant to test Tharen footwork but the man ducked low, rolled, and retaliated with a flurry of slashes that Kaelith deflected with controlled grace. Sparks flew as steel kissed steel, echoing through the arena like claps of thunder.
The crowd gasped as Kaelith was pushed back a step only once but it was enough to stir whispers.
Tharen pressed on, relentless, his eyes burning with a ferocity Kaelith had only seen in war-hardened commanders. And yet, Kaelith's movements remained poised, precise. He fought like a man not defending himself, but protecting something unseen.
Then came the shift.
Kaelith feinted left, spun, and landed a glancing blow across Tharen shoulder. Blood bloomed but then he only grinned.
The tension snapped.
They collided again, blades ringing, boots scraping stone, bodies twisting in brutal rhythm. They danced between death and dominance. One fought for a right, the other for reputation. And the kingdom held its breath.
The King leaned forward, eyes narrowed not in concern, but in curiosity.
Each blow was met, matched, and answered. Neither yielded. Neither staggered.
It wasn't just a fight it was a storm bottled into two bodies.
Prince Kaelith struck harder.
His blade carved the air with precision, slicing within inches of the challenger's throat, but the man only smiled like he'd tasted fear and found it sweet.
Darius whispered something in King's ear, but his eyes never left the arena floor.
Kaelith parried a heavy blow, slid behind the man's back, and kicked his opponent forward but the challenger twisted midair and landed in a roll, rising without a hint of pain.
Another surge of cheers.
Another clash of blades. Until.
A misstep. Barely a breath of one.
Kaelith's foot skidded slightly across loose sand, and in that fleeting moment, the challenger struck his armor hard enough to jolt the prince's entire body.
Kaelith dropped to one knee.
A collective gasp burst from the crowd.
But Prince Kaelith laughed.
He rose with fury flashing in his eyes and swung his sword with brutal elegance. This time, Tharen blocked but his knees buckled. Kaelith pressed forward, mercilessly.
One strike. Two. Three.
Finally, his blade kissed the man's throat.
Silence.
Then Kaelith whispered, just loud enough for his opponent to hear.
"Yield."
The challenger hesitated then nodded once.
The bell rang.
The crowd exploded.
Prince Kaelith stepped back, lowering his sword with the grace of a god descending from war. His chest rose and fell. His hands trembled but only slightly.
Hale rushed to his side, grinning ear to ear. I was ready to jump in and save your royal behind.
"You'd have lasted three seconds," Kaelith muttered.
Three more than you gave him, Hale replied, throwing him a wink.
Kaelith didn't smile but his eyes, just for a moment, softened.
The announcer's voice rose above the fading roar of the crowd.
"This duel is concluded. By the laws of Zarethrone, Tharen of Valmor is defeated and now subject to the King's judgment."
Guards, cloaked in the silver and crimson of the royal crest, approached the challenger.
Though his blades had been lowered, his stance was still coiled with strength. He didn't resist, but neither did he bow again. His eyes flicked toward Kaelith, no hatred, just silent recognition.
King Aldric rose from his throne, his gaze sharp and unyielding.
"You have lost," the King said, voice like thunder carved into marble. "Your punishment shall be decided by nightfall."
Tharen gave no reply, his face indistinct.
The guards flanked him and guided him out of the arena neither gently nor cruelly, just firmly. A secure room beneath the coliseum would hold him until the King pronounced his will.
Without another word, King Aldric turned and exited the arena through the towering doors behind the throne, the crimson of his cloak trailing like spilled blood.
The crowd was already dispersing, murmurs buzzing like flies on wine-soaked air.
Hale placed a steadying hand beneath Kaelith's arm. Come on, your Highness. Let's get you somewhere quiet.
Prince Kaelith didn't resist, but the weight of the duel had settled deep into his bones. He walked with pride still in his shoulders, though every step betrayed the sting of bruises beneath his armor.
They exited into the marble corridor behind the gates, the noise of the arena dimming behind the stone.
What do you think? Hale asked as they passed the flickering wall torches. What'll the King do to him?
Kaelith gave him a sidelong look. "I'm a prince, not the King."
A pause.
Hale opened his mouth to ask something else, but Kaelith raised a hand.
"I'm tired," he said flatly. Escort me to my chamber. All you do is talk.
Despite the words, there was no venom in them. Only exhaustion and a whisper of something else Hale had come to recognize in Kaelith's trust, thin as spider-silk, but there.
Hale grinned as they reached the prince's quarters. The heavy door opened into a private chamber bathed in warm firelight, with windows arched toward the mountains and soft fabrics spilling over carved oak furniture.
Kaelith sat on the edge of the low couch, slowly taking off his gloves. He flinched a little from the pain.
Here, Hale said, kneeling in front of him. Let me.
He gently pulled back the sleeve of the prince's tunic, revealing a thin cut along Kaelith's forearm already crusted with dried blood. Hale dipped a cloth into the basin by the table and began to dab the wound.
"You're lucky," he said with a smile. If the cut was just a little deeper, you'd be bleeding on the arena floor.
Kaelith didn't reply, but his gaze lingered longer than necessary.
The silence settled between them not tense, but rich.
Hale wrapped the cleaned wound with a soft band of linen. His fingers brushed skin that was too warm to be only from exertion. "There. Fit for a prince again."
Kaelith rose slowly, the muscles in his arms flexing as he shrugged off the rest of his armor.
I was already fit, he said, low and wry.
I won't deny it, Hale said, standing. You bleed beautifully, Your Highness.
Kaelith's lips almost curved into a smile. Almost.
Then he turned toward the window, his profile painted in gold and shadow. Leave me. I need rest.
Hale stepped back, giving him space but not without a glance over his shoulder as he moved toward the door.
"You fought like a storm," he said softly.
And this time, Kaelith did smile but it was a quiet one.