The colosseum stood silent under the endless blue sky, concrete tiers baking in the sun. Commoners clustered on the left galleries in loose, buzzing groups—knees pulled up, elbows on thighs, voices overlapping in constant excitement. Nobles took the right side in rigid, separated rows—postures perfect, faces still pale from the prayer hall miracle, lips pressed thin.
Elowen Voss stood at the center of the sand-strewn arena floor—golden hair blazing like a crown, emerald eyes sharp as daggers.
Beside her, Mira Hale shifted uncomfortably, thighs clenched tight to keep Aiden's thick load from leaking further down her stockings. Every small movement made the warm cum shift inside her—slick, heavy, reminding her of the claiming bites on her neck and breast hidden beneath her cape. She bit her lip, trying to focus on Elowen's voice.
