The roar of the crowd was a physical thing. A wave of sound washing over the arena—excitement, bloodlust, and the simple human need for a good show.
The announcer's voice, magically amplified, boomed over the noise.
"Let the first duel of the Hero's Wager commence! Masha versus Arden Blackwell!"
Dante watched as Masha stepped forward. She'd changed out of her tattered trial gear and into the elegant, powerful gown he'd bought for her. The deep, winter-sky blue of the fabric was a stark, beautiful contrast to her pale skin and dark hair.
She looked like a queen. A goddess of winter ready to claim her throne.
"Don't die," he said, his voice a low, simple command.
Masha turned to him. The usual cool, analytical mask was in place. But for a single, fleeting moment, he saw something else in her eyes. A flicker of fear, yes, but beneath it—a deep, unwavering, completely terrifying faith.
Not in herself. In him.
"I won't," she said, her voice a quiet, firm promise.
