The royal arena was a monument to spectacle.
Nathan stood among the competitors, watching the stands fill with thousands of spectators. Banners of crimson and gold hung from every pillar. Trumpets blared. The crowd roared with anticipation.
He had seen arenas before—the Veiled Colosseum, the World Climber Tournament. This was different. It was smaller, more intimate. But the energy was the same.
The king sat in the royal box, surrounded by nobles in fine silks. He was an old man, grey-haired and stern-faced, his eyes scanning the competitors with cold calculation. Beside him sat the First Prince—silent, watchful, his silver hair catching the morning light. Princess Amelia sat on the king's other side, smiling warmly at the crowd.
Nathan's eyes lingered on the prince. This was his target. This was his way into the palace.
The opening ceremony was brief. The king gave a speech about honor and glory. The crowd cheered. And then the matches began.
