“Try it,” Thrax rumbles from across the table, “and you’ll be mucking stalls for a week.”
Flavius laughs, unfazed. “Then I’ll take my chances.”
I shake my head, though the corner of my mouth betrays me. “Eat your breakfast.”
Cassius, never one to miss a point, adds mildly, “Her name is Nicole. She has another riding lesson this afternoon.”
Her name spoken aloud twists through me. I test it in silence. I don’t want to want the sound of it. Not yet.
I rise, stacking my tray. “Work to do.”
Flavius waves a hand. “Of course there is. And if there isn’t, you’ll invent some.”
Outside, the air is sharp and honest. Tools wait where I left them, projects with edges I can measure, bolts I can tighten. Problems I know how to solve. And yet my mind strays—to brown hair in morning light, to the brush of her elbow under my hand in the stable, to the small, startled smile that rose when she found her balance again.
There’s a board in the hayloft that needs fixing, and a dozen other tasks I can complete before noon. But when the afternoon comes, Diana will have a full class at the ring. She’ll need another set of hands for girths and calm words.
That’s the reason I’ll need to be there.
And if Nicole happens to be in the saddle again—well, that’s coincidence. Nothing more.
Chapter Five
Nicole
Alaric (our instructor, built like a mountain and with the kind of patience that makes you think he’s seen it all before) hits the yard mat with a satisfying thud that reverberates through my entire body.
I stare down at him—all six feet and two hundred pounds of actual gladiator—sprawled on the training room floor, his expression somewhere between surprise and admiration. My hands shake with good adrenaline—the kind that comes from discovering I can do something I never imagined.
“I did that,” I whisper, then louder, “I actually did that!”
Maya’s whoop of approval echoes across the training yard. “Now that’s what taking up space looks like!”
Alaric grins as he rolls to his feet, completely unbothered by being thrown by a forty-five-year-old woman who, six months ago, couldn’t open pickle jars without Scott’s sarcastic commentary about her weak grip.
“Beautiful technique,” Alaric says, adjusting his translator earpiece. “You used my momentum perfectly. Very efficient.”
Efficient. I like that word better than lucky or surprising. It means skill, not accident.
The other women in our group gather around, their faces bright with shared victory. Here, every personal win feels like a group win.
“Show us how you set that up,” Karen demands, grinning.
I walk through the sequence again, confidence rising as I show them—hip placement, timing, that crucial moment when you commit instead of second-guessing. When I was married, analyzing anything I’d done right felt like bragging. Here, it feels like sharing knowledge.
“The secret is trusting that your body knows what to do,” I tell them, echoing Maya’s instruction from earlier. “Stop overthinking and start feeling.”
Maya nods approvingly from across the yard where she’s working with another pair. “Exactly right. Your body’s smarter than your doubts.”
As training winds down, I catch myself standing differently. Shoulders back, feet planted, taking up space without apologizing for it. The woman who apologized for existing is being replaced by someone who believes she has the right to be here.
The transformation isn’t just physical. It’s seeping into every part of how I move through the world. This intensive training has rebuilt more than just my body—it’s rebuilt my confidence.
Walking toward the main training yard to cool down, I hear the distinctive clack of wood on wood. On the other side of the fence, the gladiators are sparring. Our yards run parallel, close enough that we can see into theirs, and I find myself drawn to the sound like a moth to flame.
What I see stops me in my tracks.
Their sparring isn’t blocking and breaking holds like ours—it’s a deadly dance, each strike and counterstrike precise, fast, and absolute. Two gladiators spar with wooden swords, their movements so fluid they look choreographed, but what’s real is the genuine effort and concentration on their faces.
