His armor.
The familiar Revendarian steel was laid out on a nearby table, polished to a shine. All of the dings and scuffs he’d picked up from his ill-conceived battle with Cedric had been repaired. His own gauntlets, his greaves—the gear of a knight of the realm.
Why was it all here?
The realization slammed into him with the force of a charging warhorse.
This wasn’t an execution.
This was a fight.
Finn turned to the guards, his hands balling into fists. “What is this?” His voice came out hoarse, but the fury behind it was unmistakable. “What are you expecting me to do?”
The guards said nothing. They simply began outfitting him. His own armor, buckled tight against his body. His breastplate, his vambraces, each strap cinched with the swiftness of men who had done this a hundred times before.
Every piece felt heavier than it should.
Finn tensed. His mind screamed at him to resist. But what was the point? Even if he refused, Darius would force his hand another way.
Then, finally, one of the guards retrieved a weapon from the table and turned, extending it toward him.
Sunwrath.
The ruby in the sword’s pommel glinted, the blade’s edge gleaming even in the dim light. His fingers curled around the hilt instinctively, the weight settling into his palm like an old companion. A shield followed—though this was not his own. Finn seldom used them, finding they only interfered with his preferred fighting style.
But he was so unbalanced all he could do was stare down at the shield as he understood what was coming.
A trial by combat.
Darius meant to make a spectacle of him. Would he face the king’s champion? Finn’s mind stretched, running through all of the senior knights. There were several who might step up to fight and put Finn in his place.
They marched him forward into an antechamber, a heavy wooden gate barring the way ahead. Finn caught glimpses of the crowd through the slats—thousands of spectators, their voices a deafening roar of excitement.
One guard lingered for just a moment. “Kavros watch over you,” he muttered under his breath. Then they were gone.
Finn swallowed hard. A horn blared, loud enough to rattle his skull. The gate rose.
Finn squared his shoulders, forcing his feet onward, stepping into the blinding light of the arena.
The noise hit him like a wave. Thousands of voices rose in a mixture of cheers and jeers, a chaotic rumble of bloodlust. The scent of sand and sweat filled his lungs, the ground beneath his boots uneven and well-trodden.
His gaze swept the arena, taking in the towering walls, the vast stretch of the battlefield—built not for honor, but for spectacle. And close enough to savor every moment was the royal box.
It wasn’t set high and distant like in some grand coliseum. No, Darius wanted to watch this. His Highness, Lord of Petty Tyranny, wanted to see every drop of blood spilled, every desperate moment. The royal box was positioned just above the first rows, an open, elevated platform where the nobility could enjoy the best view of the slaughter to come.
And there—so close that Finn could see the tension in her shoulders, the flex of her fingers—sat Gwenna. She was a vision of poise, swathed in embroidered silks, her hair pinned in a crown of intricate braids. But Finn knew her too well to be fooled. Every line of her body was too rigid, her hands too tightly curled in her lap. She wasn’t there to watch. She was waiting. And seething.
His Royal Dumbassery didn’t know of the brewing storm beside him.
The king rose to his feet, arms outstretched, and slowly, the roar of the crowd faded into a tense, expectant hush.
“People of Lunareth!” Darius’s voice boomed over the coliseum, amplified by magic. “Today, we witness a trial by combat! Before you stands Sir Finnian Brightmoor, accused of treason against the crown.”
Treason. Finn clenched his jaw so hard it ached. You’re the traitor. But screaming it here wouldn’t matter.
King Dickhead paced the length of the royal box, his posture radiating control, his voice rich with performative mercy. “But I am a fair king. I offer Sir Finnian a chance to prove his innocence and regain his freedom. If he can defeat the monster that has plagued our kingdom for so long—the dragon that slaughtered the royal family—he will be exonerated of all charges.”
Finn froze. No.
