Matthias wondered what his father would do with her. He shook his head, reminding himself that he shouldn’t care. He was just biding his time until he could be rid of this place once and for all. Until he could live a life of solitude away from this hole.
The event had ruined his appetite, so he rose from the table and exited the room. Fight night would soon begin, and it was time to prepare for the onslaught of Drago.
He would eat later, once the palace was asleep.
In the dim, underground basement that served as a fighting ring, anticipation charged the air. A rowdy crowd of Thorns gathered, their murmurs creating an eerie symphony that hung heavy in the room. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows on the concrete walls, giving an otherworldly feel to the scene.
Matthias stood with a calculating glint in his eyes, every muscle coiled with readiness. He considered his fighting style to be swift, a testament to his cunning agility. Covered only by loose black pants, the prince’s upper body glistened under the glow of the room as beads of sweat formed on his skin. He couldn’t quite determine whether it was truly warm in the basement or if his body simply knew what was coming.
Across from him stood Drago, a hulking figure who exuded power. His blows hit like thunder, but his steps were deliberate, a stark contrast to Matthias’ nimbleness. He’d been waiting for thisrematch for a few weeks now. Last time Drago had walked away with the Victor’s Crown, but tonight Matthias was determined to make it his once again.
Raising his fists before him, the prince took the ready position, fear and excitement filling his veins. The crowd’s collective breath held as the signal was given.
The clash was instant, a collision of strategies as different as night and day. Matthias danced like the shadows cast upon the walls. His speed a shield against the brutal blows of his opponent, his lithe form a testament to many years of fight nights in Oscuro. On the other hand, Drago’s brawn was his weapon. Every blow he delivered resounded like a drumbeat, creating shockwaves that rippled through the air.
The prince winced in pain as Drago’s knuckles cracked into his jaw, blood coating his tongue and the taste of metal lining the back of his throat. Matthias knew he was going to feel this for the days to come, but these punches felt different to the ones his father delivered.
Drago hit out of respect . . . the king hit out of hatred.
The dance of combat unfolded in the confined space. Matthias grinned as he weaved, avoiding as many of Drago’s blows as possible. The prince’s tactics became apparent as the fight wore on. His swiftness allowed him to exploit openings in Drago’s defence, landing precise strikes that chipped away at the man’s endurance.
In one fluid motion, Matthias struck a final landing blow, pain bursting across his skin beneath the cloth wrapped around his knuckles.
The impact was proof of precision and strategy over sheer power. Matthias’ strike found its mark—a vulnerable spot left exposed by Drago’s slower movements.
Drago staggered, his massive form swaying like a tree on the brink of collapse. The force of the blow carried him backwards, and he collapsed onto the uneven ground with a thud. The crowd of Thorns, once frenzied with cheers, fell into stunned silence.
Matthias stood there, chest heaving, sweat-slicked and victorious, with blood dripping from the wound on his lip. Heblinked in the light of the torches, ears ringing, feeling a blend of exhaustion and triumph.
As the dust settled and the crowd’s astonishment transformed into applause, Matthias emerged as the champion in the heart of Oscuros’ night.
Chapter Four
The BEAST
The steady drip of water woke Adalia from her sleep. Her entire body ached. She gingerly touched the dry blood crusted over the wound on her face and winced. Her throat was dry and her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She was lying on the floor of a damp stone cell with no clue how long she’d been there. They had bound her wings with leather strapping and chained her hands together.
Groaning, she pulled herself up to lean against the wall. The movement alone drained her of what little energy she had left. The room was tiny, with no bed or windows, only a wooden door with a small hole at head height.
Panic hit her like a tidal wave as invisible hands tore at her throat. Breathing Oscuro air felt like betraying her very soul. But she knew if she didn’t, she may as well lay there and let them take it from her body. She was in the enemy kingdom.
The memory of the female Thorn sneering over her flashed across her mind. Scrambling thoughts raced as she tried to piece together exactly what had happened.
It should have been a simple mission.
Did her station know she was missing? And if they did, would they have told her brother or her parents? Would they come looking for her?
She hoped they wouldn’t. There was no need to endanger more lives.
She needed to be smart.
Wrong moves, dumb decisions, and feelings couldn’t be allowed to get in the way. If there was a time where wisdom needed to be her identity, it was now.
The jangle of metal keys sounded through the small space and Adalia closed her eyes, bracing herself for whatever was about to unfold. A female guard entered the cell, crossed the room, and roughly pulled her to her feet. It was at this moment she realised they’d exchanged her Lightner leathers for garments that barely covered the essentials. How dare they unwillingly strip her and change her clothing while she was unconscious? Who did these creatures think they were?
Disgusted, and barefoot, they pulled her up through dark stairwells and into dreary halls, causing her to wince in pain with every step she took.
Fear gripped Adalia as two guards opened black wooden doors upon their approach, a Thorn shoved her over the threshold and into the large expanse. Adalia stumbled forwards, nearly falling face first into the ground, but she composed herself. As her captor pushed her again, she noted the layout of the room, looking for every escape route.
