He glanced around at the entrances of the coliseum for motion. Marina’s tardiness was unlike her. He’d witnessed every one of her duels, and not once had she ever been late. In fact, her calculative intuition often led her to arrive before her opponent, waiting in her silent, indifferent persona as if the duel was a waste of her time.
Acacius rubbed his index finger and thumb together under his cloak sleeve as the minutes passed.
In his periphery, Iliana glanced at him. He didn’t have to see her face to imagine her inquisition.
Shadows fabricated like pinpricks across the platform.
Iliana fixed her attention on the dense obsidian wisps twisting up and expanding into a large mass.
Dark mist hovered over the coliseum. Marina fabricated in its tailspin, across from Torin, shade rippling around her feet.
Acacius’s eyes licked up her black velvet gown to its dangerously low neckline, the ruby jewels of her body chain glinting between her diaphragm and her breasts.
The white strand in her dark hair caught his attention. It framed the right side of her face. Was she born with the smoky streak, or was it something she painted with her glamor?
He stared at her blank expression, unsettled by the lifeless disposition she held herself in.
“Welcome, Lady Marina.” Solasta bowed her chin in a respectful greeting, her soothing voice like a song that put children to sleep.
Marina kept her attention on Torin without returning Solasta’s acknowledgement.
Down the line, Acacius could feel the heat of Azara’s divine power crackling in the air.
Acacius flicked his eyes over to the tensed muscles on the side of her sharp jaw and her ginger locks pulled back in a tight ponytail. Marina’s blatant disrespect had always irritated the Council.
And any other time, Acacius would’ve reacted with similar annoyance. Young gods and their egos stirred his superiority complex.
However, something was off. He felt it in his marrow.
He returned his gaze to Marina’s slumped shoulders, her posture haggard and worn in a way he’d never seen before—as if she were trying to make herself smaller. A way to disappear.
“Marina, High Goddess of Night,” Azara addressed, her tone assertive and to the point. “The Council stands before you today because Torin, middle god of night, has called a duel for your title.”
“Do you accept this challenge?” Naia spoke formally, steady, but Acacius did not miss the pinch in her brow as she stared at her sister’s backside. Proof that Acacius’s gut feeling called for concern.
He kept his eyes trained on Marina, hunting for any subtle reaction from Naia’s voice—tension in her shoulders, visible tightening of the fists at her side.
Nothing.
Silence passed.
Whispers brushed across the hall.
Acacius’s lips formed a straight line.
Her silence unnerved him.
Come on.
“Lady Marina?” Iliana called out.
Marina stared at the ground. “I accept.” The pitch of her voice was hollow, syllables barely exiting off her tongue.
Acacius didn’t understand this version of her. She’d left him piked on fucking skewers in the middle of a forest outside of Tenebris. During their fight, their dance, some of her vigor had returned. He caught a glimpse of it relighting in her gaze.
“The victor of this duel shall go forth as the High Ruler of Night.” Mavros spoke a few paces down from Acacius, providing a calm demeanor that mirrored Cassius. “Whoever loses must accept their defeat with grace.”
Marina stared ahead at Torin. “I accept the terms.”
