“Can you not…”She starts to question, but Bertie shakes his head.
Divorce is not an option, not with the nature of his and Viktor’s arranged marriage and the debt repayment.
Silence greets them both again as the trapped reality of their situations rings loud in their minds.
“To our futures,” she lifts her goblet between them. “May we find whatever demented peace our dark hearts crave.”
“May the blessed Goddess of Wisdom have mercy on our souls.” He answers by clinking his goblet to hers.
17
SIGVID
October 28th, Year 100, 9th Era
Treland Arena
Utter darkness greets the Beast sometime in the early morning. In the cell over, Champion’s loud, grumbly snores echo off the stone walls.
He sits upright and adjusts his eyes to the eternal night he now seems to live in before creeping to his cell door. Further along the hall, an Arena caretaker lights sconces, illuminating the dank stone.
That young sentry should be coming through here soon.
The door to his cell creaks open, actually spooking him.
“Dammit, Godwyn, you about stopped my heart.” He hisses, greatly annoyed to be taken by surprise.
“My apologies, Beast. You said yesterday that you wanted to talk early in the morning?”
“I have a question.” Sigvid glances down the empty hallway, waiting until the door closes to speak. His voice lowers below a whisper, not wanting Champ to overhear. “I need your help again. Only this time, I need you to smuggle something in instead of out.”
“To whom would I deliver this object?”
“Me.”
“You have made me a rich betting man so far. What can I do for my favorite combatant?”
After detailing his strange request, he walks in circles, waiting for the guard to return. But Godwyn shows up surprisingly quickly. In his hands is a small box that he delivers without a word.
“Thank you, Godwyn.” His eyes widen as he peeks inside. “If you bet based on my recommendation, you could even buy a Lord title.”
After a grueling training session in the wickedly frigid autumn air, Sigvid and Grim trudge back to their cells. As they settle in for the night, nursing their bruises from the exertion, the sound of a familiar set of heavy boots stomping against the smooth stone silences their banter.
“My two heavy hitters.” The Battlemaster’s monstrous form comes into view of Sigvid’s cell. “Tomorrow is your fight for Grand Champion. The viewing seats will be packed full of wealthy fucks and sponsors.” He eyes Sigvid with a sick smile.
Sigvid grits his teeth, knowing precisely the sponsor he was implying and hates that theQueenwill be at the Arena. The only place that wench belongs is kneeling at his side, where no one else can even look at her.
He has not seen the Timber Queen since he claimed her body in chains over a month ago. Once he can escape, he will find the woman who belongs to him, steal her to his home, and then subject her to the depravity lurking within him.
“This match is considered the fight of the decade between the crowd's beloved Beast and the reigning Grand Champion, Slayer. Of course, whoever survives will be our Champion.”
He steps closer. “Your pretty cunt’s money may be nice, but gods, I hope it is you who dies. Do you understand the magnitude of being able to deliver the head of the Drengr Commander, a Prince, to Treland? I will be a legend. The Arena will be priceless.” Without another word, he thumps away.
“Well, Grim, I hate to say it, but tomorrow is our moment in the sun.” He stares at the small box on his bed, and a frown settles over his lips.
You know this is the only way. Either way, he dies.
“I should feel nervous facing you in the ring. Yet, honestly, all I feel is relief. It’s time the gods judge me for my sins.” Grim’s voice is even and calm.
