When he says nothing, I continue, “You fight in the arena tomorrow, correct? That’s what your family said at the welcome dinner. I’m sure you need to rest.”
Dayton straightens, and I hate that my body already aches to be close to him. That I want to call out for him to stay.
“Right,” he says, voice hoarse. He walks to the balcony, not even going to leave the normal way.
He looks back at me over his shoulder, blue eyes glinting in the moonlight. “I want to hear you cheer from the box tomorrow, Fare.” Then, in a fluid motion, he throws himself over the edge of the balcony and swings down the vines.
I clench the sheets of my bed and whisper, “Of course I’ll cheer, you idiot.”
I’d thoughtthe villa was hot, the wind blowing a breeze meant for high noon in the middle of the night. I’d thought the streets of the capital were warm, waves of heat making my vision swim. But the Sun Colosseum burns as if we are on the surface of the sun itself.
I’m on a high balcony with the other royals. On a tier above us sit the High Princes and Princesses, the small children lounging in chairs around them. I, however, have been seated with the other nobles on the lower tier. It is a terrace hanging right above the arena with little covering.
Around us, the Sun Colosseum is packed with what must be every single citizen of Hadria. Below, on the white sand, fighting with magic and weapons, are two gladiators. Whoever wins this fight will compete in the finale of the games and have a chance at the title of Champion.
I watch the battle with a mix of fascination and squeamishness as the two fighters clash their weapons in a dazzling display of strength and skill. Despite the intensity of the battle, there is some grace and beauty to the warriors’ movements as they leap and parry. A deadly dance.
I fall back in my chair, fanning my sweaty forehead with a paper fan.
If there’s any consolation to the blazing heat, it’s that I’m not the most miserable one here. The heir to Winter takes low, shallow breaths, sweat dripping down the planes of his chiseled jaw. He wears his white hair loose; it’s so long it trails down to his waist.
I can barely breathe when I look at him—a mixture of jealousy, envy, and awe swirl within me.
Keldarion is everything an heir should be: brave, handsome, righteous. He’s slightly older than me and is already commanding his realm’s army. When the spiders of Frosthold Crag kidnapped a prestigious lady, he led a mission with only one other to rescue her. Not to mention he’s making political gains with his courtship of a noble in the Spring Realm.
Lady Tilla walks down the steps, her long black hair tied in intricate braids atop her head.
“Here, darling.” She hands Keldarion a glass of cold water. He gives a grunt of approval before waving his hand above it. The water changes to bits of snow, which he blows into his face.
Only a trifle of his power. He might not have inherited Winter’s Blessing yet, but I’ve heard stories of the power at his command.
He’s the heir I should be. The kind the Autumn Realm deserves.
Tilla sits down beside him. Since she’s not part of the Spring Realm’s royal house, she’s not bound to the faceless armor the way the royal line is. She’s beautiful, her tawny skin made up with rouge, dark eyes lined with kohl. She honors Spring’s traditions in her clothing. A metal circlet sits atop her head, and dark steel swoops to sharp points on her shoulders. A chain mail belt ties together her pink dress.
If the rumors are true, she knows the ways of the Spring Realm and is a warrior in her own right.
My gaze slides to the two Spring Princes sitting next to me. I can’t help the fear that trembles up my body as I take in their massive, armored forms. One silver. One black. They both sit still as mountains.
Ezryn and I haven’t exchanged as much as ten words since I saw him last year. I always thought that was his entire personality, but I caught him laughing with Keldarion earlier.
As Winter is lucky to have Keldarion, so is Spring to have Ezryn. Word traveled that when a strange blight destroyed Spring’s crops, the High Princess trusted him alone to assist her in bringing life back to the dead earth.
I can’t dwell on it for long because the arena shakes as the crowd erupts in a massive cheer. Below, the battle has finished. A huge gladiator has his hammer pressed to the chest of another fae on the ground who holds his finger up in surrender.
“Spiculus.” Decimus, the middle brother of the Summer Royal Family, leans over to tell me. “A worthy opponent for the final match.”
“That’s who Dayton will face to become Champion?” I ask.
“If he wins his next fight.” Decimus grins at me as if we share an inside joke. We both know Day will win. The way he’s been fighting today…
I’ve never been much for violence, but seeing him compete this morning—and win again and again and again—has filled me with a strange elation.
As if on cue, the crowd erupts in a frenzied commotion, and the name Daytonales echoes throughout the arena as the citizens of Summer cheer for their prince.
I push myself up from my seat and clutch the edge of the balcony as Dayton steps upon the sand. A wild smile dances on his face as he raises his dual swords in the air. Across thearena, his opponent walks forward, banging his sword against his shield.
I’ve always thought of Dayton as huge, with his broad shoulders and tall stature, but his opponent looks like a giant of legend. His shadow stretches wide across the sand.
