My vision blurs, not with weakness, but with fury sharpened by grief.
“Let me tell you something, Princeling.”
I glance toward Veskar and see the flicker of recognition, maybe even agreement, in his golden eyes.
“I choose me.”
The words are iron.
“I choose you.”
Stronger.
“I choose to keep our bond.”
The amulet still hangs between us, glinting in his hand. Without hesitation, I take it and hurl it away. It arcs high, the emerald flashing once before it disappears into the tall grass.
“I choose to fight at your side,” I tell Sorren. “Not behind you. Not in front of you.” I step closer still. “By your side.”
My voice rises, fierce and unwavering. “Do you hear me?”
Silence stretches out, thick and tense, until it’s interrupted by a slow, mocking clap.
“I hear you,” calls out a man’s voice.
All three of us turn toward the sound. Sorren. Veskar. Me.
One of the figures in the seats above us rises gracefully, separating itself from the still forms around it. Unhurried, the man descends the stairs, step by languid step. Like he has all the time in the world.
The moment he crosses into the first circle of light, the air shifts. Sorren’s hand finds my arm. Not too tight. Not bruising or frantic.
Possessive.
Protective.
He draws me close, his breath hot against my ear. “My uncle. Rion,” he hisses.
My eyes widen when Rion steps onto the arena floor.
His dark hair is neatly trimmed, the same texture as Sorren’s, but ink-black instead of gold. Where Sorren’s features are open, almost luminous, his are sharply carved. High cheekbones. A narrow mouth that curves easily but not kindly.
Their resemblance is unmistakable.
The same height. The same broad shoulders. The same royal bearing.
But where Sorren burns, this man smolders.
His eyes are not green. They are the deep, metallic brown of old coins left in the earth too long. They watch us, sparking with amusement.
“How?” Sorren demands, outrage flashing across his face as he turns on Veskar. “The Egg was meant to seal once we entered. It admits only the bonded. Not armies. Not strangers. Not enemies.”
The snake’s golden gaze does not waver.
“Youarebonded,” Veskar replies. The grass flattens beneath his coils, his tail twitching once. “Your uncle is blood, a bond that cannot be severed.” He rises slightly. “You assumed the bond meant love. Mates.” A faint hiss extends each word. “But there are other bonds as well.” He tilts his head. “Ones just as strong.”
Rion strolls toward us, hands tucked loosely into his pockets as though this were a garden party and not a battlefield.
A few feet away, he pauses. Glances down.
