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The three sorcerers huddled together briefly and then stood in front of their chairs. Orl was the one to raise his hand to signal that he had an announcement. “The Triumvirate has conferred on the matter, and since there is nothing in the decree stating which regions may enter into the fight, we will allow Greyhart to compete.”

The Valians cheered loudly enough to drown out the boos and jeers from the other two sides. Roh was about to unleash another gold bomb to settle the crowd, but Greshun did it for him with a loud, ear-piercing howl. It was truly spine chilling. His face contorted briefly to that of a large wolf. The crowd quieted, and all eyes were on the beast in the fighting ring.

Greshun produced a grin that was short a few teeth. “I, for one, look forward to tearing Greyhart limb from limb.”

Revel nodded to him in approval, because it meant Greshun was on board with the whole thing. Kelto didn’t look as convinced.

Prince Granier walked to the platform to address the sorcerers. “Your lordships, if the Valian wins, then what happens to our thrones? Are we released from our fated mate bond? Will we be able to move on and marry whomever we like?”

“Seems only fair,” Fenrick called out.

Orl looked at his two partners, and there seemed to be a magical mind exchange of words or thoughts. He nodded to each of them and then turned to Granier. “If the Valian warrior wins, then Raphael will return to Norvale. She will be free from the fated mate bonds, but both you and Prince Fenrick will abdicate your thrones. The royal lines will be passed on to different families.” Interestingly, the only people who had a strong reaction to that decision were the two royal families. Their subjects had a very muted response, as if they’d be just as happy to see the princes tossed onto their royal asses.

Austri, Madigan and Lyric decided to join the Valians down at the front edge of the ring. Lyric waved to me as they descended the risers. Madigan and Austri walked straight over to Revel, most likely to give pointers and a pep talk. Madigan seemed to know a lot about his two opponents, and I had no doubt Revel knew them, too.

I couldn’t even categorize my feelings and emotions anymore. Fear was mixed with extreme giddiness at the prospect that I might be free of my double-fated prison. If Revel won, I could go home to Norvale, where I belonged. From everything I’d heard, Revel was a fearsome opponent in any fight, especially when he was with his dragon, but Kya wouldn’t be with him today. Greshun could transform into a flesh-tearing beast, and Kelto could vanish at intervals, making him a very elusive and transparent target. Revel had only his wits and his strength to rely upon. Worst of all, the sorcerers made it clear that a fight to the death would not be a problem. I could lose both Revel and my freedom with one fatal blow of a sword or fangs.

I had an unrelenting urge to run down the risers and stand with Norvale. I hadn’t spoken with Revel in days, and I ached to be near him—to hear him say something to me in that smooth, deep tone, to have his hands touch me or his arms circle me—but I didn’t dare move from my assigned chair. I worried if I showed favoritism, the sorcerers would change their minds. Or would that be for the best? I couldn’t live knowing that Revel died trying to free me from a fated marriage.

Another ball of light, this one less explosive and more celebratory, floated over our heads, sprinkling tiny pink glowing lights through the air. They vanished as they neared the ground like snowflakes falling on warm pavement.

The crowd seemed to enjoy the prospect of a three-way fight, and I noticed a few secret wagers being placed and passed around.

Revel removed his shirt, stripping down to just his breeches and boots. I was sure I heard one long purr of admiration from all the women in the stands, and possibly some of the men. He again dropped his axe against his shoulder and took his mark in the circle. He looked incredibly relaxed for someone about to fight off two opponents, each with their own advantage. And something told me both opponents would be working hard to get the third, unwanted fighter out of the circle first.

A man walked into the circle. He called the three fighters into the center, said a few words to them and sent them back to their marks. He strolled out of the ring, turned and rang a bell. Just like that, the fight had begun.

Thirty-Seven

Revel dropped his axe. He paused and found me up on the viewing platform. His hazel eyes held mine for a moment, then he plowed straight into Greshun. He barely knocked the giant back even two steps. Greshun growled in anger and lumbered toward Revel. He retrieved his axe and the blunt side landed hard on Greshun’s meaty shoulder. The beast stumbled to the side in pain. He righted himself, released an eardrum-shattering yowl and began transforming into wolf. He was such a hairy monster to begin with that the change did not take long. In the meantime, Kelto was cleverly resting and amusing himself with the scene in front of him.

Greshun’s fur was blacker and more matted than most of Fenrick’s pack. There were no silver streaks or pearly white fangs. His fangs were dark yellow and dripped like a rabid dog’s. Revel kept an eye on the Solamite fighter, but his main focus was on the snarling creature in front of him. Greshun paced in a small circle, like an angry predator planning his attack.

My attention had been glued to the scene below, but as I sat there, I suddenly felt the heat of an angry glare on the side of my face. I pulled my focus from the fight. Princess Jonier was shooting daggers at me with her rage-filled stare. Her mouth was drawn tight. It was easy to read her thoughts. She was angry her poison had not done the trick. I had no doubt now that it was Princess Jonier who’d slipped me poison. She was venomous in every way, and now her son had a double chance of losing his throne. I could only imagine life in her castle. Every bite of food or sip of drink could be my last if she decided to go the poison route again. I had no doubt a wicked soul like her could think up some very creative ways to get rid of an unwanted daughter-in-law.

The crowd released a sympathetic unified groan. I snapped my attention back to the fight. Jonier was a different fight, one I had no interest in engaging in at the moment. Down below, Revel seemed to be shaking off something. I gasped when he turned. His chest was striped with blood. As he regained his bearings, Kelto took the opportunity to arc his sword high in the air. I gasped in fear.

“Look out!” someone yelled.

Revel shot sideways, and the sword clanged hard against the ground, missing Revel completely. Revel focused again on his Regna opponent. Getting Greshun out of the fight would give him a good chance. I doubted Kelto was much of a match for Revel.

Greshun dropped back to his haunches and launched toward Revel. The beast was inches away when Revel swung his axe, hitting the animal back. The Regna side booed and hissed. Greshun howled and blood matted his black fur. He was still on all four feet, but the blow had done some significant damage. He moved slowly as if each step was agony. But it was a ploy. It seemed Greshun had more strategic skills than Madigan gave him credit for. He lunged straight at Revel and landed fully on top of him. Revel was slammed hard on his back with the giant wolf on top of him. I looked away, then forced myself to watch.

Chunks of fur flew through the air followed by spatters of blood. Kelto saw his opportunity. He approached the wrestling fighters with his sword. Adrenaline pumped so hard through me , I was sure it would send me straight into the air. The crowd held its collective breath as Kelto lifted his sword. The blade glinted in the bits of light streaming through the clouds. Kelto’s plan seemed to be to take out both opponents with one fatal blow. As the sword came down, Greshun’s body flew off Revel and right into the blade. Another unified groan, this one filled with disgust, made its way around the crowd. The force at which Revel had thrown Greshun through the air, coupled with the deadly arc of the blade, had nearly cut the beast in half. His body collapsed into a pool of blood. Parts that shouldn’t have been visible plopped out of the massive wound. Slowly, the coat of matted black fur vanished, and Greshun, the man, lay submerged in his own pool of blood.

“This is not fair!” Fenrick stood and faced the Triumvirate. “Greyhart should not have been in this fight. This is not right.” The Regnas protested loudly in anger and in solidarity with their prince.

Roh stood up, and the crowd immediately quieted down. “The decree was written poorly. That is our fault. The way it reads, the Valian warrior has every right to be in the fight. Now, Prince Fenrick, I suggest you have your men carry the wounded fighter off to a healer. He does not look well. The fight will pause until Prince Fenrick’s guards have removed the fallen fighter.”

The Regnas looked crestfallen about having lost the fight, but no one more than Prince Fenrick. His dark eyes flicked in my direction more than once, and each time I felt as if a knife had been thrown at me.

Greshun looked close to death by the time they managed to fold his massive frame into one of the carriages. It should have been a somber moment, but people in the stands were animated now and eager for the fight to continue. I moved my gaze in the direction of Prince Granier. He was busy talking and laughing with his courtiers and a pretty blonde woman in particular. As far as he was concerned, this was over, and he would leave with the prize—me. I was feeling more like a piece of raw meat waiting to be thrown to the winning lion than a future princess.

As usual, Jonier had a hard, cruel expression on her face as she stared at me. I pulled my gaze free of her malevolent glower and focused back on the fight circle. Someone had cleaned the claw marks on Revel’s chest. He gulped water from a leather pouch. Kelto had taken time to clean the blood off his sword. It now glittered in his hand as he turned it back and forth for inspection.

Revel handed off the leather pouch and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture I found strangely sexy, like everything else about the man. His gaze rolled up the rows of seats and landed directly on me. I badly wanted to run down to him and throw my arms around him to let him know how deeply I loved him, but the three sorcerers would frown upon that, I was sure.

I looked around, quickly lifted my hand and blew him a very discreet kiss. I could see the little line on his cheek that formed whenever something pleased him. The fight officially started once more. I was sure Fenrick would stomp off, no longer interested since his fate had been sealed and delivered. But he stayed, wanting to see how this whole spectacle turned out. No one wanted to know that more than me.