"Daughter..."
My father glanced over his shoulder at me, his expression unreadable. He paused for a moment.
"Yes, my king?"
I offered him my usual smile—composed, pleasant, appropriately loyal.
"...Never mind."
He turned his gaze instead to my younger brother. "Edmund II, come here. I wish to watch the fights with you."
My brother lit up and hurried over, climbing onto Father's knee. His face beamed with pure, childlike joy. I should have felt something watching the scene—warmth, perhaps, or envy. But there was nothing.
I turned my attention back to the arena below, hoping for something more interesting. Unfortunately, it was just the same dull spectacle, the prisoners forced to fight Edric. He was winning easily—eight dead, by my count—and the rest looked far too hesitant to advance.
I stifled a yawn, but not well enough. My mother shot me a sharp glance.
"Watch your manners, young lady! Don't display such uncouth behavior in polite company."
She didn't wait for my response before returning her gaze to the arena. Still, I offered a quick, empty apology.
"She does have a point," my father murmured. "This match is beginning to feel rather stale."
Then he turned to Thorne. "Noble Thorne... if you would."
The noble—still heavyset, though noticeably slimmer than before—nodded solemnly. He rose from his seat, face unreadable, and moved to follow the king's order.
It took him only a moment to reach the guard by the door. He leaned in and said something in a hushed voice. The guard snapped to attention, smacked his chest in a salute, and hurried off.
Moments later, the announcer's voice boomed over the arena.
"Ladies! And also gentlemen! It seems our show has grown stale. Worry not, for this was but the appetizer to the main course! Now please, give your full attention to the arena for the next round of events!"
The flanking doors of the arena swung open.
From one side emerged a hulking green humanoid—massive, grotesquely muscular, radiating malice and rage. Its bald head glistened under the sun, and its snarl twisted its face into something barely human. It scanned the area before lunging forward, snatching one of the slaves and biting deep into their throat. The victim let out a gut-wrenching cry before going limp. The others scattered, fleeing from the monster in panic.
From the other door came a beast resembling a mutt, but monstrous in scale. Its fur shimmered with copper and silver hues, and it moved with eerie calm. It didn't charge blindly—it stalked. It ambushed one distracted slave, sinking its teeth into the back of their skull before they could even scream. Another followed. Then another. Only after the fourth death did the others even realize what was happening.
Edric, having noticed the new arrivals, stopped toying with the remaining prisoners. Finally, a real fight.
I leaned forward in my seat, intrigued at last.
Meanwhile, Thorne remained near the door. One of his guards rushed to him and whispered urgently in his ear. Thorne's expression darkened, troubled.
He strode over to my father and took a knee.
"Sire, it seems something has happened that requires my attention. Might I request your leave to see to it at once?"
He avoided eye contact. While such behavior might be expected from another noble, it was out of character for Thorne.
"You may," my father said, rising. "But I believe we should speak of this first. Let us move somewhere more private."
The two of them walked to the far end of the room. I caught a glimpse of my father's face—it had gone pale. For a moment, he looked almost frail, clutching Thorne's arm for support.
"Emberland took the initiative," my shadow whispered into my ear. "They've pushed deeper into Thorne's territory. They're close enough now that escape may be difficult."
My eyes widened. Our spies had assured us Emberland wasn't ready to act—they still lacked a new Saint.
"Do not worry, Princess," my shadow said. "This works in our favor. Amidst the chaos, we'll proceed with our plan. The invasion force will be our cover."
I gave a subtle nod and moved my hand toward my hip, where a small, sharp object lay hidden.
My father seemed shaken for only a moment before regaining his composure. He walked over to my mother and leaned down to whisper the news in her ear. She looked much less composed but somehow managed to pull herself together so as not to scare my brother.
My father returned to his seat and dismissed Thorne, who exited quickly with the guard and a few attendants.
I glanced around. Only the royal family and Director Dutchmund remained. Dutchmund appeared entirely engrossed in the fight, rambling aloud about back muscle density and failed wing formation.
I assumed he was talking about Edric.
Looking down at the arena, I saw Edric locked in combat with the copper-furred beast. He had severed its tail, leaving it unstable and stumbling. The green brute remained distracted by its slaughter of prisoners—hardly a helpful partner.
Then something strange happened. The metal around Edric's hand began to glow—a dull greyish red. He grabbed the beast by the throat. Its agonized cry echoed even into our viewing box. I could smell the burning fur.
The creature thrashed, then went limp.
Edric hurled the corpse at the green one—a show of strength, considering the thing was the size of a man. The brute dodged, snarling. But it didn't retaliate.
Instead, it turned and fled to the far side of the arena, tearing through prisoners as it went. They tried to resist—throwing rocks and trash—but only managed to stagger it briefly when one struck its head.
Edric was already moving.
"Did i see that right?" my father said, still staring at Edric. "Maybe it has to do with the timing?"
He turned to Dutchmund. "Dutchmund, what pieces did you implant exactly?"
"Oh sire, you see, I used—"
Whatever he meant to say was lost in the sudden boom of the announcer's voice.
"As you can see, our champion aspirant is too powerful! That is why, for the final test, we bring forth a very special opponent!"
Contractors spilled out into view, taking their positions along the railing of the arena. Their mouths moved in unison, chanting arcane words as they held out relics and trinkets. The air shifted—filled with the scent of incense and iron.
"Humble spectators, under the protection of the kingdom's finest," the announcer said, drawing out every word. "We present to you the First Deva—defeated, bound, and brought back for your entertainment!"
A hush fell across the arena.