My eyes catch on deep gouges in the pit wall. Scorch marks score the stone, the walls partially melted in some places to form black glass.

“The last time two Eternals fought here,” Alexios continues, “they cracked the foundations so badly we had to rebuild half the western section. This is where gods come to die, girl.”

He steers me toward a balcony jutting over the arena floor, where a pair of obsidian thrones dominate the dais. The larger is a jagged, spiked monstrosity that appears carved from living shadow. The other lacks its companion’s ornamentation but is no less imposing.

Alexios sprawls in the bigger chair. “Sit.”

I eye the empty throne. “It’s the same height as yours.”

“An Eternal’s Chosen takes a position of equal standing, even if I’d prefer you at my feet.” His expression frosts over. “Sit down, Bryony.”

I can think of about a hundred things I’d rather do than perch at his side, but I sink onto the throne all the same.

A screech of metal rends the air, and everyone turns toward the far end of the arena where a rusted gate shudders upward. A hush goes through the crowd.

And I know who I’m going to see stride out onto those killing sands. Because, of course, it would be him.

Evander walks into the pit, bare from the waist up, with magic-suppressing manacles glinting around his wrists. Straps of weapons cross his torso, framing gleaming skin and rippling muscle. His wings flare, stretching wide and catching the torchlight until the golden feathers seem to burn. All that coiled strength and beauty is honed to a lethal edge.

I can’t breathe past the panic clawing up my throat. “You said I’d pay his penance,” I snarl at Alexios. “We had a deal.”

“That was our agreement for Hellevig. This is about Scillari.” He cuts me a sidelong glance. “You know our realm is alive, don’t you? Aware?”

I give him a sharp nod, not trusting my voice.

“Then you need to understand that the Wolf’s been stable enough to have his leash off for years. But that means being a king, not a pretty killer who fucks and fights because it’s easier than ruling.” A low laugh. “Scillari picks its monarchs. And it doesn’t appreciate when a chosen king leaves its gifts to rot unused. He needs to show a pissed-off realm why he’s more worthy than any demi itching to wear his crown.”

I stare at the sands below. Armored demis are pouring into the arena with magic crackling in the air, ready to kill.

They circle Evander, over fifty against one. Sizing him up. Looking for vulnerable spots to drive the knife in deep and twist. But he just bares his teeth in a feral grin, amber eyes glowing.

“Tonight, those cuffs make it a fair fight for his challengers to prove themselves,” Alexios continues. “Those demis think he’s weak. They believe loving you has made him soft.”

My mouth dries up. “And you’re letting them think that?”

“I’m letting him prove them wrong.”

“If he loses?” I ask, afraid of the answer.

Alexios watches me, his expression cold. As if he blames me for this. “Then Severin, the Blade, and I will put him down. It’ll take all three of us at his power level.”

“You’ll kill him?” I ask, my stomach lurching.

“The realm would demand it. Weakness can’t rule.”

“But he—” My voice catches. “He can’t use his power. There are too many down there. He can’t—”

“He can.” Alexios pins me with that ruthless, red stare. “And he will. For you.”

Then he raises his hand—

And the demis attack.

One swings a massive war hammer, the head leaving traceries of lightning in its wake. Evander ducks beneath the crackling arc and comes up swinging. His dagger flashes once. Twice. His opponent crumples to the sand with a slit throat.

Evander doesn’t pause to savor his victory. He’s already moving, surging to meet the next wave of attackers. A demigoddess with obsidian wings sends shadows swelling from the ground to grasp for his legs, but he lets the darkness catch him, using the momentum to launch himself into a backflip that brings him down behind another opponent. His blade finds the sweet spot between armor plates before they can turn.

The air around the third demi shimmers like a heat haze before coalescing into a barrage of glass shards that hurtle toward him. Evander throws up his wings, and the projectiles ping off his feathers before tinkling to the arena floor. Then he sweeps low and takes out his attacker’s knees.

It only gets bloodier from there.

Evander is feral grace. His knives sing as he paints the sands red. But for every demi he cuts down, another takes their place. The blows are taking their toll, his movements losing fluidity as exhaustion sets in, no doubt sped up by the damn cuffs.

My pulse is too fast. I can barely concentrate on the fighting below. Meanwhile, Alexios lounges beside me, just… observing. Emotionless.

“Did he ever tell you why we call him the Wolf?” Alexios’ voice filters through the static. Soft. Gentle, almost. I wonder if he’s trying to distract me.

I swallow before replying. “He said he earned the name.”

“Oh, undoubtedly. Before the war, he was a good prince. A scholar. He had his mother’s love of books and art. But that was before humans taught my kind that a crown makes fine kindling and a god’s heart is a delicacy to be devoured.”

A wet, meaty thunk wrenches my focus to the pit below. The crowd cheers as Evander takes down five more demis in quick succession. He’s brutal. Blood coats his armor, his skin. This is a god of battle at work.

“Is there a point to the history lesson?” I ask flatly. “Or is this just another excuse to hear yourself talk?”

“I was there when the Wolf earned his name. At the battle of Sul’achan.”

My blood turns to ice.

Every child in Vartena knows Sul’achan. How Luceni’s legion stood against the Scillari host in the Riverlands. The bards never could agree on the finer details, but they all ended the same way—with the River Wartos running red and bodies piled so high, they blotted out the sun.

Alexios tilts his head, considering. “Five thousand human soldiers, and Evander didn’t even reach for a weapon. He waded into those killing fields and ripped them apart with his bare hands and teeth like an animal. But that’s war, isn’t it? Strip away the civilization, and we’re all just beasts in too-small skin. The only thing standing between you and the Void is how loudly you can howl, how deep you can dig, and how viciously you can bite.”

I can’t look away from the arena.

A demi wielding twin swords forces Evander toward the wall. But instead of retreating, he runs three steps up the vertical surface before launching himself over his opponent’s head, wings snapping out. His primary feathers slice clean through his enemy’s neck.

The sands are red now. There are so many corpses that he has to step on them.

“After the battle,” Alexios says, “I found him crouched over a gutted soldier, gnawing at the poor bastard’s throat. He was called Blaze once, did he tell you? A strong name for a strong prince who could manipulate heat and bend light to his will. But that was a different time. A kinder one.”

As if to punctuate his point, Evander spins and buries his sword in a demi’s gut.

I see his guard drop a fraction of a second too late—the way his opponent pivots, leading Evander to bare his flank. The wet shunk as the dagger hits its mark.

I shove to my feet. But before I can take a step, Alexios hauls me against his chest.

“Watch,” he hisses in my ear. “Watch him fight for you, bleed for you. The depravities he’ll commit in your name. This is what’s left when you peel back a god’s civility, little sacrifice. We kill for our Chosen. We butcher for what’s ours.”

Evander whirls and shoves his blade through the last demi’s throat.

Silence falls over the Colosseum. The crowd seems to hold its collective breath—then the demis are bowing, acknowledging their better.