Chapter 191
The next morning arrives with yet another outlandish outfit courtesy of Kota. Today’s ensemble is a golden sheath dress, cinched at the waist with a belt of turquoise nuggets and copper coins. The headdress is the most absurd piece yet, an elaborate starburst that fans out around my head, drawing attention to me whether I want it or not.
And I certainly do not. Still, I set my shoulders and wear it as best I can. Cora, to my relief, has chosen not to make waves today. She dons the navy dress and gold cape Kelis provided without complaint, though her defiance is evident in the ring that remains firmly on her left hand. Khale’s ring. She fidgets with it constantly, twisting it around her finger as though drawing strength from it.
“Are you certain this plan will work?” she asks, her voice low and tense as we wait for the guards.
“I’m sure,” I say, though my confidence feels thinner today. The whispers from the arena yesterday still echo in my mind, the undercurrent of unease impossible to shake.
The guards arrive, their expressions stony as they usher us toward the arena. The streets are even more alive than they were yesterday, buzzing with anticipation. Whispers ripple through the crowd, fragments of excitement carrying on the currents.
The Menagerie.
The Lost Prince.
The Trench Dweller.
“They’re talking about them like superheroes,” I murmur to Cora, glancing at the people craning their necks to catch a glimpse of us.
Cora smirks. “I’m sure Raif and the Terror Twins are thrilled about that.”
When we reach the royal box, the energy in the arena is palpable. The stands are packed, the same faces from yesterday in the same seats, some even wearing the same clothes. Their eagerness is undiminished. As I scan the crowd, Kota leans toward me, his voice low and honeyed.
“You look ravishing,” he murmurs, his hand sliding possessively across my thigh.
My jaw tightens, my hand itching to slap him, but my eyes catch on the glint of the stone pendant wrapped around his wrist. A constant, silent threat. I grit my teeth and force my attention to the filling arena, ignoring the weight of his touch.
“Are you so cold to your Abyssinian?” Kota sneers, his tone laced with mockery.
I tilt my head, my voice calm but cutting. “Has no one ever told you not to ask questions you don’t want the answers to?”
Kota leans closer, his nose brushing my throat. “On the contrary,” he whispers, “I want to know all there is about you, Little Heiress. I want to know the trigger to your every tick, your every moan… I can practically taste your fire.”
My heart races, though not for the reasons he’d like. My hands ball into fists in my lap, nails biting into my palms.
“Kota, leave it,” Raif says sharply, his tone commanding. “None of this will matter if she slits your throat before the tournament is even completed.”
Kota snarls but leans back, his hand retreating. Raif fixes me with a hard stare, silently warning me to behave before rising to address the arena.
“Welcome, citizens of Ao, to the second day of our great Tourney,” Raif announces, his voice booming across the water. “The first of a new era.”
He launches into a recap of yesterday’s matches, detailing the victors with flourish. When he reaches the end, he pauses, his expression tight as he acknowledges, “And of course, the Lost Prince and the Trench Dweller.”
The crowd erupts, their cheers and boos clashing in a deafening cacophony. Among them are chants for Khale and Wake, voices rising in support of their new favorites. Despite myself, I smile.
Raif lets the noise wash over the arena for a few moments before raising his hands, commanding silence. “As I’m sure word has gotten out, there is a special surprise scheduled for today. A spectacle as rare as it is astounding. A feat of strength and endurance that few have dared to brave, and even fewer have survived… The Menagerie!”
The arena explodes with excitement, the crowd’s roaring cheers shaking the very walls. The sound is so loud, it feels like it’s vibrating through my bones, making me wince. But Raif’s voice cuts through the noise, his tone reverberating with authority.
“The Tourney’s twenty reigning champions will face a gauntlet of Ao’s greatest natural threats. A ravenous torrent of fin and fang that will weed out the weak. Only the strongest will survive.”
Beside me, Kota straightens, his posture suddenly rigid. His chin lifts, and there’s a glint in his eye that makes me uneasy. I don’t ask why; I already have my suspicions.
Raif continues, his voice swelling with pride. “This opportunity to prove the ultimate warrior comes so rarely in our fair city. I, your Dawn King, have only seen one in my lifetime, and we all know the result of that fight.”
The crowd grumbles, uncertainty rippling through them. Boos ring out, and Raif’s expression hardens.
“We know from our past mistakes that a strong city requires strong leadership,” he declares, his voice rising. “Both in mind and body.”
Cheers erupt again, drowning out the murmurs of dissent. Raif lifts his hands, bidding the crowd to quiet once more.
“People of Ao,” he says, his tone solemn, “that is why your future rulers, my sons, your true princes and Tangaroa’s true heirs, will take up the gauntlet today and join the Menagerie!”
The reaction is instantaneous. The crowd erupts into a frenzy, a mix of cheers, boos, excitement, and terror. Beside me, Kota and Kelis stand, their postures proud as they present themselves to the crowd like gods among mortals. Kota’s eyes gleam with something predatory as he turns to me. Without warning, he grabs me around the waist, hauling me to my feet.
Before I can react, his lips crash against mine in a possessive, punishing kiss. My body tenses, every muscle screaming in protest. Thousands of eyes are on us now, the crowd roaring their approval. I’m acutely aware of what this display means. Kota isn’t just marking me as his; he’s turning the people’s fervor against me, rooting for their prince to win, and for the Abyssinian to die.
When he finally pulls back, his grip on my waist is ironclad. I force myself to meet his gaze, my eyes blazing with defiance. Let them cheer, I think. Let them chant for their prince. It won’t save him from what’s coming.
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