Dark Prince Rising

Five

The fighting arena was chaotic. Children pushed each other and squealed as they ran underfoot, men shouted at each other from across the arena, and women huddled together in groups, gossiping about the fighters. Cira picked her way carefully through the crowd, searching the stands for the familiar golden curls of the Wynvers.

Aelon caught her eye, high in the stands. He waved emphatically, like they did when they were small and needed to jump to be seen over the crowds. He was seated beside Crown Princess Nalia, just beneath the King. Cira's smile faded a bit. She still felt a bit out of place when Aelon was with the Royal family.

I guess you'll just have to get used to it, she told herself. You'll be seeing a lot more of her when they're married.

The thought hurt her much more than it should've.

He greeted her with a boyish grin, far different than the charming smile he used to woo women. It lit up his blue-green eyes beautifully with its honest joy. Izzy scooted her brothers out of the way, patting the space between her and Aelon.

"Where have you been?" Isamay's eyebrows were high on her forehead. "I can't deal with this many brothers by myself!"

Cira laughed. "You only have three at the moment, and I doubt Aelon or Theo are bothering you that much."

Izzy sighed dramatically. "You're right. It's just him that is too much to handle." She shot a playful glare over her shoulder at her twin, who smirked in return. "But where were you? You didn't sleep in, I'm sure."

"Of-of course not," Cira sputtered. I was up all night researching a new lead. 

Aelon spoke up, saving her from another lie. "She simply lost track of time. I heard her playing her violin this morning."

Izzy nodded. "Oh. You should've played in the commons! You know we all love to hear you play."

Cira sent a thank-you glance at Aelon, and he nodded so slightly it was almost imperceptible. She was a terrible liar, but Aelon was so good it was sometimes frightening.

Down below, two men entered the ring. The crowds quieted a bit as they waited for the fighting to begin. One man was obviously a slave. He wore cheap armor, but he carried his sword like it was an extension of his arm. The other man was a veteran; he wore a steel breastplate and chainmail, and his sword was expensive.

The two warriors got into their attack stances and paused, looking up to the stands for the signal to begin. Cira resisted the urge to follow their gazes to the King. She had to be poised and perfect, like she had seen this a thousand times.

The King lifted his arm, and the entire stadium fell silent. Then he swung his fist toward the ground. The stands erupted in chants and cheers, and the two warriors began circling each other. The slave was the first to strike, swinging his sword in a wide arc towards the other man's neck.

The veteran ducked it easily. The slave lost his balance, and the noble drove his blade straight through the cheap armor over the man's back. He jerked once and was still. The crowds shouted and stomped their feet to show their appreciation for the bloodshed, but Cira was disgusted. Why did they do this? The country wasn't at war, so they made a game of death?

The next few fights continued in much the same way. Always two men, fairly equal in size or skill. Always a death. One was particularly gruesome. A slave completely severed the head of his opponent, and the body stood for a few moments with blood spewing from the neck before it collapsed.

Cira winced and turned to Aelon, who met her eyes. They shared a moment of grief and understanding before they were forced to continue watching. Cira shook her head. The warriors could make these kills so much cleaner. They only spilled so much blood to keep the crowds happy.