Cyrene returned to her friends’ inn and recounted much of her experience with Basille Selby. It didn’t give them much to go on, except that Matilde and Vera apparently lived in the Swamp Sector. They all agreed to focus their efforts in the dilapidated hellhole, and Cyrene reluctantly decided to wait it out. If Matilde and Vera were to find her, perhaps she should just let them.

When Dean returned her and Maelia to the castle, he pulled Cyrene aside and gently kissed her hand. “I’m sorry I could not be of more help.”

“No. This was exactly what we needed. Not the best answer, but it’s more information than I started with.”

“I’m afraid that I have to leave you alone again for a few days. Will you try to stay out of trouble?”

Cyrene narrowed her eyes. “Where are you going?”

“I have some things to accomplish, but I will miss you and worry if you do not promise to stay free of trouble.”

“What trouble could I possibly get into?”

He smiled, and his dimples showed, causing her heart to skip. “Wandering alone in the woods, yelling at hunters, fleeing the countryside, breaking out of prison, attacking your Crown Prince, and sneaking out into gang sectors in the middle of the night. Not to mention, taking my sword and killing a Braj! You are walking trouble.”

Cyrene laughed. “All right, I’ll stay in and be good.”

He touched his hand to his heart. “Thank the Creator.”

He kissed her hand one more time before disappearing. She sighed, already wishing she hadn’t promised. Trouble was way more fun than waiting. She was awful at waiting.

Determined to spend her time more productively than she had while stuck in the inn in Aurum, Cyrene retreated to the library. To her delight, as she was browsing the stacks, she found an entire section on magic. Her fingers lovingly brushed the spines. So much knowledge. So much history. Her stomach fluttered, as she knew she could dedicate many years reading everything she could about her ancestors, something she never could have done back home. In Byern, these books would have been destroyed.

She grabbed a stack of books and took them over to a large table she had claimed as her own.

She whittled away the next couple of days, leisurely reading.

One day, in the early afternoon, someone sidled up next to her. “Are you coming to watch?”

Cyrene jumped. Cyrene suppressed a shudder at Alise’s appearance. She was the only one of Dean’s sisters who hadn’t sought her out after their first meeting in the throne room. The others had badgered her with questions about Byern and Dean and Aurum and everything else under the sun. But they’d also offered her new clothing since her gowns had never shown up on the ship from Aurum. Despite their kindness, they weren’t exactly friendly. They seemed determined to scare her off, and she was just as determined not to give in. But, above anyone else, Alise put her on edge.

“Coming to watch what?” Cyrene asked.

“Did no one tell you?”

Cyrene chewed on the inside of her cheek and refused to answer. Whatever Alise was referring to, she clearly relished in withholding the information.

“Well, we wouldn’t want to be late.”

Cyrene finally gave in. “Late for what?”

Alise smiled deviously. “Oh, you’ll see.”

“I’d really prefer to know ahead of time.”

“Cyrene,” Alise said softly, “I know we didn’t get off on the right foot, but I was just concerned for Dean. Surely, you can understand that.”

“Sure,” Cyrene said cautiously.

“Let me offer you this. Clearly, you weren’t informed.”

Well, she was too interested now to refuse. “Okay.”

Alise looped her arm with Cyrene’s, just as Brigette had done in the throne room, and escorted her out of the library. They walked down a long hallway and then out into a brightly lit courtyard. The courtyard ended in a dirt path leading out of the palace. Cyrene was wary of following Alise onto the grounds, but she could hear voices coming from a smaller sandstone building in the distance. So, she tried to reason that nothing bad could come of this.

“Here we are,” Alise said cheerfully.

A guard was standing watch at the entrance of a large stone fence, and Alise pulled her through the opening. When she realized where she was, Cyrene’s trepidation peaked.

The fence held a military training arena with seating and a sand pit at the bottom. Two men held swords in their hands. They were bare-chested with nothing but a loincloth for modesty.

Cyrene’s cheeks flushed. She hadn’t even realized she was prudish until that moment. She had never seen a man with so little clothing on before, and here, an entire crowd was cheering them on.

Cyrene had heard of such buildings for the Second Class in Byern, but she had never been to one, nor was it a sport enjoyed by the First Class. She doubted very much that the military men and women were practically naked when they fought in Byern. She couldn’t even fathom it.

“This way,” Alise said, directing her toward the royal box.

Cyrene followed her and took a seat wedged between Alise and Brigette, who noted Cyrene’s discomfort with a smile.

“What is this exactly?” Cyrene asked.

She watched the two men rush toward each other. Their swords savagely collided. The last time Cyrene had seen this happen, it hadn’t been for sport. It had been deadly. Just watching it made bile rise in the back of her throat.

“The soldiers put on a display in the arena,” Brigette explained. “It’s tradition and the primary way to move up in rank.”

“Do people…die?”

“Sometimes,” Alise said dismissively.

“But they shouldn’t, if they’ve been training,” Brigette said.

“I see.” Cyrene tried to ease up.

Things were different here, but that didn’t make them wrong. The soldiers who fought for rank and royalty considered it sport. The clothing was practically see-through and put her dresses back in Byern to shame in the modesty department. Their people were more affectionate. She had noticed that as well. Maybe Dean’s kiss hadn’t meant anything after all.

“Ah…you’re just in time,” Brigette said with a smile.

One of the swordsmen in the sand pit won by pinning the other to the ground with a sword placed precariously close to his heart. He’d yielded, and the other was named the victor. They ambled out of the arena, and then the next two soldiers were brought out.

These men were different than the last two. Cyrene could see it as soon as they walked out. Their steps were more measured, more precise. Their bodies—Creator help me—were more toned and built. She could see the definition in their chest and abdominal muscles. Their legs were like tree trunks, solid and sturdy. Their arms looked like they’d been carved out of stone.

Cyrene’s gaze snapped up to one of the soldier’s faces, and she jolted backward. “Creator,” she breathed in disbelief. “Is that…Dean?”

Alise cocked her head to the side. “Did he not tell you he was competing today?”

“He’s a soldier?” Cyrene asked, confused.

“It’s tradition for Eleysian princes to join the military. If he wins today, he’ll be instated as captain.”

Everything seemed to click into place at once. It explained so much about him, like how he had survived a Braj attack and nearly taken down Kael. He had been born with a sword in his hand and grown into a man with it affixed there.

And she was watching him compete…mostly naked.

Her eyes burned, and she wanted to look away, but she also wanted to keep watching. She felt as if she shouldn’t see him like this when everyone believed they were romantically involved. Yet Alise had brought her here for a reason.

The pair in the sand faced each other, each holding his sword as if it were an extension of his arm. They were the weapons, deadly and unyielding. The sword in their hand was just the tool at their command.

Without knowing what she was doing, Cyrene leaned forward in her seat, anxiously waiting for the fight. Perhaps there was a thing or two to this sport.

A man flagged for them to begin, and then they were a blur of practiced steps. Their moves were synchronized, as if in a dance that they both knew to perfection. Swords swung and arced. They clashed together, ringing over the crowd who cheered with each thrust, block, strike, and parry. It was mesmerizing.

The other man seemed to get the upper hand and forced Dean backward. Dean dodged the blade and then rolled in the sand pit, grunting when his injured shoulder collided with the ground at an irregular angle.

Dean stood from his roll. He was cradling his hurt shoulder, the one Kael had sliced through, making it clear to his opponent that it was his weakness.

Cyrene almost couldn’t watch what happened next.

The man lunged for Dean, thinking he had Dean now. But Dean pivoted at the last minute and swung down with all his might, and the sword went flying from his opponent’s hand. He whirled around and drove his sword toward the man’s chest, stopping just before impaling him with the deadly weapon.

As they stared at each other, their chests heaved. They were slicked with sweat from the exertion of the activity in the hot, humid Eleysian air. The other man should have surrendered by now, but he just lay there, glaring at Dean.

“Call it,” Dean commanded.

“Take the final blow.”

Dean pressed the sword against the other man’s chest, and Cyrene thought he was going to kill the man, but he stopped.

“Creator, Rob, just call it.”

Cyrene was tense as she watched on with the rest of the crowd. “What’s happening?”

“If Robard doesn’t call the game, then Dean must finish in proper fashion,” Alise explained.

“Which means?”

“Kill him.”

Cyrene gasped.

“Do it, Princeling,” he taunted.

Dean shook his head. Then, he swung his sword, ready to take off Robard’s head. Robard didn’t even flinch. He just waited for the killing stroke. But, at the last second, Dean threw his sword down into the sand pit.

“I call,” Dean said.

The crowd jeered and booed.

Robard smirked at Dean, stood, and held his head high. Cyrene had the distinct impression that Robard had planned for this all along.

“If I have to kill my own brother in arms, then I would rather forfeit,” Dean said.

Another man walked out into the sand pit, dressed in a black uniform with a blue Eleysian royal crest on his breast.

“General Jakoby Longe,” Alise filled in for Cyrene. “He’s our most renowned general.”

The General held his hand between the men. “Victory goes to…” He paused dramatically. “Prince Dean Ellison.”

Robard’s mouth dropped open. “He forfeited.”

“Only a true leader would offer his own life in exchange for his soldiers.”

“Bias!” Robard cried. “You make him Captain because he is the prince.”

“Watch your mouth!” the man said, smacking Robard across the face and sending him flying back in the sand. “He has earned the title of Captain, and you will do well to remember that, as you will be serving under him.”

Robard nodded his head and then rushed out of the arena in a tantrum. Cyrene didn’t see that arrangement going very well.

The man who had given Dean the title held Dean’s hand up in the air, and the crowd roared their approval. Dean’s eyes roamed the crowd as he had a confident smirk on his lips. He was completely in his element here. The sweet, charming man from the woods, who had also danced with her in Aurum, was just one part of the soldier standing before her.

Then, his eyes found her. He started forward in surprise and then frowned. He looked almost…ashamed that she was in the audience. She had seen him fight before. Why would he look at me like that?

He cast his eyes to the ground, retrieved his sword, and then quickly left the arena.

Cyrene was so confused.

“Come on,” Alise said. “Let’s go see him in the barracks.”

“Are we allowed in?”

“Of course. It’s customary for us to congratulate the soldiers after their victories,” she said. “Right, Brigette?”

Brigette laughed. “Be easy on her, Alise.”

“I’m just showing her the barracks! It’s a party. It always is after a fight.”

Cyrene hesitated, but Brigette had already turned her attention to someone else in the box, and Alise was pulling her out of the arena.

Alise pushed through the doors to the barracks, and she was right when she’d said that it was a party. Wine was flowing freely, musicians were playing upbeat music to dance to, and there were girls everywhere.

Cyrene’s eyes sought out the one familiar face in the crowd but didn’t see him. Instead, the person who appeared before her was the man Dean had just fought.

“Robard!” Alise cried. “Do you mind taking Affiliate Cyrene to see Dean? I want to say hello to General Longe.”

Before Cyrene could even protest, Alise pushed her to Robard, and Cyrene stumbled into his chest. His well-oiled, very firm naked chest. She gasped and then pulled her hand back.

“My apologies,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean…”

“No offense taken, Affiliate.” He chewed on the word, as if it disgusted him, but he looked at her in the thin red gown that Livia had given her with anything but. “Should I take you to the Princeling then?”

“Um…yes, please.”

Robard pushed through the crowd of soldiers and women. He shoved her toward a back room, and there was Dean, standing in nothing but his loincloth, with a half-dozen women clinging to him.