Kovrak’s jaws found Varrek’s throat before the other male could pivot, before he could realize death had arrived on silent paws. There was a brief, violent struggle—claws scraping against stone, a strangled roar cut short—then Kovrak’s sharp teeth pierced through flesh and sinew, ending Varrek’s cruelty for good.
The arena fell silent except for the sound of Varrek’s lifeless body hitting the sand.
His shift back into human form felt like pure torture. Kovrak hit the sand on his knees, the transformation robbing what little strength remained as the crossbow bolt tore deeper through muscle with the change. He could smell his own blood—coppery and sharp—soaking the sand beneath him.
Then she was there. Faith slid to her knees in front of him, her hands already pressing against the wound with a pressure that made stars explode behind his eyes. Her touch was fierce yet gentle.
“Don’t you dare die on me,” she commanded, her voice rough with adrenaline.
Thalen materialized at his other side a heartbeat later, his face grim. “You couldn’t just win cleanly, could you? Had to make it dramatic.”
“Shut up and pull it out,” Kovrak gritted out through clenched teeth.
Thalen didn’t hesitate. One solid yank, and the steel shaft came free with a sickening slide of torn flesh. Kovrak’s vision tunneled, the world fading to gray static at the edges. He heardFaith’s sharp intake of breath, felt her hands shift to clamp down harder as fresh blood pulsed between her fingers.
“It’s out,” Thalen announced, tossing the bloody bolt aside. Healers swarmed in, their hands efficient as they packed the wound with thick gauze, binding it tight with lengths of linen. The pressure was immense, a vise of pain that stole his breath.
“You’re going to be fine now,” Faith said, her face pale but her gaze locked on his.
Kovrak managed a ragged breath. “You… stepped in front of him.”
“He was about to kill you.”
“And he could have killed you.” The thought sent a fresh wave of fury through him that momentarily eclipsed the pain.
“But he didn’t,” she said, her thumb stroking the back of his hand where she held it in a death grip. “You saved me. You ended him for good.”
Thalen and two other warriors moved in, lifting him carefully onto a stretcher. The world tilted, the sky spinning above him. Kovrak fought to stay conscious, his alpha instincts raging against the helplessness of being carried. This was not how a king returned to his palace. This was not the victory procession he’d imagined.
Faith never let go of his hand. She kept pace with the stretcher as they moved toward the waiting transport. As they loaded him into the vehicle, the bitter irony settled in his gut like a stone. He had pictured this day so differently. The gardens at dusk. Her innovative dessert—fire and sweetness—served as a symbol of their union. The perfect, private proposal beneath the twin moons. A celebration of a future secured.
Not this. Not a medical wing and recovery. Not the metallic taste of blood and the lingering scent of violence.
The transport engine roared to life. Faith climbed in beside him, cradling his head in her lap as Thalen took the driver’s seat.Her fingers stroked through his hair, a soothing rhythm that grounded him against the jostling pain.
Through the haze, the truth burned with absolute clarity. Varrek was dead. Faith was safe beside him. His kingdom was still his. And the crown was finally within reach.
He turned his head. “The final dessert…”
Faith let out a watery laugh, her fingers stilling in his hair. “Really? That’s what you’re worried about right now?”
“I wanted to taste what we symbolized together,” he managed, the ghost of a smile touching his mouth. “Fire and sweetness, remember?”
She leaned down, her breath warm against his ear. “Then I’ll give you the best damn dessert you’ve ever tasted.”
He closed his eyes, letting her promise anchor him against the pain. They won today. The future was theirs to claim on their own terms.
NINETEEN
FAITH
The transport ride to the palace was a blur of adrenaline and suppressed emotion, but the moment the vehicle halted at the grand entrance, everything snapped into crystalline focus. Faith slid out before the guards could open her door, her hand finding Kovrak’s as he emerged, leaning more heavily on Thalen than he would ever admit.
Each step across the polished marble toward the medical wing was a study in controlled agony. Kovrak walked between them, a prince determined not to falter, his arm slung over Thalen’s shoulder, his other hand clasping Faith’s with a grip that spoke of sheer willpower. His jaw was set with determination despite his face being pale, and his ice-blue eyes remained sharp, scanning their path as if assessing a battlefield. Only the tight lines bracketing his mouth and the slight flinch with each footfall betrayed the depth of the pain he mastered.
For Faith, the phantom line of the assassin’s arrow burned behind her own eyes. The mental image—the precise, lethal trajectory that would have pierced his heart—replayed on a loop. She knew something foul was bound to happen today, she just didn’t know exactly what. During the tense drive to the arena,Varrek’s smug comment that victory was “already in the bag” had coiled in her gut.
She’d let him see what he wanted before the battle: a sedated, frightened human. But inside, she’d sharpened. The mate bond had hummed like a live wire when she was in close proximity to Kovrak in the arena, and the moment it had spiked with his sudden, visceral fear, her gaze had snapped to the stands, finding the glint of the crossbow a heartbeat before the bolt flew.