Theora Reid could hear the crowds chanting and cheering. Their stomping sent the ceilings of the underground chambers trembling. She watched as some dust parted ways with the ceiling for a moment and then turned her attention elsewhere. “The rules of the arena are changing,” she said to her champion – a tall, aggressive looking brute who towered over her. Really, they both adored each other like brother and sister. “The fighting is becoming more intense, and last I heard the judging panel and persecutors alike have become increasingly prone to falling for extortionate bribes.” Theora was being formal for the sake of professionalism. What she really wanted to say was that the judges were becoming more and more greedy, and that they were all selfish basta-

     The ceiling shook again. This time Theora had to brush some dust off her shoulder. After the news had spread of Theora’s ascension into the gambling dens of the arena, following the retirement of her father Alvin Reid, her opposition had become increasingly bloodthirsty. Rumours had spread that Alvin was beginning to lose his luck, which was why he’d thrust his young daughter and only heir into the gambling business.

     The heightened cheers of the crowds told Theora the people were ready to witness some bloodshed. Fighters weren’t allowed to kill each other, but a solid beating and a few broken ribs were certainly encouraged. Any champion no longer deemed fit for the socialites’ purposes was dropped without hesitation. The rich young members of society went through champions like they would a banquet. Once they lost a few tournaments, their tastes would change, and they would search for a new warrior to train as their champion for the next course of fights. They wanted to make money. They wanted the respect that came with the victories. There was no need for the gamblers to concern themselves too much with the actual fighting in the arenas, not when they could afford an intimidating mule to do that for them. It was the battles outside the arena which scared the socialites more.

     The gates to the arena opened, and Theora wished her champion good luck as they parted ways. Josiah Sars was an excellent fighter. He’d never lost a fight before, and his skills in the arena alongside Theora’s diplomatic abilities had made them both rich beyond belief. Josiah had been her champion for the last year now, and having won twenty-four fights already, they’d made their entry into the gambling den a memorable one. He was the King of the Arena. He was the one the crowds waited for the most.

     People parted ways as Theora made her way to her private box. As an honourable member of the gambling den, she’d earned the luxury of having a viewing box reserved strictly for herself. She looked the part of a serious businesswoman, despite only being the tender age of nineteen. Her caramel-blonde hair had been braided loosely and swept up into a messy bun. She wore a tight fitted jacket made of a deep plum velvet; high collared and lined with buttons of pure silver. Her black breeches had been tucked into knee high black riding boots, with shiny buckles by her ankles. Her leather gloves creaked as she flexed her hands; honey-coloured eyes scanning the arena around her as she tidied herself up.

     An arena attendant opened the door to her box and gave her a small bow of the head. “Some refreshments, Miss Reid?”

     Theora nodded as she took her seat. She didn’t even have to say what she wanted; the attendants were well aware of what her regular choice was. Thick, rich coffee laced with the aroma of roasted hazelnuts and just a touch of rum. Theora never drank pure alcohol in the arena. The last thing she wanted was to make decisions fuelled by liquid courage.

     Before every game began, the audience was offered the chance to enjoy a demonstration of each fighter’s strength. Josiah’s opponent roared and beat on his chest before he pulled a chain off its link on the arena wall. Whilst Josiah entertained the crowd with a spear throw that crossed half the length of the arena. The crowds were particularly rowdy that day, and Theora hoped that would encourage them and her opposing socialites to dig a little deeper into their pockets.

     Up in her little viewing box, Theora had a clear view of her reigning champion. But it also meant she had a direct one of her toughest gambling opponent. She pretended not to notice as Leian Al-Mhir raised his glass of wine at her in mock salute.

     Leian had a new champion in the arena. He’d been gambling as soon as he was of legal age to take it up as a profession. Four years later, at twenty-two years old, he’d made quite a name for himself, too. But he was envious of the attention Theora’s family name garnered. He was looking rather pleased with himself, despite the tournament having only just started. The gong rang out, and the first round began. Whoever this new champion fighting for Leian was, he wasn’t particularly good. He swung too hard and exerted too much of his energy in one go. The first round was over in just under a minute when Josiah disarmed him with ease.

     Theora flicked her gaze to where Leian sat in his own private box. He was calmer than usual; that made her suspicious. The arena was heaving with spectators. So why was he so detached from the fight? Theora leaned forward in her seat and wiped her mouth with a gloved hand. Josiah had disarmed his opponent in the second round, too. She had nothing to worry about. By the time the third round began, Theora could feel the money from her winning bets piling up in her hands. Leian’s champion would not win, and Theora felt like she could tell by the sudden look on his face. All these years of living under the shadow of her father’s achievements had left Theora feeling determined to outdo him – but devastated by the sheer pressure of doing so.

     There was always a moment or two in any tournament that set everyone on the edge of their seats. Be it a minor misstep of one of the Champions’ footing, or the swift redirection of a baton to the ribs.

     Josiah did well to maintain his energy. He swept his dagger against his opponent, getting him under the arm just enough to draw blood. Nothing more. He switched his dagger hand in time to block his opponent’s fist as he tried to pummel him with some nasty looking steel knuckles. On he went like that, his body practically moulding around the movements of his opponent to keep himself from getting struck. He wove his way in between strikes and delivered his own against the collarbone. There came a satisfying crunch, which sent Josiah’s opponent screaming against his bloody, bitten tongue.

     Up in her viewing box, Theora bounced her weight from one heel to the other. Her face was inches away from pressing against the cool glass window.

     Around her, the crowds chanted Josiah’s name. They adored him. He was more than just a great fighter; he was the best entertainer the arena had seen in the last four years, since Alvin Reid had begun etching away from the gambling scene. The roars of the crowds were deafening. Josiah was undefeated. Theora’s reputation was unblemished. The crowds fell silent, save for the few screams that followed.

     Theora’s eyes widened. She was on her feet fast enough to send her falling forwards. She was trying to say something, but the words didn’t come. Her hands were covering her mouth as she hunched over. Down in the arena, the sound of Josiah screaming echoed louder than he deserved. There was no dignity in this! A crowd to hear him dying. Finally, a sound escaped Theora, and she moved her hands to her head. It was a low groan; like she had been punched in the gut. But it was nothing compared to the blade now buried in Josiah’s stomach. Now she understood Leian’s intentions. But…but it was against the rules! His Champion’s right to compete again was forfeit. It didn’t matter, not when Josiah dropped to his knees with a blade buried deep in his gut. This had been a set up from the start. Theora hung her head low. She couldn’t meet Leian’s gaze, no matter how much he challenged her to do so. She couldn’t cry. Not here. She couldn’t shed a single tear for reporters nor Socialites to comment on.

     Leian had never intended for his Champion to win. He just needed him to dispose of Josiah. And he got what he had wanted. He would need a new Champion now for sure, but he was glad to know that after so long, Theora needed one now, too.