75

Horns blared, and then a young wolf dressed in bright purple bounded into the center of the arena. He spread his arms wide, and the arena erupted into cheers and shouts so loud it sent me flinching backward. The force of the sound was like a wave. People stood up, waved their hands, and threw paper into the arena in excitement.

“Good morning,” the announcer called in a voice as bright as a bell. “To my Ladies of the Court and my lovely council members.” He swept into a bow, then straightened up and spun gracefully on his heel to see the arena. “And to the wolves of Nightfall!”

The people stomped on the stands, creating a thunderous effect that made the entire stadium rumble beneath me. I gripped the arms of my seat, shocked by the power of the response.

“Wolf Griffin of Pack Daybreak has graced us with his presence this morning,” the announcer shouted, “and challenged our king for the right to the throne!” Boos and hisses filled the air with animal ferocity.

“Shall we see what this wolf has to offer?” The announcer waved his hand at the staging area.

“Bring the challenger out!”

Two guards stepped out of the staging area, hauling Griffin with them. Even with all he’d done, my heart still broke at the sight of it—he looked dirty and wild, with his wrists and ankles shackled together. The guards unshackled him and shoved him toward the middle of the arena. The announcer jumped back in theatrical faux-fright, and the crowd tittered with laughter.

Griffin straightened up. He bared his teeth at the crowd, and they let out a collective ‘oooh’ of amused fright. His clay-red gaze met mine, and fury burned there. At me or at Nightfall, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t care. I sat impassively and met his gaze. Let him see me in the colors of Nightfall. I was not his prize.

“And now,” the announcer said, “let this challenger meet his fate by the jaws of the true King of

Frasia: King Elias of Nightfall.”

Somehow the shouts were impossibly louder, and the stomping impossibly heavy.

From the opposite end of the arena, the king strode out.

He wasn’t dressed like a king at all. He was barefoot, in plain slacks and a white shirt with the collar open despite the chill in the air. His dark hair was tied back, but no crown graced his forehead. No cloak on his shoulders. The only thing that betrayed his regality was his posture. Even when he was dressed plainly, he moved like a king, with confidence and power.

His eyes met mine. They flashed gold as he pressed his lips to his fingers and gestured toward me. I nodded my acknowledgment, but did no more than that, even as my wolf shivered with delight at the greeting. Then he held up a hand and the stadium fell silent as if he’d cast a spell.

“This wolf has challenged me for my throne,” the king boomed. “I am not a king who backs down from an honorable challenge. But to interrupt my Choice, and attempt to claim my betrothed?” He bared his teeth at Griffin. “I will not stand for such insolence and disrespect. You and your pack will pay for your foolishness.”

His ferocious words chilled even the jolly announcer. He stepped back, looked between them, then said, “Begin.”

Griffin charged forward toward the king. The crowd exploded with noise again. He sprang off the balls of his feet and shifted in mid-air, clothes tearing off his body as his wolf exploded forward. I’d never seen his wolf from a distance like this, only up close when I was shifted, as well. He was a large, strong wolf, with a sleek body and a ruddy red pelt like a darker, browner version of his hair. His eyes gleamed the deep clay-red of Daybreak, and he pulled his lips back to expose his long, fierce fangs.

The king sidestepped the jump easily. Griffin’s paws dug into the sand as he landed, stumbling forward as he caught his balance. Then, the king shifted himself. Even though I’d seen it a few times, the appearance of his wolf never failed to send a shiver down my spine. He was bigger than Griffin, and broader; the dawn light gleamed on his shining, dark pelt.

He wasted no time. Under the roar of the crowd, the king dug his hind paws into the dirt of the arena and lunged forward, head down, and threw his weight hard into Griffin’s side. Griffin yelped and stumbled, flopped onto his side and then his back, and the king pushed him, snarling and snapping his jaws as Griffin slammed his paws against the king’s snout.

Before the king could pin him, Griffin used his smaller size to wriggle out and leap backward. His hackles were raised, fur up along his spine as he snarled at the king and then sprang forward with shocking fearlessness. Briefly, they tussled in the center of the arena, jaws knocking against each other and eyes blazing as they snarled their rage.

The king knocked Griffin to his side again, then lunged forward to pin him. This time, though, Griffin briefly shifted back into his human form. Nude and streaked with dirt from the arena, he slid effortlessly under the king’s huge body and hopped to his feet behind the king. It was an impressive maneuver—he had been training. This was the skilled, quick shifting of a warrior. I’d never seen him fight like this. Next to me, the duchess hummed in interest; a tiny smile played on her face. The other council members had their attention still fixed on the fight below, but the duchess looked almost amused. Was she impressed by Griffin’s performance?

Did Griffin actually have a chance here?

Griffin shifted back into his wolf form, just as quick as he’d shifted out, and closed his jaws over the king’s hind leg. The king howled his pain and rage, then kicked back hard, dislodging Griffin’s jaws with one hard push. Dark blood streamed from the bite wound on his flank; the crowd gasped.