We slip out into the corridor, hearts still racing. We part ways with a final, charged glance—he heads to speak with a staff member about business, I feign a walk toward my own chambers. My body feels like it hums with aftershocks, each step igniting memory of how he felt against me. The confusion lingers, too. I wanted to be more than his “spoil,” but I also needed that raw connection.
Retreating into the quiet of my borrowed room, I close the door, leaning against it. My mind replays the heated moment again and again, a desperate collision born of fear and longing. Doubt stirs: Did I cheapen what we share by letting it happen in a moment of panic? Or did we finally break free of the Senate’sillusions, claiming each other’s comfort in a world that denies us both?
I press my palms to my cheeks, skin still flushed. The memory of his low groan, the gentleness of his hands, the unspoken promise in his eyes—none of it was forced. We came together willingly. My chest aches, caught between euphoria and worry. If Vaelen finds out, he’ll spin it as proof I’m manipulating the champion, or that Remanos is abusing his trophy. The city’s rumor mill might devour us. And I still fear how deeply this might entangle my heart with a man who holds the key to my captivity, however honorable his intentions.
Still, I can’t deny that a part of me feels alive in a way I haven’t for so long. For now, I cling to that feeling—equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. Tomorrow, we might face more Senate threats, more conspiracies. We’ll muster our evidence, plan our next move. But tonight, at least, I know I’m not alone in this labyrinth of politics and fear. Remanos stands by my side, and I stand by his. Our alliance deepened in a single heated act that neither of us can dismiss.
I inhale a trembling breath, letting the quiet of the room hold me. Outside, the estate’s lanterns burn low, and somewhere in the city, Vaelen likely plots his next move. But here, in the hush after midnight, I hold onto the memory of Remanos’s touch as a reminder that no matter how the Senate tries to brand me, I am not a silent spoil. I’m a person who can choose her own moments of passion, even if the future remains shrouded in treacherous shadows.
So be it. Let the city’s storms rage. We’ll meet them head-on, forging a new path through the labyrinth of deceit. And if that path leads us back into each other’s arms, so be it, too.
10
REMANOS
The first light of dawn slips through the narrow windows of my estate, chasing lingering shadows across the marble floors. I stand at the balcony that overlooks the courtyard, arms resting on the polished stone ledge. My mind churns with the weight of last night’s failures and revelations. I have no appetite for breakfast, no patience for the political webs closing around me. If anything, the memory of Mira’s warmth is the only thing keeping me from sinking into full despair. Even now, recalling how her breath caught in mine stirs a wild combination of guilt and longing.
I was a fool to hope confronting Vaelen with partial evidence might corner him. He slipped from our grasp with the ease of a serpent, twisting our discoveries into hollow threats. Instead of backing down, he turned on Mira, threatening to brand her a foreign agitator if she steps out of line. And I, champion of Milthar, can do nothing but grind my teeth and watch. The same champion’s rank that once felt like an honor now chafes like manacles on my wrists.
Hoofsteps approach from behind. I tense, expecting a messenger from the Senate demanding yet another audience.Instead, it’s one of my estate guards, a young minotaur with clipped horns. He bows stiffly.
“Champion. There’s a Senate envoy at the main gate, requesting a private meeting with you. They wouldn’t say who sent them, only that it’s urgent.”
My tail lashes once in annoyance. “Very well. I’ll receive them in the open-air foyer. Make certain they’re not carrying weapons.”
He salutes and hurries off. A heavy knot forms in my gut. The Senate rarely sends envoys at dawn unless something dire is afoot. Perhaps Vaelen has escalated his tactics, or some senator more sympathetic wants to broker a deal. Either possibility fills me with trepidation.
I head down to the foyer, a wide space flanked by tall columns that frame the sky. My estate staff stands discreetly at the edges, ready to serve if needed. I motion for them to keep their distance. Given the swirl of conspiracies, I’ll be cautious about who overhears.
Within minutes, a cloaked figure strides into the foyer, trailed by my guard. Under the hood, I glimpse an older minotaur’s graying muzzle and stern eyes—Senator Ortem. My tension ebbs slightly; I know him as a traditionalist, but not entirely corrupt.
“Ortem,” I greet with a shallow bow. “To what do I owe the pleasure at this early hour?”
He sweeps the cloak aside, revealing the embroidered sash marking his rank. “I come on behalf of the Senate, champion. There’s been talk of your… difficulties controlling your spoil.”
My jaw clenches. “Mira is not a mindless possession. I don’t control her—I ensure her safety.”
His brow twitches at my sharp tone. He steps closer, voice low. “You must be aware, rumors abound that she’s been snooping around docks and warehouses. Some claim sheassaulted loyal workers, forging ledgers to implicate certain senators.”
A surge of anger flares in my chest. “Those so-called loyal workers are traitors funneling orc arms into the city. She’s uncovering the truth Vaelen wants buried.”
Ortem’s ear flicks. “Nevertheless, the Senate is displeased. They fear her interference might destabilize trade relations. Already, our partners in the southern ports whisper about contraband controversies.”
I grip my bracers. “I have proof Vaelen orchestrates those arms deals. Why not investigate him?”
He winces, casting a wary glance around the foyer. “Vaelen denies all allegations. He claims the documents are forgeries. Without a formal inquiry, the Senate remains unconvinced. Meanwhile, the city’s image suffers.”
I sense a rehearsed rhythm to Ortem’s words—like he’s delivering an ultimatum. “So you’re here to threaten me with Mira’s status?”
He straightens, the lines in his face deepening. “I’m here to relay the Senate’s concerns. Keep her reined in, or we’ll have no choice but to consider returning her to the orcs. They may want her for… interrogation, if she continues stirring trouble.”
My fists clench, a throbbing tension coiling behind my eyes. “That’s barbaric. And if the orcs reclaim her, do you think they’ll stop there? The entire city stands at risk of more raids.”
He sighs. “I argue the same, but Vaelen’s influence grows daily. He paints her as a dangerous outsider. Many in the Senate believe him.”
I swallow a bitter rush of frustration. Ortem’s words confirm what I feared—Vaelen is leveraging his position to stoke xenophobia, turning Mira into a scapegoat. “Tell me the Senate’s exact demand, Ortem.”
His gaze meets mine, reluctant. “They want you to keep her under strict watch. No more unescorted excursions. No more prying into Senate or trade affairs. If she obeys and you cease these accusations, the Senate will… reconsider your position.”
