She dips her head. “Champion Remanos convenes a meeting in the great hall. The Senate’s messenger arrived with urgent demands. He asked for you.”
My chest tightens. Another confrontation. Another way for Vaelen to push this ultimatum. I gather my scattered notes, though none of it matters if the Senate has decided to disregard truth entirely. I follow Tila down the corridor, ignoring my trembling hands. Every Freedman we pass looks anxious, knowing their champion stands on a precipice of losing everything.
When we reach the great hall, Remanos is already there, flanked by a half-dozen Freedmen. His broad shoulders sag under the weight of an impossible choice. I catch his eye. Concern radiates from him, along with stubborn determination that nearly makes me ache. A hush falls as I enter. My pulse thuds in my ears.
One Freedman guard steps aside, revealing a tall minotaur in refined garments—some Senate functionary, perhaps. He clears his throat, reading from a scroll. “The Bavkus demands immediate compliance: Champion Remanos Ironhide will relinquish the human spoil to the orc emissaries within one day’s time, thus preserving Milthar’s diplomatic stance andupholding ancient tribute laws. Failure results in champion status revoked, assets seized, Freedmen service annulled.”
My lungs constrict. The Freedmen exchange shocked glances, some murmuring curses. The functionary lowers the scroll, adding in a brittle tone, “We require your answer forthwith. The orc warband arrives within a day, eager to retrieve their rightful property.” He tosses me a dismissive glance, as though I’m a piece of livestock.
Remanos’s voice rumbles, dangerously low. “You expect me to hand her over to orcs like a trade trinket? Have you no sense of honor?”
The functionary’s muzzle twitches. “Honor must yield to the city’s needs. The orcs demand restitution. We cannot afford war. Unless you’d prefer to face them alone, champion?”
A hush descends. Every Freedman looks to Remanos, waiting for his response. My heart pounds so loudly that I expect them all to hear it. This is the Senate’s final weapon. If Remanos yields, I’m effectively doomed to orc captivity. If he refuses, he’s dethroned. The functionary hovers, gaze unflinching.
A swirl of fierce longing and dread tangles in me. I know Remanos wants to protect me—he’s proven that over and over. But do I have the right to let him sacrifice everything he’s worked for? An entire city depends on him. If Vaelen uses this chaos to let orcs slip in, what then?
Remanos exhales, shoulders taut. “I’ll give you my answer at the day’s end. Now get out of my estate.”
The functionary arches a brow but complies, likely sensing Freedmen’s hostility. Once he’s gone, the Freedmen exchange grim murmurs. Some of them are older, having served in the champion’s retinue for years. They look to Remanos, fear in their eyes. If he’s dethroned, their Freedman status might be jeopardized. I see his guilt flicker across his face.
He turns to them, voice shaking with frustration. “I need to speak with Mira alone.”
They nod, departing in a subdued hush. Tila casts me a fleeting sympathetic glance, then shuts the door behind her, leaving us in the echoing quiet of the great hall. My pulse flutters. I see the anguish on Remanos’s face, and it tears at me.
“Mira,” he begins, voice barely above a whisper, “they’re pushing for it—hand you to orcs or lose everything. And I can’t do it. I can’t deliver you to that fate.”
I step closer, chest tight. “Remanos, they’re cornering you. If you lose your champion status, who defends Milthar from Vaelen’s manipulations? Your Freedmen rely on your authority to keep them safe. Are we truly prepared to let it all crumble?”
He rakes his gaze over me, eyes full of turmoil. “We’ll find another way. If I must stand as a Freedman among them, so be it. I won’t chain you for orc appeasement.”
My throat locks, tears threatening. “I won’t let you destroy yourself like that. Not for me.”
He grits his teeth. “You are not the cause, Mira. Vaelen’s treachery is. Your presence only forced me to see it sooner. The city is already corroding from within.”
A tremble courses through me, half rage, half grief. “So your Freedmen pay the price? This city you love so much? They’ll brand you a traitor, strip your resources. The Senate might enthrone some puppet who invites orcs to do worse. Or maybe Vaelen waltzes in as champion. That’s the nightmare we face if you refuse them.”
He chokes on a bitter laugh. “I’d be no champion if I let an innocent woman be enslaved to keep my seat.”
Tears sting my eyes. I despise how powerless we feel, trapped by the Senate’s blackmail. Part of me wants to fling my arms around him, confess how deeply I need him. The other part knows I can’t watch him ruin his life. Without him, theFreedmen suffer. The city might spiral into orc infiltration. Yet if we let me go, he’s complicit in my enslavement. A lose-lose, orchestrated perfectly by Vaelen.
My gaze drops to the floor. “I won’t let you do this. Your champion status—it’s everything to you. Everything to Milthar. Sacrificing that for me… no.”
He snaps up my chin with surprising gentleness. “Don’t talk as if you’re worthless. I’ll not see you vanish into orc hands. I’ll stand with you, no matter the cost.”
A fierce wave of emotion buffets me. “I refuse to be the reason you lose your future.” My voice cracks. “I won’t let them take me, but I can’t watch you burn for my sake.”
He tries to protest, but the heartbreak surging in me overflows. I twist away, tears slipping free. “I can’t do this. I can’t be your downfall.”
“Mira—” he starts, reaching for me.
I jerk back, a low sob catching in my throat. “No. You stand to lose too much. I won’t let you throw it all away. I—I’ll go.”
His eyes widen. “What do you mean? No?—”
I can barely speak. “I’ll flee. Disappear. If I leave Milthar, the Senate has no trophy to hand to orcs, and they have no reason to depose you. You can claim I escaped. That you tried to stop me. They’ll believe it.”
Anguish warps his expression. “You can’t outrun orcs if Vaelen hunts you beyond the city’s walls. Where would you go?”
