The weight of the day’s events finally slips from my shoulders. Freedmen handle official matters, trial for the conspirators proceeds, the city’s new future dawns. I can rest in the knowledge that I’m no longer champion in name, but Freedmen’s trust means more than any hammered crest. Mira is safe, Freedmen are free, the conspirators undone, the orcs forced to depart with no gold or foothold.
A Freedman guard passes the doorway, glimpses us, and retreats with a small grin. We remain in the lounge, letting the swirl of city bustle fade. My breath steadies, her presencecomforting. “We did it,” I murmur, voice laced with awe. “Truly ended Vaelen’s legacy.”
She buries her face against my chest, voice muffled. “Yes. Now we start something better.”
We linger in that quiet embrace, the estate’s sunshine draping over us, Freedmen’s happy chatter drifting from outside. No illusions bind me to a champion’s role. My vow belongs to Freedmen and to Mira, forging a life shaped by free will rather than Senate mandates. My heart pulses with contentment, battered but at peace. Tomorrow we might plan travels, or help Freedmen reorganize the city. But for now, we embrace the calm of victory.
Eventually, she lifts her head, lips curving in a teasing smile. “I assume you’re not letting that leg hamper you too long. We can explore this city to see Freedmen’s laws in action.”
I chuckle, pressing a fond kiss to her forehead. “I’ll mend quickly. Then I’ll walk every street with you, showing Freedmen we trust them to lead, not overshadow them with some grand champion flair.”
Her warm laugh echoes. “You never lost that flair completely.”
My tail flicks in amusement. “Maybe a smidge remains,” I concede. “But Freedmen’s unity outshines any champion theatrics.”
She snuggles closer, contentment shimmering through the hush. My chest feels full, throbbing with an almost giddy sense of relief. I hold her gently, letting the estate’s gentle hush cradle us. Freedmen handle the city’s affairs, orcs no longer threaten, the conspirators face justice. The future belongs to Freedmen, crafters, and city watchers forging a joint council. My burdens slip away, replaced by simple gratitude that we survived and triumphed.
A Freedman voice calls from the courtyard, announcing that the conspirators are officially marched off for trial in the open forum. Applause follows, echoing between columns. We exchange a joyful look. The final thread of Vaelen’s hold is undone.
I ease her from my lap with a soft kiss, swallowing the flicker of pain in my leg. Taking her hand, I pull us upright. She helps me remain steady. The hush of the lounge wraps around us, but the estate’s door stands open, sunlight beckoning. Freedmen pass by, arms loaded with supplies for the city, each pausing to grin or wave. This is no champion’s palace, but Freedmen’s stronghold, brimming with real camaraderie.
I speak quietly, voice hoarse with emotion, “Let’s greet them, show them we stand for them, not above them.”
Mira’s smile is radiant. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
We move together toward the open door, a new day shining beyond the threshold. Freedmen’s footsteps mingle with crafters’ banter in the courtyard, city watchers greet us with salutes that feel genuine rather than forced. I glance at Mira, my heart brimming with more than I can express. Then we step outside, arms linked, meeting Freedmen’s bright expressions.
A hush falls momentarily, then Freedmen applaud spontaneously, crafters whistling, city watchers clapping spear shafts on stone. Some approach to embrace us, others bow or grin. The courtyard fills with warmth and unity. This is the resolution we fought for: Freedmen recognized, no illusions, no spoils, no orc deals, no champion enthroned above them. Just a city claiming its soul.
I clear my throat, lifting my free arm to quiet the applause. “We are Freedmen among Freedmen,” I say, voice trembling with gratitude. “Let’s move forward together. The city belongs to all of us.”
Cheering swells, echoing off the estate’s columns, fluttering the new Freedmen banners overhead. Mira leans into me, eyes shining. My chest tightens with a calm certainty that no old illusions remain.
The conspirators are gone, the orcs repulsed, Freedmen stand victorious, and I am free—free to live and love as I choose, not bound by Senate demands. As the day unfolds around us, bright with promise, Mira’s glance brushes mine. It’s a glance that brims with unspoken tenderness: we’ll face tomorrow’s challenges hand in hand, forging new paths for Freedmen, crafters, city watchers, and all who call Milthar home.
There’s nothing left to chain us. We stand as equals, Freedmen among Freedmen, forging a new dawn. And in that moment, with the city singing around us and Mira’s hand clasped in mine, I know I’ve truly won my greatest battle—not the duel in the arena, but the right to live free, guided by love and integrity rather than a hollow champion’s mantle.
19
MIRA
Istand in the courtyard of what used to be Remanos’s estate, heart thrumming with equal parts anticipation and wonder. The midday sun throws mottled shadows across newly placed columns and banners Freedmen have decorated for this occasion. Just days ago, these same halls echoed with fear, conspiracies, and talk of handing me over to orcs as some twisted trophy. Now, I’m here not as a spoil, but as a partner and equal—a soon-to-be lifemate in a rite dear to minotaur tradition.
Around me, Freedmen bustle with last-minute preparations, affixing small lanterns and soft streamers onto the columns. A hush of excitement permeates the air, as if everyone can’t quite believe we have time for celebration. But we do—at least for a few precious hours, the city is at rest, free from the threat of conspirators or orc warbands.
Tiro, a young Freedman guard, catches sight of me and beams. “Mira,” he greets, slightly out of breath, “the altar is ready near the old colosseum steps. The crafters finished the base platform just this morning. Will you head there soon?”
My cheeks warm, pulse skipping at the thought of what’s to come. “Yes,” I say softly. “I’ll go in a moment.” Nerves flutterlow in my belly. I’m not entirely sure what to expect. This is a minotaur ceremony—a union known as the ‘lifemate rite.’ Remanos tried explaining the layers of veils, the burnt offering, the blessings, but I still can’t picture it fully. My breath hitches, remembering how resolute he was that we do this as equals, that no one would treat me as a ‘spoil’ ever again.
I move through the courtyard, Freedmen stepping aside, offering kind smiles and murmured congratulations. Some crafters nod in approval, apparently enthralled by the idea that a minotaur champion—or ex-champion, I remind myself—will stand as lifemates with a once-imprisoned human. An older Freedman woman hands me a small bouquet of orchard blossoms. “For luck, dear,” she whispers, eyes shining. I thank her, touched by the gesture.
Finally, I slip into a side chamber lit by a single lantern. There, Tila—a Freedman friend—waits with an armful of gauzy fabric in pastel colors. Her cheeks flame in excitement, and I realize these must be the ceremonial veils. My heart clenches, recalling how minotaurs use these layered veils in their mating rite: each layer representing a part of one’s life—childhood, trials, sorrows, hopes. In private, the groom peels them away, symbolically accepting every facet of his mate’s history.
Tila steps forward, carefully draping the first filmy layer across my shoulders and upper body. The fabric is almost transparent, a hint of pink hue. She arranges it gently, her lips quivering in a smile. “We Freedmen consulted an old minotaur priestess. We know how the color layers work. We tried our best to replicate them for you.”
I glance down at the shimmering fabric. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper, suddenly shy. “Thank you.”
I close my eyes as Tila layers the second veil, a pale lilac piece over the first. She quietly names each color’s meaning. “Peach for birth,” she murmurs, “lavender for adversity and healing.”My throat tightens. Thinking of adversity, so much sweeps through my mind—my captivity by orcs, the Senate’s attempts to brand me a spoil, fighting side by side with Remanos to unearth Vaelen’s conspiracies. I brush away the sting of tears. Today isn’t about sorrow, but about emerging from it.
