"Defense team—victory."

The moderator's declaration rang across the arena.

Rapheldor found Vencian near the sidepassage of his marker and launched himself forward with a shout of triumph.

"We won!" He clapped Vencian's shoulder hard enough to jar bone. "We actually won!"

Vencian steadied himself, smiling faintly. "You sound surprised."

"I am surprised. I was ready to lose gracefully and then you showed up acting like five attackers was a reasonable challenge."

"It worked."

"Barely." Rapheldor shook his head, still grinning. "You realize Pereneth almost skewered you twice?"

"Three times."

"Three?" Rapheldor laughed. "And you're still standing here smirking like you planned the whole thing."

"I did plan it."

"Your plan was insane."

"My plan won."

Rapheldor opened his mouth to argue, then laughed again instead. "Fair point."

Vencian's gaze drifted past him. Pereneth stood near the opposite wall, surrounded by his team. His expression was cold, jaw tight, eyes fixed on Vencian with undisguised fury. The anger was raw, unfiltered.

Vencian met his stare and let a slow smirk curve his mouth.

Pereneth's hands clenched. For a moment it seemed he might stride across the floor. Then he turned sharply and walked toward the exit, his team following in silence.

"Looks like someone's taking the loss personally," Rapheldor observed.

"He'll recover."

"Will he? You just humiliated the Chancellor's son in front of half the court."

"He humiliated himself by losing."

Rapheldor snorted. "You're impossible."

Above them, the Crown Prince rose from his seat. Light flared around him, pale and controlled. The raised walls of the maze groaned, stone grinding against stone as they descended smoothly back into the arena floor. Artificial light flooded the space, bright and sudden after the dim corridors.

The crowd became visible. Nobles filled the stands, their faces turned toward the arena, expressions ranging from surprise to approval.

Vencian planted his staff, then raised it overhead. The gesture was simple, deliberate. He held it there for a breath, gaze passing first to the prince, then to Elías and Rulen, and finally to Montaro at the edge of the stands. Only then did he let the staff fall as it clattered against the stone floor.

The sound echoed across the arena, sharp and final.

Rapheldor stared at him. "Did you just—"

"Yes."

"That was—"

"Effective."

Rapheldor shook his head, grinning despite himself. "You really are insane."

---

Elías leaned forward on the rail, grinning wide.

"Unbelievable." He shook his head, laughing. "That lunatic actually pulled it off."

Rulen stood beside him, arms crossed. "I thought Rapheldor's team was doomed the moment the match parameters were announced."

"They were." Elías's grin widened. "Then Vencian substituted in and won anyway."

"He made it look easier than it should have been."

"That's the point." Elías watched the figures below emerge from the maze's collapsing walls. "Make yourself dangerous and people hesitate. Hesitation loses matches."

Rulen's mouth twitched. "He's always been good at that."

"Good? He's exceptional at it." Elías straightened, still grinning. "One game and half the court will remember his name by morning. That's not luck."

"No. It's calculated."

"Vicorra calculated." Elías turned toward his brother. "Which means we're all in for an interesting evening."

Rulen said nothing, but his expression shifted, something thoughtful settling behind his eyes.

Below them, the crowd's noise swelled. Cheers and commentary blurred together, filling the arena with chaotic energy.

Behind the princes, unnoticed in the commotion, Narin stood frozen at the rail. His gaze was locked on the pale-haired figure below. His hands gripped the stone, knuckles bloodless. His lips moved, forming words too quiet to hear over the surrounding din. The old Dawnseer's eyes were wide, staring at something no one else could see.

The crowd roared again. The moment passed, swallowed by noise and movement.

---

Roselys sat near the middle tier of the stands, arms folded, watching Vencian bask in the crowd's attention like he'd earned every second of it.

Her eye twitched.

This was supposed to be a working event. He'd told her to attend because he needed help identifying a Pentarch member among the guests. That was the plan. A clear objective.

Instead she'd spent the past hour watching nobles hit each other with sticks.

She despised events like this. Too many people, too much noise, too much performance. But more than anything, coming to such events require being present with her adopted family and with her. Yet here she sat, dragged along by that infuriating brat who now stood in the center of the arena, grinning at his friends like he'd conquered a kingdom.

A low chuckle sounded beside her.

Roselys glanced sideways. A man sat two seats over, middle-aged, neatly dressed, expression faintly amused. She'd noticed him earlier but paid no attention. He hadn't spoken until now.

"Excuse me," he said, still chuckling. "That was a good game, wasn't it?"

Roselys hesitated, then nodded. "It was."

She hated that she agreed. The match had been ridiculous, chaotic, and somehow compelling. Watching Vencian coordinate the defense through sheer audacity had been, she admitted privately, impressive.

Her gaze returned to the arena floor. Vencian was joking with Rapheldor now, relaxed and smiling. She couldn't tell if the ease was genuine or another mask. With him, it was always impossible to know.

"I pity him, though," the man said.

Roselys frowned. "Why?"

The man gestured vaguely toward the arena. "Young, talented, unmarried. Half the noble families here will be circling him like hawks before the night ends. Poor boy won't have a moment's peace."

Roselys blinked. "Circling him for what?"

"Marriage arrangements, of course." The man's smile turned wry. "Events like this are hunting grounds for ambitious parents. Lord Vicorra just made himself a very attractive prospect."

Roselys hadn't considered that angle. Her focus had been entirely on the Pentarch, on strategy, on the work. The idea of noble families scheming over marriage prospects felt absurdly distant from her concerns.

"I suppose that's true," she said slowly.

The man stood, brushing his coat smooth. "Apologies for rambling. I should take my leave."

Roselys watched him turn toward the aisle, then felt a flicker of curiosity. "Wait. What's your name?"

He paused, glancing back with a faint smile. "Abnet."

He nodded politely and walked away, disappearing into the dispersing crowd.

Roselys turned her attention back to the arena. Vencian was still there, surrounded by nobles now, fielding congratulations with practiced ease.

She sighed and leaned back in her seat.

This was going to be one troublesome night.

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