In the arena

The blindfold slipped from Moremi's face.

Blinding light poured in, and her eyes took a moment to adjust. Her chest rose and fell quickly as she tried to make sense of where she was.

Slowly letting go of Amara's hand, her fingers trembled beside her. She took a cautious step forward, rounding her eyes at this place.

They stood in the center of what looked like a coliseum—a large circular arena surrounded by tall stone walls that arched up into rows of tiered seating.

The crowd loomed above them like vultures on cliffs, shouting and laughing in strange tongues, throwing fruit peels and bone at the dust below.

Moremi watched, like the others, as the people made mocking faces at them, her body stiffening.

At the far end of the arena stood a grand podium—elevated high above the rest of the seating.

It was carved from marble, gilded with gold leaf and housed six elaborately dressed white figures under a shaded canopy.

The royals sat on velvet chairs, adorned in silks and brocades. The central throne towered slightly above the others, with an elderly man wearing a crown, seated upon it—clearly, their king.

Moremi could feel her breath hitch at the sight.

A king. Like her father.

Her heart twisted in pain at the thought of her father. Seeing a similar throne with someone dressed like him, sent a feeling of nostalgia through her.

There was no way he would forgive her for her disappearance. She'd been his only child and she knew just how much he had endured to conceive her. She knew the poor man would be crushed and hopeless now that she was gone and it was all because of her.

Just beside the space of the arena where they stood was a a simple wooden structure that seemed out of place. On it were weapons: swords, staffs, even bows and quivers of arrows. Moremi's eyes locked on the bow.

Her heart raced.

She hadn't held one since the day she went hunting in the forest but right now, the sight of it stirred something sharp in her.

Did they want them to fight? she wondered. With what? With whom?

Her eyes flicked to Amara and the other captives, looking equally confused as they scanned the same weapons. The realization slowly dawned.

They wanted them to fight.

But against who?

Soon after taking off their blindfold, the guards began to remove their chains as well, freeing them completely.

Moremi narrowed her eyes at this, wondering what kind of game they might be using them for.

When they were done, the slaves gave space amongst themselves, filling the arena as they walked freely.

Moremi's stare shifted up above, taking in the appearance of the remaining royals on the podium.

They were not like the other whites she'd seen. These ones were...magnificent, almost close to looking like gods.

The one who stood closest to the throne, just behind the king, had striking blonde hair and blue eyes. His posture was confident, almost theatrical.

'He must be the crown prince.' She took a mental note.

Catching glint of gold on his shoulder, she saw the intricate design of a lion insignia.

Her curious eyes briefly ran through the other nobles until it stopped on a pair of black eyes, seated by the corner of the podium, with his legs crossed and his hand buried on his cheek, looking stoic.

Moremi's heart skipped a beat, feeling a strange lump in her throat at the sight of him. Even without being told, she could pick a glaring contrast between him and the other six people.

It was his hair.

It was pitch black unlike the rest, the curls slightly covering the sides of his face.

Even though she hated these white men, Moremi couldn't deny this one was ethereal.

Her face scrunched at him. No wonder they were termed white devils. How could anyone hold such beauty but still have a black heart to sell innocent people like her?

She was aware he was also a prince but there was this strange energy surrounding him.

Her gaze lingered on him longer than she meant to. And as if sensing her stare, Prince Ryker lifted his head and met her eyes.

Time froze.

The noise of the crowd fell away.

The sun dimmed. The dust stilled in the air. For a brief, weightless moment, it was just the two of them, watching each other across the divide.

Her stare didn't falter, and neither did his. Prince Ryker's gaze narrowed, analyzing her. Unlike the others trembling with fear, this girl—slave—stood with something else in her eyes.

Not arrogance. Not pride.

Just...will.

Moremi's attention was finally shifted away when she suddenly heard the loud thunderous jam of a huge door.

She averted her gaze and looked behind her, seeing the guards shut the big door at them. Panic washed over all of them, as the just noisy space with people cheering and bantering, turned eerily quiet.

Her gaze returned to the royal podium, this time narrowing, watching their mouths move. She couldn't understand their words, but she didn't need to. Their body language said it all.

The white lady in a gown—dressed like a doll carved from porcelain stood from her seat and walked toward the blonde man beside the king, speaking with barely disguised contempt.

"Brother Rhain, do you think anyone here would make it out alive today?" she asked with a delicate sneer, sipping wine from her goblet.

Rhain clicked his tongue, amused. "I doubt it. I haven't fed my pets in six days." His smile widened cruelly. "But there's no harm in keeping hopes high, is there?" he joked to hear his sister laugh.

He then turned to the men behind him. There were three of them, likely his brothers.

"Anyone wants to bet on this batch?" he called out, smirking.

The brothers shared a look before stretching their heads to get a better view of the slaves in the arena.

"All of them look weak," One of them, Prince Rhaegal, replied with a grimace before the other ones whispered a quiet no, shaking their head.

They wouldn't waste their bet on such tired-looking set. They would all be dead before the game even started.

Rhain smiled at their answer before turning to someone else. His half-brother.

Seated a little away from the rest, was Ryker with hair as black as obsidian Moremi had seen. His eyes were storm-dark, almost cold, and his face was unreadable—no smirk, no scorn. Just… stillness.

He wore a dark navy tunic trimmed in silver, different from the golden attire of the others.

Rhain's voice broke the stillness. He scowled.

"Does anyone else want to bet or not?" he barked. "Ryker? Or are you just going to sit there brooding?"

Amelia, the girl in the gown, turned toward Ryker with a teasing smile. "Brother? Surely even you can find one to root for."

Ryker didn't answer immediately. His jaw twitched slightly. They knew he wasn't one to root for the game. They were simply just teasing him.

Rhain scoffed. "As I thought. He has no taste for—"

"That one," Ryker said suddenly, voice calm but firm.

Heads turned. Even the king glanced at him.

Ryker didn't repeat himself. His eyes didn't move from Moremi.

Silence reigned for a heartbeat as everyone's attention shifted to focus on a now confused Moremi who saw the crowd peer at her.

Then Rhain burst into laughter.

"Oh? The wild looking one with the stubborn eyes?" He grinned. "You always did have odd preferences, big brother."

Ryker didn't reply. His squinted eyes was still on the arena. He could see the horror and confusion on the girl's face as everyone stared at her for a moment and then...

Rhain suddenly raised his hand up, giving a kind of signal.

Bars and locks seemed to click and the moment his hand dropped down, a wide doorway —almost like a secret door opened to them.

'Roar!'

Blood drained from her face when she saw four huge creatures step out from the gate, their feral teeth gnashing as they stared at the pack of slaves with killing intent.