Chapter Eighteen: No Mercy in the Arena

The training arena was already buzzing with energy by the time Estella arrived. The scent of sweat and polished steel filled the air, but all she could focus on was him.

Lucien stood in the center of the ring, shirtless, his sword gleaming in the sunlight. The sight of his bare chest—scarred, muscled, and far too smug—sent a ripple of heat through her veins.

Bastard.

"You're late," he drawled, spinning his blade lazily between his fingers.

Estella stepped onto the sand, her own sword resting against her shoulder. "I was preparing myself," she said sweetly, her smile full of venom. "Wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of your soldiers."

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. "You think you can take me?"

"I know I can," she shot back, tilting her head. "Or are you scared?"

Lucien's silver eyes gleamed with something dark and dangerous. "Scared?" He tossed his sword to the side, the blade landing with a heavy thunk in the dirt. "I don't need steel to handle you."

Estella's blood burned at the challenge. She wasn't about to let him win—not this time.

"You cocky bastard," she muttered, tossing her own sword aside and lunging without warning.

Lucien met her halfway.

Their bodies collided with a sharp crack, the force of it sending her heart racing. He was faster—too fast—but she was reckless, using that wild energy to twist out of his grip and aim a sharp elbow toward his ribs.

He blocked it effortlessly. Of course, he did.

"You call that a hit?" he taunted, spinning her around and pinning her against the wooden railing. "I've had kisses that hurt more."

Estella snarled, refusing to let him win. She hooked her leg behind his knee and shoved—sending him crashing onto his back.

In a heartbeat, she was on top of him, her thighs straddling his waist, hands fisting his hair as she pressed him into the dirt.

"You were saying?" she purred, her breath quick and uneven.

Lucien's hands snapped up, grabbing her wrists and dragging them behind her back in one smooth motion. Before she could blink, he flipped their positions, pressing her against the ground.

"Nice try," he murmured, his weight settling between her legs. "But you'll have to do better than that, little rebel."

Estella bucked beneath him, fury and heat twisting into something dangerous. "Get the fuck off me," she spat.

"You don't sound convincing," he murmured, leaning down until his mouth brushed her ear. "I think you like being under me."

Her heart pounded as she felt the hard length of him pressing against her core. Bastard. Arrogant, insufferable, maddening bastard.

"You wish," she hissed, even as her body betrayed her—arching against him.

Lucien laughed softly, his fingers digging into her thighs. "I don't need to wish, sweetheart. I already own every inch of you."

She bit back a moan as he ground against her, the friction sending sparks through her blood. "In your dreams," she growled, though her voice trembled.

His smile was slow—cruel. "I'm not the one moaning, Estella."

Before she could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the tension.

Lucien pulled back, his silver eyes still burning with heat as he stood and extended a hand to her. "Next time," he murmured. "Try harder."

Estella ignored his hand and pushed herself up, brushing the sand from her legs. "Next time, I'll bury you."

Lucien's laughter followed her as she stalked from the arena, heart pounding in her chest.

Later That Evening…

Valeria wasn't in the mood to be patient.

Draped in crimson silk, she stood in front of Lucien's private chambers, her heart pounding with calculated intent. This wasn't a visit—it was a reclamation.

She had let that wild little brat play her games long enough.

Tonight, she would remind Lucien exactly why she had always been his favorite.

The guards didn't dare stop her as she slipped inside. The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of leather and steel. Lucien stood near the hearth, freshly bathed, his shirt hanging open to reveal the taut muscles beneath.

Valeria's lips curved into a sultry smile.

Perfect.

"You shouldn't be here," he said without turning, but there was no heat in his voice—only exhaustion.

Valeria let the silk robe slip from her shoulders, revealing the barely-there dress clinging to every curve. "I thought you might need…a distraction."

Lucien finally turned, his silver eyes darkening as they swept over her body. For a breathless second, Valeria's heart quickened. I still have him, she thought.

But then—his expression hardened.

"I told you," he said coldly. "I'm not yours."

Valeria stepped closer, unbothered by his words. "You say that," she murmured, trailing her fingers down his chest, "but your body tells a different story."

Lucien caught her wrist in a bruising grip. "I'm not in the mood for your games."

She leaned in, her mouth brushing the edge of his jaw. "I know what you need, Lucien," she whispered. "And it isn't her."

His grip tightened. "Careful, Valeria."

But she didn't stop. Not when she felt his heartbeat quicken beneath her fingers. "Let me remind you how good it feels," she purred, pressing her body against his. "You never had to work for me. I've always been yours—no fighting, no defiance. Just—"

"You're boring," Lucien cut in coldly.

Valeria froze. "What?"

His smile was sharp—cruel. "I don't want obedience," he said, releasing her wrist. "I want a challenge. Something you could never be."

For the first time, Valeria felt something like fear claw its way into her chest. "You'll regret this," she hissed.

Lucien didn't flinch. "Leave."

And as the door slammed shut behind her, Valeria swore she would make Estella pay.

Later That Night…

Estella didn't bother knocking when she entered Lucien's chambers. She found him by the window, still shirtless, his hair slightly tousled as if someone had touched him.

Her blood burned at the thought.

"You seem tense," she said, her voice soft but cutting. "Did your favorite concubine fail to satisfy you?"

Lucien turned, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her pulse stutter. "Jealous?"

"Hardly," she snorted, but when he crossed the room and backed her against the wall, her breath hitched.

"You're the only one in my bed," he murmured, brushing his lips along her throat. "And you know it."

"Maybe I just like the competition," she whispered, dragging her nails down his chest.

Lucien laughed darkly. "You're playing with fire, little rebel."

"Good," she shot back, tilting her head. "I hope it burns."

And when he kissed her—hard and unforgiving—she knew neither of them would survive the flames.