Stolen by the Beastly Lycan King-Chapter 64: The Gladiator Fight, Part I

And slaves, trained to fight for their lives. Only slaves were pitted against each other in these contests, or so it was supposed to be.

But Althea's warning flickered in her mind like a flame in the dark. The queen's message, as cryptic as it had been, had unsettled her for days.

Some of the gladiators will be beasts of another sort, Althea had written. Wild creatures,––rogues, caught near the border.

Lorelai knew precisely what that meant. Rogue beasts—werewolves, perhaps even lycans like Rhaegar's men, creatures imprisoned, then tossed into the arena.

She clenched her hands in her lap. Althea's words had been less of a warning than a thinly veiled threat, a cruel reminder of the tension between the kingdoms, and a subtle order for her to keep her distance.

As the princess took her seat in the front row beside the rest of the royal family, she silently wished Rhaegar would not come.

The last thing she wanted was for him to witness what would soon unfold—a display she knew would inflame his pride, his sense of honor, and his loyalty to his kin. If he attended, if he saw... it could be disastrous.

A sudden murmur passed through the crowd. Lorelai turned, her heart sinking as she saw the source of the commotion: Rhaegar and his entourage.

His arrival sent a ripple of gasps and whispers among the spectators as they strode toward the section reserved for foreign dignitaries. The king moved with his usual intensity, his amber eyes sharp as steel as they surveyed the crowd.

She caught his gaze for the briefest moment, and though he gave no sign of recognition, she felt a jolt of something wordless pass between them.

Once they took their seats, the host, an elderly man with a booming voice, stepped into the center of the arena.

His gray robes swept the ground as he raised his hands to silence the crowd, a knowing smile on his face as he prepared to speak.

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"Esteemed guests, royal family, and honored visitors," he announced, his voice ringing across the arena. "Today marks one of our most anticipated traditions—the glorious gladiator fights. Brave, well-trained men and captured beasts will clash in a battle to the death, displaying the strength and ferocity that all who live in our lands respect."

A murmur of approval echoed through the audience, and the host allowed it to settle before continuing. "The first rounds will feature our finest fighters—men who have trained for years to stand against wild animals. For many of these animals, it will be their final moments. But victory will go to whichever is truly the stronger—the beast or the fighter."

Lorelai cast a glance over her shoulder. Rhaegar was listening, his face impassive, but she could sense his discomfort. She suspected he understood, as she did, that this was more than sport; it was a carefully orchestrated show of dominance, a reminder of who controlled whom in the kingdom's eyes.

The host's voice cut through her thoughts, his tone shifting to one of excitement. "And for today's spectacle, we have prepared a surprise for a few of our most distinguished guests." He smiled, his eyes gleaming as he looked around the crowd. "The most skilled fighting slaves have been prepared for a special event. These fighters, the strongest and most resilient, will engage in a final match that none will soon forget."

Lorelai's heart skipped, her gaze darting over to Rhaegar, who sat with his arms crossed, watching the host intently.

The host's words had captured his attention, as well as that of his men. It was not common to include enslaved fighters in such high-profile matches, let alone as a special feature. And Lorelai understood precisely what made this occasion so unusual.

There would be werewolves among the fighters.

One by one, the gladiators emerged into the arena, each bound in iron restraints, their faces set with grim determination or the dull resignation of those who had long since given up.

But as the last of them was led out, Lorelai's breath caught. Behind the line of humans came a towering, muscular figure, his shoulders hunched under the weight of his chains. His amber gaze was hollow, his movements stiff from drugs or spells that kept his primal nature at bay. The crowd gasped, and Lorelai's heart plummeted.

It was the lycan slave from the gambling night.