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The Grand Bout was a sacred ritual in the village of Ishigami. Although it was usually held for the priestess to find a mate, this time—the biggest one in recent memory—it was being held for none other than the prince, Senkuu.
As a long-time friend of said prince, Kohaku knew this was very much against his wishes. He was never the type to throw himself into a fight just to impress someone, nor the kind to sit politely while others brawled over him. He was also very much not interested in mates, last time she checked. Even the most dazzling mers failed to pique his interest, and he even seemed uncomfortable during discussions of breeding the next heir. Not only did that disappoint a few, but it also sparked doubts about Senkuu’s capabilities to continue the bloodline when his father already tarnished it by marrying a land-dwelling siren, failing to have any offspring with her, and using an unknown egg from the depths to substitute the vacant seat for the heir.
This was all because the said prince was special in a lot of ways. Not only was he adopted, but he was also of deep-sea heritage. His belonging to the lineage of royalty was constantly challenged, and if not for his father’s resilience and patience in combating these claims, Senkuu wouldn’t be acknowledged at all as a prince. If anything, she half-expected him to discard the entire affair (if he even knew it was happening at all).
The cherry on top? Ever since the prince had been taken by humans once, Senkuu never seemed the same. His eyes were always fixed outward, on distant shores and the moonlit surface, as if the village beneath the waves couldn’t contain his thoughts anymore. While he had been curious about humans ever since he could swim, it wasn’t like him to isolate himself or go on dangerous trips to the surface alone.
See, Byakuya (the father of the said prince) knew his son would protest the solution he thought of. So what does he do?
Send his son away to his land-dwelling wife and hold the bout while he’s gone. A clever move, she supposed. Kohaku thought he was a good father—wise, beloved by the people, endlessly patient—but that part was… not very nice of him. This was from the perspective of a friend of Senkuu.
As just a warrior of the Ishigami Village, she understood why, though. Byakuya wanted to tether him back. And what better way than tradition, spectacle, and a hundred eager contenders ready to prove their devotion? Not only that, but by finding Senkuu a mate, the other royals could fuck off about Senkuu’s loyalty to the coastal folk and his willingness to do his duties.
(That was, if Senkuu chose the opposite sex. Either way would get them to leave him alone at least, because adoption would at least look like he was avoiding sharing his filth with the next generation.)
Kohaku adjusted the grip on her spear, sizing up the fighters across the sand. The drums thundered, and the crowd chanted. There were far too many this year—locals mixed with strangers whose faces she didn’t know.
Unfortunately, most of them weren’t even from the village. The original plan was for the Bout to stay within Ishigami walls, but the other mer clans had raised hell about it—screaming of favoritism, of unfairness, of a poor prince hoarded to an impure gene pool. (Ironic, considering these claims were from the same mouths that protested his spot on the throne.) When protests turned bloody, Byakuya had no choice but to open the gates, anticipating how distraught Senkuu would be over it.
A reluctant decision, and one that had already stained the sand with more blood than this ritual deserved. Of course, that also garnered concerns and protests from his merfolk, thus a limit on candidates was added. No more than five schools of discus.
Once Byakuya sent Senkuu away to stay with his adoptive mother so the prince would be kept in the dark about the events, the bout finally started. It had been a long process, eliminating a lot of unfavorable mers in the first two trials before pitting them all in one tournament after two weeks. The first week was dedicated to decorating the village, or to being good hosts to the outsiders. Kohaku didn’t join the (admittedly, forced) festivities; she spent it spying on the potential competitors.
Of course, Kohaku couldn’t just watch her friend be nothing but a ladder of opportunity for greedy mers and have him stuck in a marriage that ultimately exploited him and his status. So, although they harbored no romantic intentions with the prince, Kohaku and her sister banded a group of mers close to Senkuu to infiltrate the bout as contenders. The goal was to stall for time until Taiju and Yuzuriha find Senkuu and have him stop the bout himself.
Worst case scenario, at least the prince’s partner would be someone he knew and not an outsider who killed a few of his pod.
First, fill the limited slots as much as possible. Fewer chances for outsiders, it didn’t matter if they’d get disqualified in the first trial, as long as it was one less outsider in the bout.
Suika fidgeted in the line as one of the judges shook his head. “Too young.”
“Aw, we tried,” Ginro tried to reassure.
“I suppose that was expected,” Kinro sighed. Maybe they should have tried harder to hide her small stature.
The judges barely let Suika take three sulky wades back before the next candidate was hauled forward. One by one, the unworthy were turned away. The youngest mers like Suika, those barely fledged from their schools, were dismissed with a firm shake of the elder’s head.
“Criminal record,” one of the elders barked. The mer in question thrashed and shouted, spitting foam as guards dragged him out of the sand.
“Attempted to poison the prince once,” Kohaku murmured, remembering the story. The audacity of some mers still astounded her, but they probably mustered the courage since Senkuu wasn’t present in his own bout. “He’s lucky he wasn’t exiled outright.”
“Rather bold of him to even show up here,” Ruri commented as she swam back and made space for the next approved mer.
The judges were merciless. Outsiders with even a whiff of rebellion in their school’s history were tossed. One candidate who had once jeered about “the deep-sea bastard prince” was yanked back before he could even open his mouth. Another, caught years ago trying to sabotage Ishigami hunting grounds, spat curses until the guards dragged him under. Another was turned away for belonging to a clan that had taken arms during the protest, then one more for being caught scheming in secret alliances. Two or more for daring to speak out against Byakuya himself. It was brutal, efficient, and for such a joyous tradition, it was rigid. The line thinned fast, as expected.
But the plan worked—every familiar face from their group (sans Suika) was waved through without question. Kinro marched forward with his usual stiff posture, Ginro blubbering nervously but clinging close enough that the judges didn’t toss him out miraculously. Ruri bowed her head gracefully, unchallenged. Even Kaseki, although he was more than a few decades ahead of Senkuu, only raised a few eyebrows. It was disgusting, in Kohaku’s opinion, how they would allow Senkuu to be married off to a mer much older than him.
Kaseki was on their side, but he wasn’t unique. A lot of the candidates were aged and even older than Byakuya, swimming forward with the kind of confidence only ulterior motives could fuel. Some sought the crown. Others sought the bloodline. None of it had anything to do with Senkuu himself.
All the more reason to commit. Kohaku swam forward when her turn came, and the elder only gave her a cursory nod. She felt the weight of eyes on her—outsiders in the crowd grumbling about favoritism, about how Ishigami villagers could glide through while they were gutted at the gates.
The next name drew a collective murmur from the crowd. Magma. Kohaku’s jaw tightened. Of course, he would try. Although Kohaku would say Ishigami Village barely had any bad eggs since they were a tight-knit community, there would always be some exceptions, like Magma.
He swaggered forward, all brute muscle and arrogance, grinning as though the outcome were already decided. “A prince needs strength,” he boomed. “I’ll give him the strongest mate in the seas.”
“Show your scales,” the elder ordered.
For a beat, Magma looked smug—until he realized the command wasn’t a formality. Slowly, he lifted his arm. Under closer inspection, mottled streaks shimmered faintly across his skin, like bruises that would never fade.
The crowd hissed as one body.
Anemone poison. Jasper and Turquoise’s mark. Everyone familiar with how the Ishigami Village operated knew what it meant: you had once raised a hand or fin against the prince, and you had been punished for it. The venom seared itself into your flesh, leaving scars that never healed, a walking record of betrayal.
“Disqualified,” the elder said flatly.
Magma’s grin collapsed into a snarl. “That was years ago! He was weak—” He didn’t get to finish. Guards surged forward as he roared, but the trident pressed to his chest shoved him back into the surf. He cursed and thrashed as they dragged him away, his voice lost beneath the drums.
Kohaku allowed herself a grim smile. One less predator circling her friend.
By the time the conch shell was blown to signal the end of the first trial, nearly half the pool had been culled. The sand bore the marks of the struggle—scrapes, drops of blood, churned silt—and yet the crowd only roared louder, eager for more.
Byakuya lifted his trident high, his voice booming over the drums. “Those who remain have proven their eligibility. The next trial will test not your strength, but your mind.”
Kohaku exhaled slowly, bracing herself. This was the part they had rigged for the villagers—though she could already feel the outsiders bristling at the announcement. For mers similar to Magma, who were villagers but wouldn’t suit to be Senkuu’s partner (either because they’re idiots or not any better than the power-hungry outsiders but have no record of actual violence), they’d be weeded out in the second trial.
“The second trial,” one of the judges announced, voice echoing against the stone outcroppings, “is not of strength, but of mind. Any fool can swing a spear. Only those who know the ways of Ishigami may swim beside the prince.”
A groan rolled through the outsiders’ ranks. They had expected brawls, not a memory test. Kohaku caught more than one scowl from the foreign mers—sharp-finned males from the southern reefs, a jeweled courtesan from the western coves, even a scaled brute she recognized from the Treasure Cove. They had come to conquer by force, not to answer questions like children in Ruri’s lessons.
The priestess herself glided forward, robes of sea-silk trailing behind her gracefully. Her smile was serene, but her gaze cut through the crowd like a knife.“You will be asked about our history, of the first priestess and her covenants. You will be asked about the reef’s taboos, the places where no blood is spilled. And…” Her eyes flicked toward the horizon, then back to the candidates, “You will be asked of the prince himself.”
A ripple of whispers. That wasn’t tradition, not exactly.
Kohaku hid her smirk. Clever Ruri. If this was going to be a farce of a courtship, then at least the odds were rigged in their favor. Who among these strangers would know that Senkuu stared at the moon when he couldn’t sleep? Or that his favorite shells weren’t for decoration, but because their spirals reminded him of human designs?
It was a bit unfair, but granted, this was the prince’s hand on line. What kind of partner were you, to not know the prince intimately?
Beside her, Suika—who had snuck back to watch despite being dismissed—giggled behind her helmet. “They’re doomed,” she whispered.
“Let’s hope so,” Kohaku muttered, rubbing the child’s head.
As the shells were laid out, a ripple of discontent spread through the crowd. Then a deep voice broke it outright:
“Unfair!” An outsider from the southern reefs surged forward, scales flaring dark with anger. His teeth bared in a snarl. “How can this be a true trial if one of the candidates herself is administering it?”
His webbed hand cut sharply toward Ruri. “The priestess is no impartial judge. She favors her pod, her blood, her sister, maybe even herself!”
Figures. The crowd stirred, fins slicing the water, voices rising in agreement. Even some of the Ishigami villagers shifted uncomfortably—because technically, he wasn’t wrong. Kohaku bristled at the outsider’s sneer, but the thought that crossed her mind made her almost laugh. If he only knew Ruri had once been dressed up to be Senkuu’s bride, he’d choke on his indignation. They polished her scales until they gleamed and threaded pearls into her hair like she was a necklace meant to be fastened around his throat.
Senkuu had taken one look at her sister’s dazzling appearance, said “pass,” and went back to tinkering with coral scraps. Ruri, bless her, hadn’t minded in the slightest. It was probably why they were friends now. (Although Kohaku was momentarily offended at how fast he declined Ruri back then, she was grateful. He didn’t take her sister away from her and tangled her in royal duties.)
Kohaku’s jaw tightened, spear tilting protectively in front of her sister. “Careful,” she hissed, low and dangerous.
But Ruri only raised her chin. Her calm was unshaken, her gaze like a polished pearl catching the light. “If fairness is your concern, then you may rest assured. I will not test you on anything of my own design. The questions are the same ones every Ishigami child is asked before they are considered an adult. If you call that favoritism, then perhaps you should question your own ignorance and readiness, not my presence.”
Byakuya’s trident struck the sand once, silencing the crowd with its echo. “The priestess speaks true. These trials are older than any of us. If you cannot face them, you have no place beside my son.”
The outsider scoffed but fell back, grumbling. Kohaku caught the flick of his tail, the restless frustration of many others in his wake. Outsiders didn’t like the odds stacked against them—and that was exactly how Kohaku wanted it.
The shells were spread in a careful spiral on the sand, each one painted with marks that corresponded to questions. Ruri’s voice rang out clear as she gestured.
“Choose. Answer true, and remain. Answer false, and depart.”
Ruri herself didn’t need to take a shell—her duty was to test, not compete—but she demonstrated one for show, to silence complaints. She drew one at random, handed it to a judge, and answered evenly: “The first priestess swore covenant to keep blood off the loom-coral, and so we still honor it.”
No one could contest her impartiality now.
The protester who had complained earlier snatched one and promptly botched a question about the first priestess’s laws. He sputtered as guards dragged him off, leaving a bitter trail of foam.
Kinro stepped forward, stiff as a spear. He picked a shell, jaw clenched.
Ruri asked, “Name the taboo waters to the north.”
Kinro didn’t hesitate. “The bone field.”
Simple. Direct. A warrior’s answer. Kinro was Kohaku’s first choice to be a partner for Senkuu. A strictly transactional relationship, in a way, since Kinro was a stickler for rules. He was rather formal too, and due to their familiarity (and the former power imbalance between the two), wouldn’t push anything Senkuu wouldn’t want.
The judges nodded.
Then came Moz. He swam forward like the spiral of shells was a stage. He plucked one without hesitation. Kohaku didn’t like him. From the first week, although he joined the Grand Bout, he had been mingling with plenty of the girls. An unfaithful bastard who even tried to shoot a shot with her. He would have been a great husband, being attractive and strong, but it was obvious he was going to use Senkuu for his selfish and perverted wishes.
Ruri asked as she read his chosen shell, “Where must blood never be spilled, by decree of the priestess?”
Moz grinned, sharp teeth flashing. “At the coral sanctum, where the sea-silk grows. Even fools know that—you’d lose your head if you fouled the priestess’s loom.”
A murmur of reluctant approval passed through the crowd. He was smug, but he was right. Of course, he’d know that—he wasn’t stupid, just dangerous. It wasn’t devotion to tradition that made him answer right, but the same cunning he’d used to charm half the girls in the reefs.
Ruri’s serene face betrayed nothing as she gestured him aside. “Remain.”
Moz bowed with exaggerated grace, winking at the nearest onlookers as though the Bout were his personal stage.
Tch.
Ibara was next, swimming forward with a bow that bent almost double. He didn’t grab a shell—he waited for one to be offered, which made some roll their eyes, but he looked all the more courtly for it.
If memory serves right, he was from the same place Moz was. Near Treasure Cove. By association, Kohaku already disliked him. He was also…
“What is the punishment for striking a royal?”
Ibara’s smile thinned, eyes glittering. “Why, exile if merciful, death if just. The elders’ wisdom ensures both the reef’s peace and the throne’s dignity.”
The elders nodded, pleased at the flattery. Kohaku’s stomach turned. He was no better than Moz, but unlike Moz, he hid it better. What Kohaku disliked most was his age; he was older than Byakuya, but wanted the hand of his only son, who hadn’t even crossed the age to drink. Even if he laid no hand on Senkuu, no doubt he’d be uncomfortable and at his mercy as he was far more mature and experienced (not to mention… bigger) than Senkuu was.
Her tension eased when Ginro swam forward. He pawed through the shells with trembling hands, almost dropping and shattering one in the process. Kohaku winced out of second-hand embarrassment.
Ruri smiled sympathetically: “Which day does the prince always like to talk about?”
Ginro blinked. “Uhhh—oh! The day the sun died…?”
Gasps. But then he stammered, desperate to fix his mistake: “N-no, I mean—that time when the sun turned black, and the water went all cold—uh, and the moon was biting it! That night! That’s his favorite day!”
Laughter rippled through the villagers. It was clumsy, but correct. Somehow, he squeaked through. Kohaku, although she bore no ill will towards Ginro, didn’t want him to win the grand scheme of things. He was sleazy when he could afford to be, a little perverted, and most likely could get drunk off the authority that would be offered to him. She’s sure Senkuu could straighten him out since he was no damsel in distress, but…
“He likes those days?” Amaryllis asked, her tone more fascinated than appalled. She was one of the few outsiders Kohaku didn’t despise. Pretty, kind. A strange match for this bloody tournament. Whatever her motive was, either Kohaku hadn’t found out yet, or she had none.
“Yes,” Kohaku admitted, careful not to grimace. “Our prince is… unique.”
Not an understatement. When the sun vanished when it shouldn’t, merfolk hid in silence, fins brushing sand as if a predator larger than life loomed. The currents stilled, the reef hushed, and every pod whispered of bad omens. Senkuu, however, only tilted his face to the shadowed surface, eyes alight with wonder. He always prayed for more days like that to happen.
Kaseki waded forward, scratching his chin as if he’d forgotten he was even in line. Ruri picked one out for him and asked, “What gift does the prince give the reef each season?”
“Oho,” Kaseki chuckled. “He drops one of his tinkered contraptions into the nursery reefs. The little ones adore them.”
Even the sternest elder cracked a reluctant smile.
Then Amaryllis. Outsiders muttered at her appearance, certain the jeweled mer had only charms to offer. She reminded Kohaku of Ruri in that aspect; the way she carried herself and adorned her features was practiced—clearly, she had been awaiting this opportunity, or was groomed to be the perfect bride by her pod.
Amaryllis selected a shell with delicate fingers.
“What covenant binds the nobles to the reef?”
Amaryllis tilted her head, her hair shimmering in the current. “To protect the schools and sanctuaries, above all else. Even before the crown or the bloodline, the heir must place the reef first.”
Her voice was soft, but it carried, and more than one villager actually smiled. Out of all the outsiders they let in the gates, Kohaku wouldn’t mind Amaryllis marrying Senkuu.
Finally, Kirisame. Another from Moz and Ibara’s pod. She moved forward, stiff like Kinro. Her question: “Name the shells the prince favors, and why.”
Gasps rippled—unlucky for an outsider, this was the kind only close villagers knew. And yet, Kirisame didn’t flinch. “Moon spirals, because their design recalls human craft.” Her tone was flat, as if memorized. “He keeps them in his chambers.”
Ruri’s eyes narrowed slightly suspiciously, but she could not fault the answer. Someone had clearly been feeding this one information, or this one was indeed interested in Senkuu that way.
Once it was Kohaku’s turn, she strode forward, steady and sure. “What oath did the prince swear upon returning from the surface?”
She raised her chin. “That he would never be stolen again without a fight. That he would guard not only the reef, but himself, with every breath.”
How ironic.
By the end of the trial, the shells were cleared away, and only a fraction of contenders remained. Outsiders hissed and grumbled, but four of them still stood tall: Moz, Ibara, Amaryllis, Kirisame. Enough to remind everyone the contest wasn’t over yet. Out of four, three were questionable individuals, and so Kohaku hoped that by the final trial, they could push them out of the lineup.
“Phew,” Ginro groaned, rubbing at his fins. “I thought I was done for!”
“You nearly were,” Kinro muttered.
Suika popped up beside Ruri, tugging at her sleeve with a grin. Then, in a perfect mimic of her smooth priestess tone, she intoned: “What does the prince like to do even after his kidnapping?”
Ruri sighed, already pinching the bridge of her nose. “…Visit the surface with no permission.”
Kohaku barked a laugh. Even Kinro’s lips twitched as Ginro wheezed, “She’s not wrong!”
“Then, what does the prince have to touch to turn red and itchy?”
Kohaku patted the shield tied to her back. “Whatever Kaseki coated my shield with.”
“It keeps the barnacles off, and apparently princes too!” Kaseki beamed, proud of himself. “Alright, what does the prince like the most from the human scraps he collected?”
Ginro blinked, confused. “...Taiju?”
His older brother frowned, tail lashing to hit Ginro behind his head. “He met Taiju near human waters, but he was not a scrap from the humans!”
The final trial was what most of them had come for: a spectacle of power and blood.
Byakuya’s trident rang once more against the stone, demanding their attention. “The third trial,” he said, his voice deep as the current, “is combat. You will fight until your foe yields or cannot rise.”
The crowd roared their approval, the sound rolling like a storm tide. Kohaku gripped her spear tighter as her eyes swept through the line of contenders. Moz, flashing his teeth like a shark already savoring blood. Ibara looked sinister, already plotting away with Kirisame in one corner of the stadium. Amaryllis had, curiously, avoided sitting near any of them.
And of course, Kinro, Ginro, Kaseki—faces she trusted, but who wouldn’t be shown mercy if they landed a slot against her.
Even if one of them won, it would mean Senkuu was shackled to his duties. Friend or foe, and regardless of how much freedom they’ll let Senkuu have, he would not be able to decline their marriage.
Her jaw tightened. No. Not if Taiju and Yuzuriha hurry.
Spears clashed, tails churned the water, and one by one, contenders were dragged out half-conscious. Kohaku barely paid them mind. Her eyes were on the outsiders who still stood tall—especially Moz.
When her name was called against his, she knew the judges wanted a spectacle.
The crowd roared as they swam to the center of the humble stadium. Moz grinned at her, sharp teeth glinting, arms spread as though to welcome applause. “A little guppy like you?” he drawled, voice carrying. “The prince deserves strength, not a child with a stick.”
“He doesn’t deserve a savage beast either,” Kohaku snapped, spear steady.
The conch horn sounded.
It was like being hit by a series of collapsing corals. Every strike rattled her bones, every swing of his tail churned the water into whirlpools that stole her balance. Kohaku fought fiercely, darting in with sharp jabs, her spear biting shallow cuts into his arms and side. But Moz only laughed, the sting fueling his arrogance.
“Is this what the Ishigami offers its prince? A fragile little warrior who can’t even pierce me?”
She gritted her teeth, feinted low, and landed a solid strike across his chest. The crowd gasped—blood billowed, faint but there. For a heartbeat, she thought she had him.
Then Moz’s grin sharpened. He caught her spear in one hand, yanked her forward, and slammed his tail against her ribs. Then the world went white with pain. She flew back across the sand, coughing bubbles, barely keeping her grip on the shaft.
The crowd roared. Outsiders howled Moz’s name.
Kohaku forced herself up, vision bleary. Through the haze, she can make out an outline of Moz already closing in, eyes glittering with cruel delight.
They were so close. If she let Moz pass through, Kinro would have to fight him, and they needed him in his top shape since Ibara was also a finalist after cruelly stabbing Ginro. If she fell, she would rather fall while buying them more time—ignoring the pain, Kohaku forced herself upright. Her lungs burned, and even her perfect vision was compromised. Moz’s shadow fell across her, claws poised to end it.
The water stirred.
At first, Kohaku thought her dizzy mind was playing tricks. A shift in the current, a ripple across the sand—then a familiar silhouette cut through the crowd. Lean, wild-haired, eyes burning like the surface moon.
The noise of the bout crashed into silence.
"Senkuu!" Byakuya's composed and threatening voice had given way to a worried and soft tone. "Why are you...? But Lillian said..."
Senkuu perched beside Byakuya's throne, hugging his father in greeting before eyeing the stadium. The banners. The spectators. Unfamiliar faces. Then the unwelcome pods.
"There's no need to continue further," Senkuu tilted his head. He should be angry, but he wasn’t. In fact, he even looked amused, a smile on his lips.
"I have found a mate."
…Ah?
The bout stayed in stunned silence, even as Senkuu approached the finalists on the seabed. However, it didn’t last long once the outsiders processed the implications—ripples surged through the crowd, disbelief and outrage tangling in the air.
Ibara was the first one Kohaku was able to listen to once the pain subsided. His face was twisted, spittle flying as he shouted, “You dare—! After all we’ve risked, all we’ve fought for, you throw it away?!”
Senkuu didn’t even glance at him, his amusement dying fast at Ibara’s curses. “You’re wasting your breath.”
The dismissal only sent Ibara into a bigger frenzy. He lunged, nails bared like claws, aiming for Senkuu’s throat.
Kohaku tensed—still in too much pain to intercept—but then it was already over.
Senkuu’s head tilted, sharp and efficient, and his teeth sank into Ibara’s arm. Not a savage tearing, not a dramatic brawl. Just a quick, clinical strike. Poison glistened faintly where his fangs withdrew.
Ibara staggered, mouth open in a word that never finished. His body seized, foam flecking his lips, before he crumpled boneless into the sand.
Gasps tore through the crowd. The air stank of fear now.
Kohaku had fought for Senkuu for years. She had carried him out of deeper currents when his body gave out, seen him cough up blood from pressure sickness, and watched him falter in spars where even children could outpace him. His body was frail in ways no royal blood should allow. Against a true fighter, Senkuu was no threat at all.
And yet—every so often—something cracked through. Not strength of muscle or speed of tail, but something sharper, deadlier. The whispers said his blood carried poison, a curse from his deep-sea heritage. The whispers had not been wrong. Those rare outbursts left mers either dead or half-dead, gasping with green froth in their throats. Most dismissed it as a rumor or an exaggeration by fearful children. Senkuu himself laughed them off, insisting they could kill him faster before the poison kicked in. But Kohaku had just seen the truth with her own eyes: the prince’s fangs could kill faster than any blade.
Ibara’s body twitched on the sand, the froth already turning faintly green where Senkuu’s venom worked its way through him. The prince didn’t even grace his untimely death with his attention; instead, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, exasperated.
His eyes scanned the stunned ring of villagers, challengers, and royals as if nothing had happened. “As I was saying,” he continued evenly, “I have a mate. Anyone who has a problem with that can join him.”