The Stolen Heir’s Bond

The arena erupted.

Gasps turned to shouts as Kael blocked the executioner's strike, steel ringing against steel. Sand exploded beneath their feet, and the sheer force of the blow rattled his bones.

The executioner took a step back, his black armor gleaming under the torches. "Who dares—"

Kael didn't let him finish. He drove forward, faster than the man expected. His stolen sword lashed out, forcing the executioner to stumble back.

The crowd roared.

High above, nobles leaned forward in their seats, some in shock, others thrilled by the unexpected twist.

Kael didn't care.

His father was seconds from death.

And Kael would burn this arena to the ground before he let that happen.

—

Elaria had seen Kael fight before.

But this was different.

From her position in the shadows, she watched him move across the arena floor, striking like a storm given flesh.

The executioner swung—a blow meant to split him in two.

Kael ducked. Sand sprayed as the blade crashed down, but before the executioner could lift it again, Kael twisted and slashed low.

Armor cracked. Blood hit the sand.

The executioner staggered.

Elaria saw the shift in the crowd. Excitement. Confusion. Fear.

Then her eyes flicked to the royal balcony—

Where the king sat, watching with cold fury.

This was bad.

Even if Kael won this fight, the king had legions of guards. They needed an escape plan—fast.

Her fingers tightened around the stolen dagger at her belt.

One way or another, they were leaving with Kael's father.

—

Kael's muscles burned.

The executioner was wounded now, but he was still dangerous. One wrong step, and it was over.

Then—

A voice. Weak, but sharp.

"Kael."

His father.

Kael whipped around, his chest tightening at the sight of him. Bloodied. Shackled. But still standing.

And in that second—

The executioner struck.

Kael barely spun in time. Their blades clashed again, but Kael's grip was firm. He drove forward—one step, two—and buried his sword deep into the executioner's chest.

The man let out a guttural sound before crashing to the sand.

The arena fell silent.

Kael stood over the body, chest heaving.

Then—

A slow clap.

Kael's head snapped up.

The king was on his feet, watching from his high throne.

"Impressive," the king said, voice mocking. "But what now, my dear prince?"

Kael's heart pounded.

The gates were still closed. The guards were already moving.

They weren't free yet.

But then—

A whistle from above.

Kael barely had time to react before a rope dropped from the stands.

He looked up.

Elaria.

"Move!" she shouted.

Kael didn't hesitate.

He grabbed his father, slicing through his bindings, and together, they ran—toward freedom.