The wide stone arena shimmered in the sunlight. Rows of soldiers, generals, and curious courtiers filled the stands, murmuring with excitement. This was no ordinary morning anymore—it was entertainment, spectacle, and politics wrapped in one.
Aiden stood in the center of the sand floor, his blue eyes sharp, his wives gathered protectively around him. Luna clung tightly to his arm, her fluffy tail swishing dangerously. Nyxion's tail lashed behind her like a whip, golden eyes glowing. Thristle stood with her arms crossed, jaw tight in a scowl. Arisha was statuesque, dark green skin gleaming, hand resting with authority on her sword hilt.
Lysandra held Leona against her chest, the little girl playing absently with her mother's golden hair.
"Daddy…" Leona tugged on her sleeve, voice small. "Why's everyone staring so loud at Daddy?"
"Because your father is important, my sweet," Lysandra murmured, though her own brow twitched.
