The summons came at dawn.
A wolf’s fang wrapped in red ribbon—an ancient sign of challenge. The moment Aria saw it resting on the windowsill, her blood turned to ice.
Zara stared at it from across the room. “That’s from the old code. Blood duel.”
Aria picked up the token, the fang still warm. “It’s a direct challenge to my claim.”
Zara’s lips tightened. “They’re testing you. They couldn’t silence you in council, so now they want to break you in combat.”
Aria turned the fang over in her palm. It was marked with a sigil she recognized—Bronn Thorne. One of the fiercest warriors in the northern packs. Loyal to the council. Loyal to tradition.
“Why him?” Aria murmured.
“He’s a hound,” Zara spat. “Too proud to bow to Lunaris blood. And too stupid to see how things are changing.”
Aria walked to the center of the room and placed the fang on the stone hearth. The flames recoiled, then flared tall and white.
The bond had been accepted.
“Then I accept the challenge,” Aria said, her voice flat.
Zara looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “You’re pregnant. You can’t risk—”
“I can’t afford to be seen as weak,” Aria said. “This isn’t just about me. It’s about the child. About Lunaris. If I back down now, they’ll never stop coming.”
Zara closed her eyes. “Then we fight.”
The dueling ring was carved into the earth beyond the council halls, bordered by stone columns etched with old runes. It was sacred ground—no magic, no interference, just skill and strength.
Aria entered the ring to silence.
She wore no armor. Only the same cloak she’d worn to the council, its edges weighted with protection spells, all of which she would have to deactivate before stepping fully inside the boundary.
Across from her stood Bronn.
Massive, scarred, a tank of a man with silver streaks in his dark beard. He looked at her like she was prey.
“This isn’t personal,” he grunted. “It’s tradition.”
“No,” Aria replied, “it’s cowardice. You just don’t want a woman rewriting your laws.”
A low growl rumbled in his chest.
The Elders officiating the duel raised their hands. The rules were clear: first blood or submission. No death, unless agreed upon. Bronn had asked for first blood. A warning, not a kill.
But Aria knew better.
Bronn wouldn’t stop if he gained the upper hand.
The bell sounded.
He charged like a bull, aiming to end it quickly.
Aria sidestepped, light on her feet. She wasn’t trying to match his strength—she couldn’t. But speed, precision, and timing? Those were hers.
She struck his ribs with a sharp elbow as he passed, knocking the wind from him. He swung around with surprising speed, landing a shallow gash across her upper arm.
Blood. But not enough to end it.
“Give up,” he said, panting. “You’re outmatched.”
Aria said nothing. She let the pain ground her. Let the fury build behind her ribs.
She waited for his next charge. When it came, she dropped to one knee and drove her fist into the side of his knee, where an old injury had never healed right.
Bronn buckled with a roar.
Aria leapt up and brought her heel down on his shoulder, slamming him into the earth.
The Elders began to move—but Bronn surged again, swiping at her leg and catching her off balance.
They grappled, dirt and blood mixing as she drove her elbow again into his temple.
He sagged.
She pressed her blade to his throat.
“I bleed,” she said, voice shaking, “but I don’t break.”
The Elders called it.
Aria had won.
Bronn lay in the dirt, stunned.
Aria stood above him, breathing hard, her arm slick with blood. The crowd watched in stunned silence as she stepped back, offering no gloat, no victory cry—only steady defiance.
Zara rushed in, helping to bind her wound.
Kael stood at the edge of the ring, unmoving.
“You risked everything,” Zara whispered.
“I had to,” Aria replied. “They needed to see it.”
Bronn struggled to his knees. “You fight like your bloodline,” he rasped.
“I am my bloodline,” she answered.
Then, he did something unexpected.
He bowed.
A low, painful bend at the waist, head dipped in submission.
The crowd erupted.
Some in cheers.
Others in outrage.
But it didn’t matter.
Aria had bled on sacred ground—and claimed her place.
She turned to the Elders.
“I will no longer ask for recognition. I have earned it.”
And with that, she left the ring.
Behind her, the winds stirred—howling like a prophecy long forgotten.
