He retreated toward the nearest door and ducked behind it. A burly human passed him by, giving him a strange look. He smiled back and pressed his fingers to his ear. “What is it?”

Cel cleared her throat, an odd sound to hear at whisper-volume. “Sabelyn just stopped by. She’s sitting in the other room right now… I managed to stall, but I can’t buy much more time. She wants to know how the night with His Majesty went. What do I tell her?”

Twain considered a moment, a hand over his lips. “Tell her… that it went wonderfully. Seem smug about it. Refuse to answer any questions. If she probes for specifics, be coy about it.”

“But… doesn’t that suggest that you and His Majesty…”

“Sabelyn’s fucked me over enough times. Let’s fuck her over this once. Give her just enough that she decides to back out of the invitation. The Mage-Emperor won’t mind one way or another, but it’ll show her not to treat us like shit.”

Cel hesitated, then sighed. “Got it. I’ll do my best.”

“I believe in you. Go get ‘em.”

There was a pause. “Next time, pick me as your second.”

Twain laughed and dropped his hand from the earring. He jogged out from the room.

Back with the beastfolk, Spar lazed against the seats. He lifted a hand and waved Twain over.

Twain sat beside him, glancing at the beastfolk girls on the seats above them. Quietly, he asked, “Not going to flirt?”

Spar shrugged. “Beastfolk don’t do it for me. They blur the line too much.”

“They… what? This, from the guy who sleeps with horses?”

“Only when I’m a horse. And I was born a horse, thanks. Unicorn, actually.”

“But you also go after people.”

“When I’m bipedal.”

“So…” Twain frowned, trying to figure it out. “You’re okay with horses as long as you’re quadrupedal, and you’re okay with people as long as you’re bipedal, but beastfolk, that’s too much?”

“They blur the line. I wouldn’t go for centaurs, either, if they existed. Or fauns. Same principle. Minotaurs, nope. People go in one pile, horses go in another. I don’t blur that line.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Twain gave him a look. “I don’t understand you.”

“Single form races, so prejudiced,” Spar sighed.

The woman reading by the Arena’s edge abruptly sat up and put her book down. She took a deep breath, shook her hair out, and spoke. Her lips moved, but no sound came from her. Instead, a cheery female voice echoed across the Arena. “Hello, contestants! Welcome! Everyone, if you’d please, to the center. Teams, stay together.”

“See you on the other side.” Jamie offered her fist.

Twain bumped it, and they strode out into the Arena.

Ribbons pegged into the floor laid out smaller boxes in the sandy arena floor. “When I call your names, head to the nearest ring. Lose here, and you’re out. We’re only taking ten pairs from here.”

Twain bounced from foot to foot, swinging his arms.

“Nervous?” Spar asked.

Twain grinned wide. “Excited. It’s been a while since I had a good fight.”

“Spar and Twain, please!” the woman called.

"Ooh, first," Spar cheered. They stepped forward, into the box.

“And in the same ring, Kyda and Shano.”

A pair of human men stepped over the ribbon. One, younger, more teen than man, stood narrow and tall, wiry, with thin muscles that clung to his bones. He wore a ruff of white fur around his shoulders, no shirt, and ragged pants. The other nearly burst out of his suit and trousers, muscles so large they threatened to burst the cotton with each swing of his arms. Though shorter than the other man, he made up for it in width and pure muscle.

“Well met,” greeted the large man.

The wiry one growled, lip raised.

“Kyda, no. Bad boy,” the man snapped.

“Was he raised by wolves, or something?” Twain muttered.

The large man—Shano—raised his eyebrows. “How did you know?”

Twain stared, speechless.

“Damn. Next, someone’s gonna call me a unicorn outta nowhere,” Spar muttered.

“You are?” the man asked, polite but firm.

“Twain and Spar.” Twain half-curtseyed, caught himself, and bowed.

“Wonder what Kyda’s opinion on wolves is,” Spar remarked, half to himself.

The female voice continued to pair contestants off, until all the rings were full. “Alright! Standard rules, everyone. A ring-out—that is, a limb striking the ground outside the ring—is a loss. K.O., loss. One swap for each member of the tag team; if both members are in the ring for more than ten seconds, or both attack at the same time without express agreement from the other party, loss. If your contestant concedes, stop. If you concede and continue to fight, or fight after your opponent concedes, it is a crime and will be punished. Weapons are fine, techniques are fine, anything is fine, but no magic! Am I clear?”

A ragged “Aye” rose from the group.

“One last rule! In the preliminary rounds, no killing! If you must, save that for the real battle. Am I clear?”

Another “Aye.”

“This is your last chance to back out!”

Silence.

Laughter rang out. “That’s what I want to hear! Are you ready, contestants?”

They cheered. Twain raised his sword and joined in, whooping.

“And! Fight!”

Spar backed up. “First fight’s on you. It’s boring if they aren’t cute.”

“Thanks,” Twain grumbled. He tossed his bag at Spar. Spar caught it and tossed him a wink, settling on the sidelines.

Kyda hopped back, leaving Shano alone in the ring with Twain. He smiled. “A skinny little drow? This won’t take long.”

“No, it won’t,” Twain agreed, subtly adjusting his stance.

Shano rolled up his sleeves, staring down at Twain. He flexed, showing off the massive weight difference between them. “I don’t like bullying lesser races like yours. I’ll give you one chance to conce—”

Twain’s hand flashed.