Ela Voss stepped off the arena stairs and reached the highest gallery, her lavender hair slightly tousled from the fight, cheeks still flushed with exertion and adrenaline. The amethyst glow of her wand had dimmed, but her eyes—bright, shining—found Aiden’s group and walked toward them.

As she reached them, Liana launched herself forward like a missile.

“Elaaaa!!”

She collided with Ela in a full-body hug—arms wrapping tight around her waist—cheek smashing against Ela’s collarbone.

“That was awesome!” Liana squealed—voice cracking with pure joy. “You froze her wand, caged her like a hamster, then—boom! Ice spear! She went flying! You were so cool, Ela!”

Ela stumbled back half a step from the force—then laughed softly, arms coming up to hug Liana back.

“T-thanks, Liana…”

Liana pulled back just enough to grip Ela’s shoulders—eyes sparkling, grin wide enough to show teeth.

“You totally owned her! That crystal cage thing? Chef’s kiss! I’m stealing that move next time!

Ela’s cheeks burned brighter—smile shy but genuine.

“I-It was nothing special…”

Venya—still perched on the bench behind Aiden—raised one hand in a thumbs-up, wings giving a proud little flutter.

“I knew you could do it,” she rumbled—voice warm, approving.

Ela ducked her head—blushing harder.

“T-thank you, Venya…”

Aiden turned in his seat—arm still draped casually over the Nyxion and Selvara—blue eyes locking onto hers.

“Ela…” he said—voice low, steady, carrying that quiet weight that always made her stomach flutter. “That was great.”

Ela’s breath caught.

She stared at him—amethyst eyes wide—cheeks flaming crimson.

“I-I ahh… T-T… Thank you, Sir.”

Aiden’s lips curved—just a fraction—small, private smile meant only for her.

Thristle bounced up from her seat—practically vibrating with excitement.

“Yes! You did great! I’m sooo excited for my duel now!” she squealed—fists pumping. “I hope it’s someone strong! Someone who can actually make me break a sweat!”

Vegia—sitting beside her—reached over and flicked Thristle’s forehead.

“And I hope you don’t get hurt,” she scolded—voice stern but fond. “Don’t go charging in like an idiot again.”

Thristle rubbed her forehead—pouting dramatically.

“Ohh… come on! I won’t! Chill…”

Vegia sighed—long-suffering. “Okay… just don’t come back crying.”

Thristle stuck her tongue out. “You’re a meanie.”

Luna—still sitting sideways on Aiden’s lap, legs dangling—tilted her head up to look at Ela with big, sparkling eyes.

“Ela is strong, Master,” she said—voice soft, earnest—then glanced back at Aiden. “Right?”

Aiden’s hand came up—fingers gently petting the top of her head, scratching lightly behind her wolf ears. “I know,” he murmured—voice warm, affectionate.

Luna cooed—eyes fluttering shut—leaning into his palm like a contented puppy.

“Nghh… Master… that feels so good…”

She nudged forward—nuzzling her cheek against his chest—tail swishing happily behind her.

Ela watched the exchange—smile softening further.

Lysandra stepped forward—placing a gentle hand on Ela’s arm. “You were magnificent,” she said quietly. “The Voss name shines brighter because of you.”

Ela’s eyes shimmered—grateful. “Thank you… Lysandra.”

Nyxion looked over toward her—fluffy tail flicking once. “Quiet power,” she said—nodding approvingly. “Most dangerous kind.”

Nayla stretched languidly—lips curling. “Mmm… elegant and ruthless. I approve.”

Valeforia smirked—arm still loosely draped around Liana. “Looked good out there, princess. Almost made me jealous.”

Ela laughed—soft, embarrassed. “I… I just did my best.”

Aiden’s hand stilled on Luna’s head—his gaze lifting to meet Ela’s again. “You did more than that,” he said—voice low, steady. “You reminded everyone why you matter.”

Ela’s blush deepened—heart fluttering. She bowed her head slightly—small, respectful gesture. “I… I’m glad I could make you feel that, Sir.”

Aiden’s smile widened—just a fraction—dark and warm.

She glanced back toward the Voss family box—where Elarion and Elara still watched, expressions unreadable.

Then back to Aiden. Her smile softened—private, just for him.

*Thank you… for believing in me.*

Liana’s fingers closed around Ela’s wrist—small but surprisingly strong—and tugged her forward with the kind of insistent enthusiasm only Liana could muster without apology.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon—Let’s sit down! You look exhausted.”

Ela let herself be pulled—lavender hair swaying gently with each step, the faint sheen of sweat from her duel still clinging to her temples. She didn’t resist; if anything, the casual possessiveness felt… nice. Safe. Like slipping back into a warm room after standing too long in the cold.

Liana reached their spot behind them, plopping down immediately.

Ela exhaled—soft, almost inaudible—and let her shoulders drop. The tension she’d carried through every ice spear and crystal bar finally began to uncoil.

Before either of them could speak, Elowen Voss’s amplified voice sliced through the lingering cheers below.

“Next duel: Thristle Nightshade versus Aletha Thunderheart!”

The colosseum answered in stereo—two opposing waves crashing against each other.

Nobles surged to their feet—fists raised, voices sharp with aristocratic glee.

“THUNDERHEART! THUNDERHEART!”

“Show those mud blood their place!”

Commoners answered with raw, defiant volume—louder than they’d been all day.

“THRISTLE! NIGHTSHADE! NIGHTSHADE!”

“Rip her apart!”

“Make the nobles eat dirt!”

Thristle shot upright like someone had flipped a switch—violet eyes blazing, She bounced once on the balls of her feet—breasts jiggling noticeably under her uniform—then spun toward the group with a grin that showed too many teeth.

“Finally!” she cried—voice ringing bright and fearless. “My turn!”

Luna—still perched sideways across Aiden’s lap, legs swinging—leaned forward so far she nearly tipped. Her wolf ears stood straight up, tail thumping against Aiden’s thigh.

“Go, Thristle! Show them!” she cheered—small fists pumping. “You’re gonna be so cool! Make her cry!”

Thristle laughed—sharp and delighted—then pointed at Luna with a mock salute. “Hmm~ Just watch me, puppy! I’ll make it extra flashy for you!”

Lysandra rose smoothly—golden hair shifting like liquid sunlight—and stepped close enough to rest both hands lightly on Thristle’s shoulders.

“Thristle,” she said—voice soft but carrying that unmistakable older-sister weight. “Take care of yourself out there. You are strong, but don’t push past what your body can handle. We want you back whole—and smiling.”

Thristle’s manic energy softened for a heartbeat. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead briefly to Lysandra’s—eyes closing.

“I promise, Lys. Careful… ish.”

Nyxion looked over her shoulder—fluffy tail flicking once—watching Thristle with half-lidded approval.

“Don’t play with your food too long,” she drawled.

Thristle snorted—grinning wider. “Noted, kitty. Slower and brutal. Got it.”

Zerra chuckled, “That’s not what she said.”

Nayla stretched languidly—spine arching so her breasts pressed against the fabric of her uniform—lips curving into a slow, filthy smile.

“Mmm… make her beg before you finish her,” she purred—voice dripping honey and venom. “Nothing sexier than watching a noble break—slowly. Make her squirm.”

Thristle’s cheeks flushed—just a touch—but her grin turned downright predatory. “You’re so bad, Nayla… I love it.”

Valeforia—arm still slung lazily around Xylandra’s shoulders—gave a low, appreciative whistle.

“Rip her pretty little uniform off first,” she suggested casually. “Give the crowd something to look at while you choke her out. Blood and silk—very aesthetic.”

Xylandra elbowed her—snorting. “Don’t give her ideas. She’s already feral enough.”

Ela finally spoke up. Her voice was gentle, almost hesitant, but clear enough to carry over the chatter.

“Thristle… please be safe, okay?” she said—amethyst eyes earnest.

Thristle’s expression softened completely for a second. She reached over and ruffled Ela’s lavender hair—gentle, affectionate.

“Aww, Ela-chan…” she murmured. “You’re too sweet. I’ll be careful—promise. No unnecessary bruises.”

Selvara—arms crossed tightly beneath her chest—huffed through her nose. Her wings gave a single irritated rustle.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she muttered—cheeks faintly pink, refusing to meet Thristle’s eyes. “I’m not carrying you back if you get yourself fried. Idiot.”

Thristle gasped—hand flying to her heart in mock betrayal. “Selvara! You wound me! You do care!”

Selvara looked away sharply—ears burning crimson. “Shut up. Just… don’t die. Or I’ll kill you myself.”

Thristle beamed—then spun on her heel toward Aiden.

“My King!” she said—voice bright, reverent, almost song-like. “See me.”

Aiden twisted in his seat—turning fully to face her.

He crooked one finger—slow, deliberate—beckoning her closer.

Thristle tilted her head—eyes wide and shining—then leaned in eagerly until her face hovered mere inches from his.

Aiden lifted his right hand—cupping her cheek. His thumb traced the plump curve of her bottom lip—slow, deliberate—feeling the way her breath hitched under the touch.

“Thristle…” he called—soft, intimate, the word carrying more weight than any shout.

“Yes, My King?” she breathed—leaning into his palm like a flower turning toward sunlight—eyes half-lidded, completely captivated.

Aiden’s voice dropped lower—dark velvet wrapped around steel. “Show them.”

He leaned in—then kissed her.

Rough.

Claiming.

One hand slid to the nape of her neck—fingers threading into her hair—tilting her head exactly how he wanted. The other gripped her hip.

Thristle moaned softly into his mouth, body trembling with excitement and absolute devotion.

When he finally pulled back—lips brushing hers one last time—he spoke against her skin.

“Make me proud.”

Thristle’s eyes fluttered open—pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, breathing shallow.

She nodded—once—fierce. “I will, My King.”

She rose then turned toward the arena stairs.

Every step made her hips sway, eyes burning with purpose.

The wives watched her go—silent pride, hungry anticipation, soft smiles.

Liana leaned against Ela—whispering. “She’s gonna destroy her.”

Ela nodded—small, certain smile. “I hope so.”

Aiden settled back—arm returning to rest over Nyxion and Selvara—eyes never leaving Thristle’s retreating figure.

“She will win.”

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END OF CHAPTER : 297 : THANK YOU FOR BELIEVING IN ME!

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