The Lycan King's Captive
We were down two to zero.
Seraphina limped from the arena, tears of shame streaming down her face. As she passed us, I saw the defeat in her eyes.
"This is a disaster," Vivienne muttered from where she sat with the healers, her broken arm in a sling.
"Northern Kingdom selects third," the herald called.
"Solveig," Frostborn announced.
The woman with the magical staff stepped forward. Unlike the previous fighters, she made no pretense of being a warrior. She was a mage, pure and simple… her staff crackling with barely contained power, her eyes glowing with magical energy.