Rebecca was frazzled as she sat back down on the throne-like chair. But she was resigned and determined. To try and do this. To not pass out again.

She felt Ferro's presence to her left, as he settled behind her again. The previous whispers of the arena turned to frigid silence as they noticed Rebecca's presence. She wasn't ashamed to admit that it made her skin scrawl, but she didn't let it get the better of her.

She was Queen. And right now, it meant watching people fighting for the honour to defend her. So Rebecca had to deal with it. No matter how uncomfortable it made her, she had to sit and pretend she was okay with it all.

As the announcer spoke in Faelk, Rebecca looked around. She felt Adam's presence but he hadn't made himself known yet. Not even his voice is her head. She had enough to worry about though, so she didn't dwell on it.

"The competitors are coming back out again," Ferro said, voice deep.

"All of them?" Rebecca whispered, hoping that wasn't the case. A hundred Fae lined up? She wasn't sure she'd be able to handle that. Maybe if she had Ferro's sword, she'd be able to. Then again, she didn't even know how to hold it.

She got her answer as she saw them all walk out. It started out as two. Then more followed. The little group turned into a large group. Rebecca lost track of them all as the crowded towards the front of the sand area.

Then, in a coordinated dance they fell to one knee. Rebecca didn't know how they managed to do it in the cramped space, but somehow they did.

"How long will they do that for?" she asked aloud, voice surprisingly strong.

"Until you officially start the round," Ferro said back.

Rebecca was anxious for that to happen—so this could be over faster. So she stood, hoping it would start it somehow.

It turned out she was right. The second she stood, the announcer's voice boomed out. Then all the competitors stood and filed out the exit of the arena. It took no more than a few minutes, despite the mass amount of Fae.

When they were gone, Rebecca frowned. "What now?"

"The first two competitors will come out," Ferro said.

The first few fights were uneventful. They were strategic and vicious—though no blood was spilled.

It wasn't until the final fight that it turned gruesome.

Rebecca didn't know the logistics of it, but somehow 125 Fae had diminished to 101. She'd seen so many fights she'd lost count. Maybe the losers versed the loser—then whoever lost out of that were cut. Maybe some were automatically put through.

However it worked, they were at the last fight. And night had fallen, the sky so dark Rebecca wouldn't have seen a thing if not for the illuminated lights. She was so exhausted she could barely sit upright—so she had no idea how the competitors were still going.

Except as she watched the fight she was suddenly wide awake.

The competitors that were squaring off were equally matched. Same height. Same weight. There wasn't a clear age different visible between them.

Rebecca had been making bets on who'd win, during the last few fights. But this one—this one she couldn't pick. For whatever reason, Rebecca was hoping the blonde one won—since he looked no older than her. He was far from tiny though—as muscular as Mikael had been, if not more. But he looked innocent, somehow.

Her eyes strayed to the weapons in each of their hands. From what Ferro had told her before each round they were advised to choose their own weapon—and only one. Rebecca had unknowingly been looking at them before in the tent—so she'd seen the array of choices. Axes. Swords. Brass-knuckles. Blades. There was no magic allowed in this round—in the event of it, immediate disqualification came into play.

It was so there was a guarantee that they'd be able to defend her without magic, according to Ferro.

The blond one was wielding a small blade, barely the size of Rebecca's forearm. He held it as if he'd never held one like it in his life—fumbling and gripping it in a shaking hand. The harsher looking one, however, had a sword in his grip. He held it with ease.

Both of then went to one knee in front of her. More than aware of what to do now, Rebecca stood. Ferro muttered something behind her. Then the announcer's voice boomed.

After Rebecca sat, neither competitor rushed into the fight. Instead, they circled each other—sizing each other up.

Now she'd seen the weapons, she was sure the blonde one was going to lose. But she was hoping it wasn't the case.

"Aarone lost last time," Ferro said.

Rebecca didn't take her eyes off the two of them. "What?"

"Aarone—the dark haired one. He got eliminated the first round. By me."

Still, Rebecca didn't look away, though her curiosity was piqued. "He should lose then."

"Oh, no. He'll fight dirty—just wait for it."

Rebecca frowned. Both competitors were still circling each other, neither of them willing to make the first move. "I thought you didn't lose by first blood."

How she was so blasé about this, she didn't know.

"You don't."

"Oh."

When Ferro said nothing more, Rebecca focused below her. She had a good view, but she wanted to be lower—see it closer. But that'd mean going into the crowd, which wasn't happening.

The clash of steel was so loud Rebecca swore it blocked out every other sound. Even the chatter all around here. They were facing off against each other, fighting steel with steel. Her heart was in her throat as she watched on. One blade was tiny; the other nearly as tall as her.

The blond was going to lose.

They continued to fight each other that way for what felt like hours. Rebecca found it nearly impossible to breathe. The air around her was tense. But the adrenaline was so pungent Rebecca was almost choking on it—everyone giddy from the fight.

To them, this wasn't barbaric. They thrived on it.

Rebecca just wanted it to end.

She was so tempted to stand put a stop to this fight. But it would be redundant now—

The cry that pierced the air was so loud it shattered everything around.

With wide eyes, Rebecca watched the blond fall onto his back. His blade was metres away from him. And the harsher one was standing over him, sword waving haphazardly. From where she was Rebecca couldn't see his face but she knew he was sneering.

He'd lost. The blond one was rendered defenceless—

Only, the blond leapt up tackled the other Fae; who'd clearly not been expecting the attack because he landed in a heap, the blond on top of his. The sword fell from his grip.

From there, they rolled over in the dirt, grabbling with each other. Punches were thrown. Knees lifted. On occasion one of them, turned, spitting blood onto the grainy ground.

It was an ugly, dirty fight. Just as Ferro had warned.

Rebecca felt sick.

That was before the harsher looking one, reached his arm out to grab the other Fae's blade. The blond was oblivious to the action, continuing to fight hand-to-hand.

Rebecca had to stop this. Now. Before—

From out of nowhere, the harsher on rolled on top, pinning the other to the ground. Then the blade lifted, moving towards the blonds neck in a coordinated move. With a clear intention to kill.

Rebecca jumped out of her chair, unaware she was screaming, "Stop!" so loudly her voice cracked.

There was silence. Tense, frigid silence.

But the blade continued to move down.

Rebecca turned helplessly to Ferro, who'd stepped right next to her. "You said I could stop it," she said, voice hoarse. "He's going to kill him."

He muttered something under his breath, and Rebecca knew it was a vicious curse. Then he said something sharply and there was movement all around her. The guards that had been standing dormant leapt into action moving closer. Below, on the arena floor, there was chaos.

Fae rushed onto the ground. Someone pulled the one with blade off.

But it was too late. The knife was stabbed into the blonde's neck. Right at his jugular.

Rebecca fought against the onslaught of tears, suddenly unable to breathe. She was going to throw up.

God, he was bleeding out—

Rebecca was rushing down the stairs before she knew what she was doing. Call her paranoid, but he'd been stabbed. He was bleeding out. She had to see if he'd die—she had to stop it somehow.

Not that she'd be able to.

Ferro cursed from behind her, hurrying to catch up with her. Rebecca slipped the sandals off her feet, rushing down on bare feet.

She couldn't handle it on her conscious if he died. Not when she was to blame inadvertently—the only reason he'd been fighting was for her.

Rebecca could hear the loud whispers around her, but she ignored them all. The dress made it almost impossible to run, but she managed—barely.

All she knew was that she had to get down there. Do something to help. Try to save him.

She shut her eyes, heart pounding so loud it was all she heard over the screams of those in the arena. He was all she could see; the blood, the blade. She had to help him—

For a split second, everything seemed to stop. She felt weightless, everything going back.

God, had she hit her head? Passed out?

A second later, feeling came back. Rebecca opened her eyes slowly. She was on her hands and knees, staring down at . . . hardened sand?

Had she fallen onto the arena floor somehow?

Rebecca lifted her head slowly. As if she was a TV and someone had unmuted her, she heard the scream. The cries. Felt the panic. Heard the footsteps around her.

Around her she could see legs. Then she was the stands, teeming with panicked Fae. In the same black uniform Ferro wore: guards. They were surrounding something and all Rebecca could see was a leg.

She was on the arena floor, she released. She'd dematerialised somehow.

Without a second thought, she was standing and racing towards where they were standing. She pushed them aside, grateful surprised was on her side—otherwise they would've been like immovable bricks.

In the centre of the mass, the blond was lying, his groans quiet as if he couldn't physically make a sound. She was at his side in a second, just staring. He was bleeding profusely and as she knelt beside him, she knew it was staining her dress. She didn't care.

God, she felt like throwing up. The blood was so strong and she felt as if she was inhaling it with every breath.

Rebecca forced herself to ignore it. All around her there were shouts (but she only caught the word Regina).

She focused on the blond. Up close he looked even younger—though now his face was ashen. And his mouth was hanging open, blood dripping out. His nearly unresponsive eyes were wide as they stared up at her.

Rebecca acted without forethought. In health class, she'd learned never to remove a blade—that it only made the bleeding worse. But it was too late to think about it—she just had to follow her gut.

And it was telling her to take the blade out and put her hand on the wound.

The blood spurted as she did so, and Rebecca gagged, even as her hand was laid over the wound. She threw the blade off to the side, uncaring of who it caught. She could only feel the wetness soaking into her hand, coating it in the thick substance.

For a second there was nothing.

Blood seemed to be everywhere. It burned her eyes; her throat.

Rebecca shut her eyes, unable to stand the sight of it.

Like when Mikael had given her the necklace, her chest got warm. Tight. She struggled for breath. But she didn't let her hand fall from his neck.

He was still breathing—but barely.

Don't die on me. Don't you dare die on me—live. Breathe.

If he did . . . she couldn't bear it. She didn't know him; he didn't know her. Yet he'd been fighter on behalf of her. She was the reason he was bleeding out.

He couldn't die.

As he wheezed beneath her, Rebecca was barely aware she was crying. Until she tasted the salty tears.

All at once, she started to feel as if her hand was on fire. The feeling spread up her arm. To the rest of her body. It was like the flu—only a thousand times worse. Someone had doused her in flames. And now she was burning alive.

The pain was so great, it threatened to cripple her.

But she didn't move—too afraid to let go. He was dying—she could feel it. His breaths were becoming shallow. The blood soaked into her dress.

She felt light headed.

Through a haze, she swore she heard Ferro barking orders.

Don't die. Breathe. For me. Do not die.

Only he wasn't listening to her.

He'd stopped breathing all together.

Rebecca collapsed onto her side, hand still on the wound. Her throat was so tighter she couldn't breathe.

She was too late—

Next to her, there was great heave.

Then Rebecca hand stopped burning.

Blearily, she opened her eyes.

Then the tears fell—out of relief this time.

His head was turned to her. And he was breathing—sporadically but still breathing. Incoherent words left him.

He was alive. Breathing.

Rebecca suddenly felt so cold; she shivered uncontrollably. All the warmth was gone; it was like she'd been shoved underneath an ice cold shower.

After that everything started to blur.

Then everything went black.