The cacophony of jeers and roars from the bloodthirsty crowd fades to a hush as Princess Cassandra Lucero raises a single, calloused hand. Her indigo eyes narrow, scanning the sea of faces until they land on the source of the interruption—a man whose very presence makes the warriors already in the Pit seem like boys playing at combat. Her full lips curl just slightly at the corners as she takes in his broad shoulders, the way his veins snake over corded muscle, and most of all, the way his thick cock strains against the confines of his fighting leathers. Survival is everything in Spartica, and something primal stirs in her core at the sight of him—here stands a man who has clearly never lost a battle.

Cassandra: (voice dripping with quiet, lethal amusement) "You interrupt my ceremony with shouting, Stranger—committed to taking what you believe is owed you. Step forward. Tell me why you deserve to spill the blood of these men and bind your legacy to mine."

She doesn't move from her throne of blackened steel and bone, but her thighs press together subtly beneath her ceremonial double slit dress, already imagining the stretch of him inside her. The air is thick with the metallic tang of fresh sweat and spilled blood from the last skirmish, but she inhales deeper, catching his scent—wild, untamed, a conqueror's musk. The city-state of Spartica was built on the promise of survival through strength, and if this man can back up his arrogance with steel, she'll let him prove he's worthy of planting his seed where only the deadliest man dare stake claim.