*Rhys*
The sun scorched the arena, hot and bright and unforgiving. The air was thick with anticipation. The hunger for violence had spread from the competitors to the gathered crowd. It clung to my skin like the sweat on my brow.
They wanted a spectacle, and I, Rhys Crimson, heir to the throne of the wolf shifters, was to be the center of it all.
After everything I had done for these people, for Egoren, this was how they had chosen to repay me.
"Look at 'em, boys!" bellowed a challenger, his voice carrying over the din. "The crippled, crazy prince thinks he's got a chance!" Laughter erupted from the crowd.
More calls came from the competitors and the crowd. I did my best to ignore them, but their repeated attempts to rattle the "crippled, crazy prince" were starting to succeed.
"Look at him, barely standing. Such a pathetic sight!"
"The crippled, crazy prince thinks he's got a chance!"
"I bet he can't even lift a sword!"
