Gladiator meets Dungeons and Dragons in this hot and dangerously addictive release with high-stakes combat including gladiatorial-style competitions, epic battles, political intrigue and enemies-to-lovers romance.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Cecy Robson’s Bloodguard, which is out October 22nd 2024.
One hundred years. Tens of thousands of gladiators. And today, only one will rise…
Everything in the Kingdom of Arrow is a lie.
Leith of Grey thought coming to this new land and volunteering to fight in the gladiator arena—vicious, bloodthirsty tournaments where only the strongest survive—would earn him enough gold to save his dying sister. He thought there was nothing left to lose.
He was wrong—and they took everything. His hope. His freedom. His very humanity.
All Leith has left is his battle-scarred body, fueled by rage and hardened from years of fighting for the right to live another day.
Then Leith meets Maeve, an elven royal who is everything he despises. Everything he should hate. Until the alluring princess offers him the one thing he needs most: a chance to win the coveted title of Bloodguard—and his freedom.
But in a kingdom built on secrets and lies, hope doesn’t come cheap.
Nor will his ultimate revenge…
Chapter 4
Maeve
I can’t believe this.
My leather slippers slap against the cool marble hallway that leads out of the arena with every furious step I take away from that horrible place and over to an alcove in the tunnel. This is the first time I’ve been to the coliseum in years, and I only came today for the formality of announcing the wedding banns. It was supposed to be easy—show up, allow the royal courts to see me and my betrothed together, say a few words to honor my grandmother’s memory, and leave.
Preferably with our damn heads still attached.
Filip, bless his heart, couldn’t even manage that.
Did I want to marry an egotistical, entitled oaf who had no qualms about telling me to “keep my neck covered”? No.
But I’m the daughter of “the Queen Killer.” In the wake of my father’s purported crimes, I’ve become a political pariah. While Filip wasn’t the brightest torch in the cave, he was the only marriageable person from one of the five noble houses who was willing to overlook my father’s imprisonment and my scars—and, more importantly, he wasn’t afraid of Soro.
So, I’d made a bargain.
“Leave ruling the kingdom to me, and I’ll leave the whoring to you,” I’d said. And Filip—again, bless his heart—was fine with it.
We were days from marrying.
I should have focused on that when I was in the arena. The future. My imprisoned father. My brokenhearted second father. Instead, my mind—and eyes—had wandered to that gladiator. Menace cloaked him as though the arena had taken everything from him but his pride. And his rage.
He’s young. No more than four or five years my senior—which means he likely volunteered for the arena at twenty-two, the minimum age of eligibility. It makes sense, given how embittered he seemed.
I could have kicked myself when Soro and Filip caught me gawking. Filip was already overly sensitive about our engagement—especially with Soro waiting in the wings, eager to marry me himself. So off Filip went into the arena…and off went his head across the sand.
My stomach twists as I pace and wait. I demanded to speak to High Lord Vitor, but my demands aren’t always met, princess or not.
The crowd’s excitement builds loud enough to echo against the stone walls.
“Where are you going, Maeve?” a singsong voice asks from behind me, then laughs.
I mask my expression as I turn.
Aisling, a heartless mage I’ve known since childhood, with lavender hair and eyes but no kind soul to match, must have followed me out of the arena.
Aisling huffs. “You really should take more care with your attire,” she says, waving an irritated hand. She saunters closer, like a red weaver spider ready to pluck a juicy beetle from her web. “A hat and veil could be particularly fashionable, and maybe you could actually pull it off.”
My grip on my cloak loosens. This is not the moment to try me.
Aisling, of course, does. “Honestly, Maeve, this is your first time in the arena in ages. Come—join Soro and me back in the stands, place a few bets, try talking to our peers.”
I couldn’t care less if that court of jesters ever speaks to me again. But to say “Soro and me”? Is she mad? Claiming Soro is like claiming a tiger. Yes, he’ll allow a stroke or two, but he will ultimately feast on your insides.
“I won’t support these games, Aisling. When I’m queen, by the phoenix, I’ll put an end to these horrors.”
“When you’re queen?” Aisling laughs. “You’ll never be queen without another noble for a fiancé.” The way she eases forward is more like a slither. “Maybe you should have thought of that before lusting after that young gladiator for all to see.” Her brows slash downward. “You know, the one who turned your last chance at the throne into an embarrassing memory?”
“Was Filip my last chance?” I ask and tap my chin, pretending to ponder marrying someone else. Aisling’s arrogance dwindles as she realizes Soro is my last chance. But that’s a chance I’m not willing to take. Yet. Not that Aisling needs to know. “No, I don’t think he was.”
Cheers echo from the arena floor, followed by a roar, and my head whips toward the sound fast enough to flutter my hair. Was that a…dragon?
Aisling’s smile returns, pulling my gaze back to hers. This sadist is excited that the match has begun and likely giddy with the thought of what those poor fighters are about to endure. She can’t wait to get back, and I can’t wait to leave.
But as I turn, she reaches out to grab my hand, the elemental magic she’s known for crackling against her skin. I jerk free of her hold. “Come on, Maeve. Let’s see what that handsome fighter can do…before he can’t, of course,” she says.
My stomach sinks like a boulder as I edge farther away. “What makes you think he won’t win?” Seeing how easily he took down a swordsman like Filip, there can’t be many his equal.
But she knows something—and the glint in her eyes says she’s dying to tell me.
“Just spill it, Aisling,” I say. I want to scream and shout—at her, at the world—but it’s been drilled into me from childhood: decorum, decorum, decorum. One day, I’m just going to decide to fuck decorum and say and do whatever I want. But probably not today. “Please,” I add sweetly.
Aisling plays with a curl in her hair, her conceit as evident as the sparks of lavender magic coloring her eggshell skin. “Well…” She draws the word out, likely knowing each second she delays telling me is making my stomach knot tighter and tighter. Dread is a living, breathing thing pooling in my stomach now, and I’m fantasizing about reaching out and shaking her when she finally continues, “High Lord Vitor is adamant that that gladiator, and the one standing beside him, can’t be allowed to live past today.”
Excerpted from Bloodguard by Cecy Robson. Reprinted with permission from Red Tower Books, an imprint of Entangled Publishing. All rights reserved.
