He’s done it.

Brajan has won 100 times in the arena. This victory marks the 100th time he’s risked his life, the 100th time he’s been a spectacle to a crowd who couldn’t care less whether he lived or died so long as he gave them a good show.

He would not stand for such treatment any longer.

The excited crowd hushed as the King stood up from his seat.

The King is a splendid alpha. Imposing, stern, and stubborn in a way that allowed him to pursue his goals with a dogged single-mindedness and achieve victory, he was responsible for the flourishing of the nation. So, it was truly unfortunate that such a king would have their eldest present as an omega. Within this country, omegas were pampered and spoiled so they could provide the healthiest pups to the alphas they would be bonded to. No matter the omega’s position—whether they be the heir to an entire nation or a lesser merchant, the omega was not expected to learn anything outside of their child-bearing duties and ways to best raise their future pups. As a result, most omegas could not be expected to care for themselves without a bonded alpha.

In this nation, omegas were useless outside of child-rearing, so unlike the omegas Brajan knew.

In his memories, omegas fought alongside alphas and betas. And, unless they themselves permitted it, outside help could not be given lest it be taken as an insult to their pride.

Truly, the omegas of this nation were weak.

It is something that Brajan will take advantage of.

“Congratulations on winning your hundredth match.” The King’s booming voice silenced the final vestiges of chatter within the stands.

As the King’s gaze swept over him, Brajan did not flinch. A dead manticore, three times his size, laid at his feet. His fingers, nails caked with blood and dirt, were still trembling from the force at which they had dug into the manticore’s body to hold it steady as he delivered the final blow. He had stared death in the face and came out victorious. The gaze of one King could not be compared to the fear he experienced throughout his one hundred battles.

“As per the rules, you may make one request for anything and I will do everything in my power to grant it.”

Brajan’s eyes gleamed.

Anything.

Anything is a promise made by a King when he is assured in the fact that he cannot be struck down.

He will regret promising Brajan anything.

Brajan raised a hand up. The tips of his fingers pointed towards you.

“I request your eldest-born’s hand in marriage.”

The crowd erupted. Excitement at the sudden demand, anger at the thought of a slave reaching beyond their station, and horror at what was to come were but some of the many emotions boiling within the tumultuous wave of the crowd’s murmurs.

A gladiator—a mere slave, dares to ask for the hand of the King’s eldest? A declaration of intent to take over the throne would be less convoluted than this. If anyone else made the request, they would be executed on the spot. It is only by the grace of the King—right, the King. What would he do now?

All eyes turned to the King.

Brajan remained where he was, back straight and gaze challenging.

A promise was a promise, and he was promised anything he desired.

Still, Brajan knew better than to wholeheartedly trust the King. The last time his nation did, they were backstabbed and enslaved. If he couldn’t free his brothers and sisters through marriage and legitimate means, he wouldn’t hesitate to turn to more unsavory methods.

If not marriage, an assassination of the eldest will also send a clear message…

Brajan’s eyes flickered over to you.