Even from my private, curtained box seat, high above the dry, dusty arena floor, I could see the sweat gleaming on the toned bodies of the warriors below. I felt a tight rush of pleasure between my thighs. Their skin glimmered in the sunlight as their muscles rippled, each thrust and parry sending a shiver of excitement through my body.

I haven’t been touched in so long, I thought with a frustrated groan. My husband had been at Court for a month and I ached for satisfaction.

Not that I had ever been particularly satisfied when he was here.

I wondered what he would have thought of this, of these hulking fighters, garbed in ragged loincloths, spiked platemail, chain tunics. Some fought with axes, some with swords or whips; all seemed deadly. A hundred different styles from a hundred different places, a hundred different men and women here to prove themselves in battle.

He would have found it barbaric and pointless - and a risk to even be here. I could hear him in my head, droning on about Family reputation and the importance of decorum and how nobody respectable would be seen at the arena. Well, that's why the boxes have curtains, I thought with a laugh, toasting to myself.

…And while, yes, it was crude and savage, there was something oddly arousing to the spectacle.

The fleet-footed gladiators were skilled, their attacks an intricate dance. As they circled and clashed, I found my thoughts drifting to speculation of their talents in...less violent arenas. Pit fighters had that reputation, after all, and some even retired into it as a career. I knew more than a few ladies who had coyly bragged about a night with one. Only covert whispers after too much wine, though - the scandal could sink even a moderately prominent Family.

It would destroy one as tenuous as mine.

An odd thrill of arousal shivered up my spine at the thought of that danger. I shifted my weight, squeezing my legs together to grind into my seat, and bit my lip. I wouldn't ever risk it, of course, but for some reason the thought turned me on in a terrifyingly powerful way.

Thank the Gods for this private box! I had no interest in company right now, not when I had discovered the tantalizing appeal of oiled warriors. I felt a pang of guilt at that thought - the Family couldn't afford such a lavish expenditure until our marriage - but it quickly subsided as I remembered how my husband had left.

The Emperor had sent for us. Us. Aiden’s steward had intercepted the messenger, a scullery maid had later informed me. The fool had thought the cavernous kitchens would mask the discussion - who did he think half the kitchens reported to?

But, of course, the other half reported to him.

I swirled my wine in my glass, lips pursing as I considered the arrangement. My lust ebbed away to a simmer. My uncle had cautioned me against letting a marrin have their own staff for precisely this reason. We were a house of spies.

Not a problem to solve today, I firmly told myself, draining the last of the drink. My gaze drifted back to the arena, where preparations were being made for the mock battle, the culmination of the day's events. Each victory here came with rather tangible benefits in terms of gold and fame - as well as quite a few exclusive invitations, and not just to positions in mercenary companies or royal guard staff. There were whole brothels in the Scarlet Quarters staffed by former gladiators in an entirely different array of positions.

Or so I've heard, I thought with a rush of pleasure, imagining myself brave enough to venture there, before wrenching my attention back to the battlefield below.

A group of earthen constructs hovered slowly across the dusty ground, depositing destructible scenery here and there to use as shelter or, if needed, desperate forms of weapons. Behind them followed another cluster of the magewoven creations, these ones spun from elemental water and each emitting a misty aura to dampen down the battlefield.

I felt myself getting wet as well as I thought of what a brothel visit like that would be like. No nobles ever visited a brothel, of course. That would be the end to a Family, if the scandal got out. Curiously, the thought enflamed me, and I slid my hands between my thighs, leaning forward to try to catch sight of the fighters. The movement grazed my throbbing clit against my fingers and I gasped at the sudden, shocking rush of sensation.

Moaning softly, I shifted back and forth again, gently and discreetly grinding into my hands and the chair seat in a slow rhythm. My nipples rubbed against the fabric of my gown, the friction delicious. Each time I leaned forwards, I caught a glimpse of distant boxes and felt a shameful, gleeful rush at the realization that they could also see me.

Would they know? Would they know I was touching myself, pleasuring myself, fucking myself just a stone's throw from them?

Was the risk worth it?

I hung there, torn between lust and duty, and then from the arena down below came a sudden blast of horns and a deep, booming dumming.

The final event.

This was what people truly travelled here for - no other province had a spectacle like this, and an entire economy had developed around gladiator recruitment, training and employment. Mercenary company captains, Family armsmasters and brothel madames alike crowded the first several rows of the seating, the premium tickets bought with fistfuls of gold to properly assess the warriors and their prowess before bidding for their services.

It wasn't forbidden, exactly, for nobles to sit there, but the shame would be hard to recover from. Still, something in me longed to move down lower, to watch the warriors and hear their grunts, smell their sweat…

The thought almost set me off again, and I leaned towards the balcony-

I let out a deep, shuddering breath, settling back into my seat. Just watch from here for now, I told myself, flushing with shameful pleasure as I realized how close I had been to getting caught.

What are you, some common wench?

I heard the words in my husband's voice, echoing up from the memory of our last lovemaking: gentle, short, dutiful and leaving me achingly unsatisfied. I had begged him to grasp my breasts, pinch my nipples, push me to my knees to suck his cock - to use me.

I had breathlessly begged for him to use me, and he had said no.

That was months ago, now, that he had rejected my needs - and my own hands and magewoven toys could only get me so far.

I'm being discreet, I reassured myself, idly stroking my hand against the bodice of my gown. My nipples pulled taut. Thin, flimsy, low-cut: a naughty choice I had paraded through the streets on my way to the arena - concealed beneath a voluminous cloak, of course. Still, the dirty secret had made me flush, my legs a bit shaky as I navigated Glorian's treelined avenues.

I had paused at the reflecting fall before the entrance, a ten-story high wall of magespun elements reflecting back the sights of the city. Concealed beyond was the arena - a basic security measure, as cheating and assassination attempts ran rampant at local regional pits - but a rather stunning one. I studied myself in the shimmering surface, clit throbbing as I smiled at my little secret knowledge of what lay beneath the deep hood and voluminous outerwear.

I was practically naked beneath my cloak, and nobody knew.