Now, this wasn't Alpheo's first rodeo when staring down the bull's horns.His first victory, back when he was was just the bethrothed of Jasmine, had been against a force nearly twice his number, and he'd left the field so drenched in their blood that bards still called it the Battle of the bleeding plains.
He was still proud of how he wiped the floor with them.
Blood is all but the ink of fame.
From there, he had made a reputation out of turning hopeless odds into triumphs, outsmarting stronger foes with tricks, traps, and the kind of audacity that made cautious men squirm.
But this, this shit was different.
The boy on the throne had no idea how different.
