Page 91 of Duke of Bronze
The moment Roderick stepped into the ring, Colin could feel it. The shift in atmosphere. The crowd's roar dulled around him as his focus narrowed. The man was a beast—controlled, calculated, devastatingly efficient.
Each strike was deliberate, each movement a whisper of years spent refining strength into precision. His footwork was fast, fluid. His awareness almost unnervingly sharp. The opponent barely had time to react before another blow landed.
It was artistry through force, strategy cloaked in muscle and sweat.
No wonder he was undefeated.
Colin found himself standing by the final round, heart beating faster than the fight warranted. And when the referee called the match—unnecessary though the declaration was—he couldn't help the grin that stole across his face. It wasn't simply the thrill of victory. It was the satisfaction of witnessing excellence. Of seeing a man conquer what he was born to master.
The Mighty Stone had triumphed again.
The crowd erupted into a chorus of cheers, voices raised in raucous celebration as the Mighty Stone lifted his fists in silent triumph. Roderick moved with ease among his admirers, accepting congratulations with nods and the occasional crooked smile. He had always thrived in the swell of public admiration—comfortable in a space that made most men shrink.
Colin remained near the edge, arms loosely crossed, his expression composed though far from unreadable. And then, as if sensing it, Roderick's gaze found him.
The change was immediate.
The smile that had just graced his features faltered. His shoulders stiffened. He paused in the middle of a handshake, blinking as though unsure whether he had seen correctly.
Then he moved.
He wove through the crowd, purposeful and silent. For a brief moment, Colin braced himself. He'd expected, if not outright hostility, then certainly resistance. Roderick was not a man who welcomed intrusions—especially not from dukes with well-pressed coats and motives layered beneath polished smiles.
But when Roderick reached him, his voice held nothing of what Colin had anticipated.
"What whim has you journeying all the way here?"
Colin arched a brow. "Suffice it to say, I felt like being impressed."
"And?" Roderick's brow lifted, one corner of his mouth twitching.
"I am still contemplating," Colin replied.
That earned him a full, rare smile.
"Fancy a drink?" Roderick asked, as though it were the most natural offer in the world.
"Do lead the way."
They crossed to a door off the main hall, and Colin soon found himself inside a modest room that bore the unmistakable marks of familiarity. A jug and basin sat atop a small table near a mirror, and as Roderick removed his gloves and splashed water onto his face, Colin took quiet note of the space. This was no guest chamber. This was his.
Roderick returned with two glasses and poured generously.
"To many more victories," Colin said as he accepted his drink.
"To many more," Roderick echoed, and they drank in companionable silence.
"So," Roderick began after a moment, "what brings you all the way to my world? I doubt you ventured out for the love of sport."
"Perhaps I did," Colin replied with a shrug. "Though, now that I have seen your performance for myself, I must admit—my previous offer of sponsorship bears more weight than ever."
He watched carefully for the expected scoff or rebuff.
It never came.
Instead, Roderick was quiet for a moment, then said, "Very well."
Colin blinked. "You'll accept?"
