The Auction Wars were the first phase of the Mate Choosing Ritual, and despite how barbaric the act may have seemed to an outsider, it was, at least on the surface, the most civilized part of the event.
Without it, Raika knew the entire ceremony would dissolve into chaos and bloodletting, a frenzy of kidnapping and ownership that stripped any illusion of order.
If not for this one law, this one tradition… she might've dragged Veyn far from the Northern Tribes years ago and never looked back.
The underground arena was carved into ancient ice, the walls slick with frozen veins that pulsed faintly with bioluminescence. They lined the perimeter of the pit, tiered platforms hewn from black stone, wide enough for warriors to stand shoulder-to-shoulder as they watched the battles unfold below.
Raika and Veyn stood near the edge of the northern stand, close enough to the railing to see clearly, but far enough back that none of the zealous females circling the pit's edge could mistake Veyn as unclaimed. Not with Raika there.
She leaned forward, one boot braced against the lip of the stone, arms folded atop the club resting across her back. Her gaze was sharp, watching with an intensity that could split bone.
The first auction was already underway.
A male was brought forward. Broad-chested, scaled tattoos crawling up one side of his torso. He stood tall, unchained, his hands free, and his chin lifted as though the dozen females gathered before him didn't make his pulse hammer.
The announcer—a wiry old Krepsuna woman with eyes like cracked garnets—read his name in a rasping voice.
"Loran of Clan Vyrix."
She slammed the staff she carried into the ice floor, and the sound cracked like thunder.
"Who chooses this male?"
Three females stepped forward immediately, each baring their teeth in challenge, eyes burning with intent. One, cloaked in white fur; another, her body painted in jagged sigils of dominance; the third, younger, more reckless, gripping dual crescent blades like her life depended on them.
Raika exhaled slowly.
"Three challengers," she murmured. "He's worth the blood."
Veyn tilted his head. "He'll get blood either way."
And he did.
The females wasted no time.
They lunged at each other in a brutal melee that sprayed crimson across the snow-packed floor. Teeth cracked bone. One screamed as a blade pierced the soft flesh of her thigh, and the others used her stumble to end the fight swiftly.
When it was over, it was the fur-cloaked woman standing, her chest heaving with exertion, blood smearing the length of one arm where her own skin had torn in the scramble.
She turned to Loran, lips curling in a triumphant grin. She thought she had him.
But Loran did not bow. He did not extend his hands to her. Instead, he stepped forward, his expression calm, his eyes assessing, and spoke the words that set the next law in motion.
"I challenge."
The crowd stirred in low growls, murmurs of anticipation. Raika's gaze narrowed.
"He's going to fight her," she said, voice low.
Veyn hummed. "Smart."
The one tradition that made Raika not change tribe was one; the captured males have the power to challenge the female winner. This was somehow insane and only smart males an do this.
And Loran was smart. He didn't charge. He circled her, loose-limbed and patient as a hunter.
She came at him fast, confident from her earlier victory, but he sidestepped with elegance that didn't belong in an arena like this and caught her wrist, twisting her own momentum against her.
She hit the ice hard. He didn't give her a chance to rise. His knee pressed into her spine, his hand closing around the back of her neck.
The crowd roared its approval.
"Men dominating isn't rare," Raika said, voice tight but edged with something like satisfaction. "But when they do it right… it's better."
Veyn glanced at her sidelong. "Better how?"
She gave him a look. "Better for everyone."
Loran released the woman only when she went still beneath him. She didn't resist. She didn't try. She yielded. And when she did, he rose, offering her his hand to stand as his mate, not his conquest.
It was a gesture of pride for her that she accepted. If not grace, then at least dignity.
Veyn exhaled slowly, watching it unfold.
"At least they keep the tradition," he murmured.
Raika's jaw flexed.
"For now."
One by one, more auctions proceeded in the same brutal fashion. Males were brought forth. Females chose. Sometimes one, sometimes many. And if more than one chose, they fought for the right. But time and again, Veyn noticed a change in the rhythm of the battles.
The men were not passive this year.
More and more, males challenged the women who chose them. They didn't submit to the outcome, nor did they wait for some eager female to claim them like prey. They rose, they fought and they won time and time again.
A tall male with black-tipped horns felled his challenger with a savage headbutt. Another with four long scars across his cheek locked his opponent in a chokehold that left her gasping on the ground.
Even one of the younger males, barely past his second decade, delivered a spinning kick that sent his would-be mate sprawling.
"It's never been about submission," Veyn said. "The women want strength. They need it. Children can't survive the Fallen Bridge if they're weak."
He glanced down at the pit as another male pinned his challenger, teeth bared.
"We only survive if we're the strongest. It's pride. If you can't defend yourself, someone else will own you. And no one here wants to be owned."
Raika nodded, the words resonating deep in her bones. This was their world. This was Krepsuna life.
"It works both ways," she said. "If a woman's too weak, she'll be owned too. Even if she wins."
Veyn's gaze met hers, curiosity flickering behind his eyes.
"And what about you?" he asked quietly.
"I own myself."
They watched another round finish as the next male stood unclaimed. No female stepped forward. None dared. His strength was too clear, his power too raw. He stood there, silent, until the announcer declared him free to leave.
The Auction Wars continued on, the sounds of battle and submission echoing through the icy walls. For now, Raika and Veyn simply watched, but Raika knew… soon, they wouldn't be watching anymore.
They would be fighting.
And then came the second event. The one everyone had been waiting for.
The one Raika had never liked watching, much less standing witness to.
Mate Stealing.
The name said it all. It wasn't poetry. It wasn't dressed in old words or ceremonial chants. You wanted someone else's man? You stole him.
It began when the last male of the Auction Wars was claimed and the horn was sounded three times. Its hollow tone announced the coming slaughter and for a moment… even the wildest voices of the crowd went quiet.
Raika could feel Veyn shift beside her, his fingers tightening on the leather grip of his knife even though he wasn't fighting today. He wouldn't be. Not in this round. This wasn't for him.
This was for her. And those like her.
She glanced over to where Seyna stood, one hand resting lightly on the shoulder of her mate. The man who had registered them watched his wife with an unreadable gaze. He said nothing. He didn't need to. His eyes said enough.
The Chieftain of the Northern Tribes stood again on her high platform, the reverse harem of males lounging behind her like statues. They belonged to her and everyone knew she would kill for them.
She had, once. Actually, more than once.
"Mate Stealing commences now. Those who challenge, step forward. Those who stand, prepare for the blade."
There was no ceremony. No introduction. Only motion.
Women stepped forward from the crowd—one, two… then ten. Then more. Some wore armor, lacquered bone and iron forged from the depths of icy chasms. Others wore nothing but wraps of cloth, their skin marked with war ink and blood from earlier kills.
There were even a few who walked forward completely naked, smeared in ash, as though to say I fear no wound, I bleed as a goddess.
Veyn's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hand brushing Raika's elbow briefly.
"You ever been challenged?"
Raika's lips pressed thin.
"Once."
"What happened?"
Raika exhaled through her nose, watching two challengers circle each other in the ring below like predators in the cold.
"She died."
And that was the truth of Mate Stealing.
If you stepped forward, if you issued a challenge, you were prepared to die.
Because there was no surrender in this event.
You didn't tap out. You didn't bow your head and walk away. You killed or you died.
It was why only the women fought in this part. It was why no man was allowed to interfere. Because men were the prize. And the prize was claimed in blood.
Seyna turned slightly to glance at Raika.
"Watch carefully," she murmured. "This year is different."
Raika raised a brow. "How?"
Seyna's gaze flickered toward the pit.
"They're not waiting until they're challenged anymore. They're striking first."
Raika's eyes sharpened as she saw it unfold.
One woman, tall and broad-shouldered, stalked toward another. Her name was Ralira, a veteran of three centuries, known for collecting strong mates like others collected weapons.
She didn't wait for a formal challenge. She simply swung her axe at the woman guarding her mate, the silver edge cleaving through bone and sinew with a spray of blood that painted the ice crimson.
There was no protest No one cried foul.
"Death or mate. Choose."
And they did all around the ring.
One after another, fights exploded into existence.
A dark-haired woman tackled her opponent with a savage scream, knives flashing. Another pair of warriors danced around each other in precise movements, neither striking until the perfect opening, until one misstep cost a woman her throat.
Veyn flinched. Raika didn't.
"You get used to it," she said flatly.
"Should I?"
Raika looked at him for a long moment.
"No."
But it was how they survived.
Because no weak mother could raise children to survive the Fallen Bridge. No fragile bond could protect a family from the monsters beyond the Fallen Bridge.
Only strength did that.
Which was why the men didn't protest it. Which was why the men didn't fear it. If anything…
Most of them liked it.
Because who wouldn't want to be fought over like a treasure? Who wouldn't want a mate willing to kill for them?
Raika's gaze flicked to Veyn. And she knew that she'd always kill for him.
She already had.
Below them, a woman crumpled to her knees, her guts spilling across the ice as her opponent ripped a spear free from her side. The winner, still breathing hard, drenched in blood, reached for the man standing behind her fallen foe.
He did not hesitate. He went to her.
She claimed his jaw with bloodstained fingers, dragged him down into a brutal kiss, and the crowd roared.
This was why Mate Stealing was considered the most brutal of the three events in the Northern Tribes. Not because of the death or blood, but because there was no room for anything less than absolute domination.
You didn't lose and live to try again. You didn't walk away. You died or you claimed.
Raika exhaled slowly as another fight ended in a savage decapitation.
It wasn't always fast and clean.
Sometimes it dragged on for hours. Sometimes the women fighting had history perhaps old grudges, old jealousies and scars. And sometimes they carved that history into each other's flesh before the final blow.
Veyn spoke again, quietly.
"What happens to the kids? I've always wondered."
Raika glanced at him.
"They go with the victor."
"And if the victor doesn't want them?"
Raika's expression darkened.
"They die with their mother."
It was harsh and unforgiving but Krepsuna life was always about survival.
And sometimes survival meant not saving the weak.