Who is the Enemy

By Abbaliese Livingston

What happens when a Princess leaves her palace? What will she learn and who will she meet along the way as she creates her own future? Pain, fear, and abuse held her down, but each new day brings freedom and redemption closer and closer. Will the hidden truth of another kingdom truly bring her peace? Or will it bring her to her own demise?
Who can she trust in a world where all she knows is secrecy and corruption? Who will be faithful and tell the truth for once? No one really knows what happens behind closed doors and high gates and it will be up to Alloiese to find out who she can trust in this world and any other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: May 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9781662922930

Book preview

Fuck everything. Fuck all of what is going on. Fuck my life. Fuck them. Fuck it.

I refuse to stay where I have no control over my own life because I am simply a pawn in a game of kings. How must they expect so much from me and yet give me so little? It would be easy to lie down and take it, but I can’t anymore. The others handle this life much better than I ever could. I won’t be missed, not in the slightest, and I never wanted them in my life anyhow.

Goodbye forever.

Twenty years.

For twenty years, I’ve been held here. I’m only a Princess by birth, but the title means little in the difference of captive. If I don’t leave now, I’ll only be sold off to another kingdom like a piece of property, all for the sake of a treaty—an alliance of power, riches, and deceit.

For the past month, I’ve plotted my escape carefully. I know every corridor, every shadow and crevice I can retreat to if they come looking for me. My sisters are already asleep, obeying my father’s curfew despite the Common Place nightlife still lit up with the people’s independent lives.

The Common Place is a part of the city just beyond these walls where the ordinary and average roam and live. It’s filled by the people of Ainsley, the capital city of Aelifear, but this city is divided. Ainsley only refers to the golden part of the city, where the Aristocrats and the upper class live, and the rest is simply known as the ‘Common Place’. I can’t run to the Aristocrats since they are knee-deep into my family’s bullshit and will turn a blind eye. They’ll return me to this Hell for a reward and a better spot on the pedestal to deepen their pockets with my father’s arrogance. If I go to the Common Place, they’ll have a much harder time trying to find me, but if a reward is put out then no one will turn down that chance to escape poverty and ruin—but I don’t plan on being here long enough for them to find me.

I’ll go somewhere, I don’t know where, but someplace far away from this Hell. I won’t be recognized for my title or my sisters. I won’t be sold off to some foreign noble or anchored to the depths of this tragic life anymore.

Living like this is not living at all.

I carefully arrange my bed, stuffing the silk sheets so that they look like I’m still in them. I sleep with my head under the covers and the silent reluctance to get out of bed won’t alarm the maids in the morning. By the time anyone suspects a thing I’ll be long gone.

I change out of my nightgown, swiftly hanging the clothes back in the closet and slipping into a peasant dress and cloak. my garb’s normal bejeweled and embroidery will be too easily recognized. If I’m caught then my father will…well I don’t want to know what he’ll do and fear can’t hold me back right now, not when I’ve planned for so long to escape.

I stuff anything I might need into my pockets and gather up my sack. Among the coins and items that I can barter, hidden between the folds of my spare clothes is the one thing I can take from this place and look back on it with loving memory. I swing the bag over my shoulder and take a final breath before leaving this room forever. I swear I will not survive a single minute if I ever come back here.

The door doesn’t creak as I peer through, no guards on their rounds yet and I’m careful to note and track their timing. I slide through the door, silently heaving its heavy weight, before closing it without so much as a pop from the hinges and sneak down the hall.

All of my sisters are content here and I tried to keep my secret desire for freedom to myself. They’re more than willing to accept and romanticize this life, being married off and in the public eyes of all they rule over, but we have no power—even as Queens we will have none. Any sign of discontent or hatred they have is well hidden under their facade and brutally taken out on me. Their words against me won’t end, but at least they won’t be able to hurt me. They can no longer raise anything against me once I’m gone for good and my only reminder of them will be the scars they’ve inflicted.

I pass their rooms, grand in their design and height, before coming to the end of the corridor with its towering entrance into the rest of the palace. If I can make it through the next hall I’ll be in the courtyard and over the wall in no time. As we spent many of our hours in the yard, my sisters would always talk about how they can’t wait for our father to throw another gala, the most exciting nights of our lives we are to ever live outside of our arranged weddings. I only outright questioned this excitement once, asking if we were to have real fun like the adventures I heard other children having on the other side of the wall. I was struck by my oldest sister, Lilith, and told never to dare the fortune we’d been given. Of all my sisters, I hated her the most. There’s no love for her in my heart and the other two, Daeva and Leila, follow along with equal cruelty.

Their hair is golden and dark blonde, never messy or fizzy, as well as slightly taller. I’m brunette and streaked with golden blonde, always hanging in messy waves and curls if it’s not groomed or tied back. I’m not toned and elegant because I carry more weight than them, constantly berated about how my body is never just as it should be. I sit more often at parties because the table conceals most of me. The corsets are tighter and If I pass out then it’s entirely my fault, even if I give up my meals.

My brother, Caladen, the true eldest of our siblings and the only good thing about this place has been sent off. We were never told where, but it’s of high importance for Aelifear. We haven’t seen him in a year, come next week, and we never know when he’ll be back. Caladen is kind but strong, able to outwit and conquer any enemy or friend in combat and knowledge. Perhaps he was married off like my sister’s will be—and how I am supposed to be—but it isn’t likely. Caladen is too valuable to my father, no matter how rich the trade might make him, and if it was marriage, we would have attended.

He taught me the little fighting I know to defend myself, but I never use it against my sisters, or else their torment will only worsen. For them, I can only accept what they do unless I dare a worse fate. Caladen never knew what they did to me because I could never tell him, but every time he came back it was a brief relief and I didn’t have to worry about them until he left. We’ll never be told when to expect him back, but I have little faith in this prison. When he is here it isn’t for long, a week or two if I’m lucky and then he’s off on another diplomatic adventure—this just so happens to be the longest he’s ever been gone.

The guards are scarce tonight, but I hide silently in the shadowy abyss of night. A hushed sneeze sounds from around a corner and I’m almost caught by one pair of soldiers in the shadows, their uniforms barely visible as it blends into the darkness of the halls. I nearly trip and alert them, but quickly slip behind a column. Catching my breath and steadying myself, I can feel my regret and guilt flood me.

I can’t stop now. I have to keep going. Just breathe and keep moving. If I’m caught now then my hope for Life is over.

As I grip the fabric of the cloak, hoping they’ll move on or I can get away undetected, the ringing flood of blood flow in my ears begins to ebb. Painfully slow and panic-driven minutes slip by as I wait before they finally move on down another corridor. My eyes widen in the darkness, searching for more guards that may stop me. When the coast is clear I scurry down the hallway shortly to the courtyard, concealing myself behind the various furniture and decor.

Darting to the corner of the yard, a small grouping of groomed bushes and a tree shield me from anyone making their rounds and provide for my escape. The guards set me back and there’s even less time to get away before they change their shifts and the guard will be doubled for another hour.

The wall towers in its height, meant to keep people both in and out, and the only way over will be to scale the tree and jump—better said than done. I take a moment to look around carefully before clawing my way up the thin branches. The flowers shake off with the dried and dying leaves, an easy giveaway to anyone watching, so I slow my pace. The bark crunches and the twigs crack softly under as I delicately scale my way up, the dress proving difficult and catching underfoot. Each movement sends my heart sinking into my feet and I can just imagine what torment is in store for me if I’m caught.

They’ll lock me in the prison with the criminals and humiliate me again. It won’t be the first time, but I’ll be damned if I don’t fight my way out of here.

Soon, I can finally reach for the wall and I feel the weight of my decision on my chest. I’ll try to land on the wall before jumping down, but the drop will most certainly hurt, but it doesn’t matter. A little struggle and pain now will allow me to escape the monotony, abuse, and depressing life I already follow within the walls. The pain of the fall will be far less than staying here.

I’m ready.

My gut twists and burns from my raw nerves and, with a final glance, I brace and jump. I slam hard into the stone, grasping the ledge with all my strength, and kick my legs up and over it. After what I think is an endless and futile struggle, I sit on the ledge and peer over. This’ll hurt like a bitch if I don’t land right, but I have little time to escape and can’t halt any progress—not for any kind of fear.

Time is fleeting, along with my freedom.

Voices of guards quietly chatting come from the courtyard entrance and I’m forced to move. I round my foot over the side, sliding off and hanging by my grip. No one is along the outside walls, but I have no strength to pull myself up even if I back out now.

Finally, I drop, bracing my knees and ankles so that I roll backward instead of slamming into the stone wall. My back hits the dirt, the dust flying up in a cloud, and I roll to the side to catch the wind that escapes me. My ankles scream in an agonizing ache, cramping and stinging from impact, and as soon as I manage to snap back, I gather myself and sprint to the nearest alleyway.

The alley is dark and narrow, branching from the main roads and walkways between the buildings. Heavy steps and voices round the wall in time for me to back into the shadows once more. I pray they don’t notice my footprints in the dirt, or the disturbance of dust near the wall, but all I can do is wait until they pass before moving.

The pair of soldiers stroll by as I stare wide and terrified that they might catch on as I count the seconds it takes for each of their single steps forward.

Please keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t look down. Just keep going!

As they step past my exit point, I slowly let out my breath into my hands. Now that their backs are turned and there is a break before the next pair, I move quickly. I keep to the darkest side of the alley and slide along the wall, careful not to let my bag or cloak bounce and move too much.

I realize how heavy I’m breathing and the pounding of my heart that fills my eardrums. I’ve done it. I’m terrified and yet filled with joy and excitement, and I have no clue what to do next. All I can do now is to head to the Nightlife District, clearly lit from all over, and devise my plan before leaving Ainsley—immediately and forever. I need to find work and a place to stay somewhere in a far-off town, unless they spread their search for me and I need to run again.

I clutch my belongings as I creep through the pitch-black roads. The dusty paths and alleyways kick rocks into my shoes, but I can’t stop—not for anything. I avoid any voices, steering clear of them if I come to a fork or intersection. Halting at the corners I listen intently for any sounds. Whether it’s a commoner, animal, or soldier, I avoid them at all costs.

Compared to the Palace, this part of the city is a decrepit wasteland filled with dust and debris. The buildings are wood and stone, unlike the polished marble and metalwork I’ve been enclosed in my whole life. Even when departing the palace, we never came through here and were always ushered in and out of the Aristocrat’s side of Ainsley. Here, clothes are put on display to dry between the buildings and windows. Soft flickering candlelight comes from very few windows, but hardly any life is found beyond them.

Seeing the world as it is now only makes my decision to leave that much more nerve-racking. There is no safety here, nothing as predictable as what I’ve known before. I only know that hope lies where the light shines, and the only light now is in the Nightlife District.

I’m on high alert, constantly whipping around and observing my surroundings at the tiniest sounds. I can only imagine the soldiers beginning to chase me through the streets in a failed attempt to flee or the punishment awaiting when I’ll inevitably be returned and locked away.

A cat barrels down a conjoined street, mewing its way over to me in a sudden sprint. I can’t stop myself from jumping out of my skin and trembling as it brushes itself against me. Panicked gasps escape me before I shush the cat, hesitantly pushing it away until it finally moves on. My heart races, like the beginning of a heart attack clawing its way through my chest as I calm myself. It came out of nowhere, and so quickly too, that my anxiety takes over in full force.

Five…I can see five things…a window…clothesline…my hands…the stars above me…and the lights on the street just a little further ahead.

Four…I can touch four things…my clothes…the alley wall…my pack…and the ground beneath my feet.

Steps sound from beneath me as I compel myself to move toward the lit street ahead. Emerging from the alleyway and onto the road, I find myself at a little corner pub. It’s a tattered and worn wood building just like the rest, stones and cement accompanying the buildings for infrastructure and decoration. The whole street is lined with a warm lamp-lit glow that brightens inside the pub as the candle chandeliers and lanterns flicker with the rise and fall of drunken banter. This isn’t the only tavern lit up in the night, but it’s the first thing I reach and so I settle for it.

Excuse me, I cautiously wave down the bartender over the commotion, a tall, large man with a bored expression, emphasized by his facial hair, Where is the nearest town from here?

About two day’s walk East of here if you take the North East route, four if you travel the South East trail to the Southern part of the kingdom. You’d get much farther on a horse though, he seems uninterested and indifferent to anything about me as he takes note of me walking, But I wouldn’t go North—not with everything going on.

What do you mean? I probe, not thinking before speaking.

What do you think I mean? The war, dipshit, he scoffs.

Oh! No! I know about the war—I just didn’t realize how close it was, —there’s a war going on?

Quickly trying to defend my question, I hope to play it off without suspicion. This man can easily take me out or restrain me back to the palace himself without any help. The slight stench of a few drinks and bad breath precedes him as he leans over the bar and his eyes give a warning.

Rumor has it that the enemy is sending scouts ahead of them to know what they’re in for. The King himself doesn’t even know what to do, he whispers harshly, They’ve got spies everywhere and if the rumor is true about their leader, he’s out for blood. So, a young woman such as yourself shouldn’t head that way unless you have either a death wish or an army.

I swallow hard, picturing the blood-ridden battlefield and its crimson-stained King. If the bartender isn’t already intimidating then that means this enemy is far worse. All these questions begin to form in my mind, one after the other, and my legs begin to feel weak as a cold shiver runs down my spine.

What has become of my brother? What will become of Aelifear should we lose?

But this isn’t my kingdom anymore, I gave it up when I stepped outside those walls. It is my father’s and sisters’ loss, not mine. As far as anyone is concerned, there were only three Princesses, to begin with, and I was merely a beaten slave to parade around and sell.

Is there any progress in the war? I try to play it off, Any news?

Not much has happened, he busies himself with minor tasks as we talk, the anger and frustration breaking through him, No one has returned. You’d think we’d get some of the soldiers back after a year of this bullshit—even just the wounded—but the Northern Phoenix doesn’t leave survivors and King Septimus can’t do anything but send us to slaughter.

This war has been going on for a year and no one told us?

My leg shakes as I hold myself up, my fingers raking and tapping uncontrollably. What have I gotten myself into? Why did I leave? Why did I trade that life for one where I’m on the run from two terrible Kings?

The bartender looks on in a silent and controlled fury, probably knowing someone who was sent away to the front lines.

They say the Phoenix deals with the shadows, commands demons, and that’s how we can’t seem to win anything. No one comes back because they’re dead or turned". The sight of disfigurement alone is enough to kill a man where he stands, I let him talk, the more I know the better, but the uneasiness is hard to hide, But it’s all just rumors and stories. Heard ‘em from passing customers as times gone by."

Oh, ok, I can’t decide between hearing any more or trying to politely end the conversation, but I can’t bring myself to walk away. His intimidating blockade of personality eased a little as he spoke, but it isn’t enough for me to label him as trustworthy.

So, are you gonna buy anything kid or are you just passing through? —‘bit late to be venturing.

Oh, um, do you have anything that’ll last a while?

He gruffs before heading across the bar to retrieve a few bags of dried nuts and fruits.

Fifteen Bronze, he nods, filling a glass full of water, Water’s on me.

Thank you, I nod kindly, pulling out the small coin bag and paying for the food.

I stuff the nuts and fruits into the bag with the rest of my money, heading up the stairs in the back center of the room. A balcony perches above the clatter of voices and dishes from downstairs, men and women alike gambling and drinking in the late hour. I look out over the Common Place, seeing the palace rise in the distance in all its haunting and depressing features.

To anyone else, it looks like paradise, filled with riches, power and adornment, but to me, it is anything but. I know what hides behind its marble columns and towering walls. It frightens me just to look at it, so close yet seemingly so far away. The shadowy outline of the city’s rooftops frames it in a perfectly awful scene, the Aristocrats and their high houses perched neatly behind it in revolting perfection. The Common Place roofing is jagged and messy while the palace and high houses are neat, rounded, symmetrical, and utterly flawless. None of these places are inviting to look at and it’s a wonder to me how anyone can stay and tolerate this view—let alone love it.

I drink and snack on what I bought downstairs, being made to skip dinner earlier. I have no idea what to do now, no place to run to except perhaps the South, but that will be even further away than the East or West provinces. I can’t get very far without a horse or some sort of transportation, but I don’t have either option in the middle of the night. I can potentially wait until early light when any services might open and purchase travel from there but do I have enough? If I travel alone, I’ll need weapons to protect and hunt with, but I’ve never used one in my life and hunting is completely out of the question. I’d die from a squirrel bite infected with rabies before I could kill something to eat.

All I need is a simple decision on my direction of travel. No matter what, I’ll still be a single traveling woman and that poses its own threats. In the palace, they burned into my brain the evil which exists outside, but there is evil within it too. There’s evil everywhere, but the good I saw from my brother made me believe that it can be found elsewhere too. He was my small ray of hope, but the thought begins to infuriate me.

Since when was there ever a damn war? With who?

My brother left a year ago, just about the same time this war started. They never told us where or how long he’d be gone and the palace seemed no different than any other day. He didn’t say goodbye when he left and we woke up to find that he was gone before morning came. It was not a normal departure since we usually sent him off together, standing and waiting at the gates until he’s out of sight. They told us an ally sent immediate and urgent word for him, but that’s all we know.

You are not to ask anything further. It is none of your concern. I will speak to you when you are worth speaking to, my father scolded.

Have I been living in ignorance all this time? Where is my brother? Where are all our men? Where is the enemy now?

Rage runs through me, every part of my being in a hot fury for the hate I have for being in that damned palace. The heat rises rapidly as I feel the urge to cry and punch something with a fervent shake.

Three…I can hear three things…the dogs barking somewhere far away…the growing soft chatter of people beneath me…and my pounding heartbeat that begins to drown it all out.

I can’t ever go back. With every fiber of my being, I will fight to stay out of that place. I am no longer a Princess and no longer a captive. I will thrive in another world outside of this one. I will thrive in spite of them.

Despite the weather’s coming change from spring to summer, it’s still cold in the dark hours and I sit alone on the breezy balcony with my cloak wrapped tightly around me. The chattering and clanging down below continue for another hour, and my nerves rise in greater anxiety. I have to calm myself repeatedly as I feel the hot tears for my brother sitting on the edge of my eyelashes. Only once did they roll from my face and I wipe them away quickly. It’s not like there’s anyone else on the balcony, but I hate crying. Even if there’s a guarantee no one can see, I still feel shameful for my tears and emotions.

Suddenly, a group of late riders rides in on the streets, breaking off to their respective houses as they leave for various streets. Two riders separate and secure their horses outside the pub. It’s rather late for a ride, but they must be coming from far off to arrive so delayed. Perhaps the town the bartender spoke of in the East? They must be heading here to be out of range of the enemy and the war front.

One of them is a large muscular man, the other slightly smaller than him, and they wear basic black and brown leather riding gear for the cold night they must have endured. The large man’s hair is long and dark to match his gear, hanging down between his shoulder blades. The second man doesn’t command the same air about him as the first, a brunette with much shorter hair and not as poised, following nearly beside him at a quick pace—but people are not as trustworthy as their looks.

Horrific rape stories and beatings, abuse, and neglect that had been inflicted upon women and children were often told to me to insight fear. But how much can I trust their word when they put me through so much torment? I don’t doubt these stories, but I can’t trust anyone from the palace when they used and inflicted the same kind of abuse they warned me of.

I begin to doubt my escape. It’s only a matter of time before I end up back there. Should I find a way back? —Confront my father about the war? Will they even listen to me? If I continue on my path, will I fall deeper into the traps of others just to be used once again?

No. I can’t go back. They’ll never listen. Whatever this world awaits me I have to see it for myself.

Two…I can smell two things…the heavy rancid liquor from the bartender’s breath and the drifting smoke from cigars.

After a few more anxiety-driven moments, a sudden ruckus comes from beneath me. Breaking glass and loud shouts echo up the stairs at an alarming volume. A fight is surely breaking out and I have no desire to be involved, staying put so I’m not accidentally thrown into the mix.

One…one thing I can taste…the salty mix of stale pub mix.

The shouting grows without fail. I turn to face the stairwell in case anyone tries to come at me from behind and force me into a fight.

A few drunken men fly out of the bar in a burst of fiery light and I freeze to observe the sudden outburst. It doesn’t strike me at first until many others pour out of the doors and small flames pierce the side of the building, spreading quickly up the dry and drought-inflicted street. A cold stab pierces my stomach and I throw my bag over my shoulder as the drunks set fire to other buildings around us.

Panic and fear terrorize me and I sprint to the stairs. The sight of the inferno halts me in the stairwell as the flames grow up the walls at a rapid pace. The heat of the fire nearly knocks me over itself, feeling the blaze singe at my face instantly.

How did this happen?

I need to run down the steps or jump from the balcony, but it’s too high and there’s no room for a safe landing beneath me. I can either burn and escape or break my legs and die in the fire anyway.

Acting fast, I fling the cloak over my face to shield myself from the smoke and heat. The flames lick up the walls as if the wood is water in a drought-stricken desert. The smoke makes me cough relentlessly as I jump down the stairs, the embers beginning to catch and sear into my skin, the wool of the dress its own kind of kindling. Finally, I’m down the steps, stumbling across the charred and crumbling floor, before slamming my body for the door to open. It doesn’t work and the only thing keeping me alive is the pure adrenaline that courses through me, compelling me to slam harder over and over again until I’m finally set free. It splinters with the heat and the worn hinges shatter, my body falling out on the deck before rolling into the dirt-covered street.

Black mucus coughs heavily from my mouth and nose, spitting up and choking on my breath as I quickly put out the flames that claw at me. It’s a thousand needles, shredding and tearing at my skin and nerves which bubble and char. Each blister sends a shockwave of pain through my legs and into my spine, unable to get away from it no matter how hard I try until finally the embers cool just enough in the dirt—but there’s no end to the torture.

My lungs heave as my body cramps, crying and spitting up more black. In all my life, this is the most pain I’ve ever felt—worse than every scar that crosses my back. My legs are seared and scorched, the ends of my dress and cloak in ruin as it frays and crumbles around my knees, but this is the least of my worries

As quickly as the fire started, the whole street surrounds me in an inferno. The balcony I sat on seconds ago is now starting to smolder and implode into the first floor with sprays of embers. The smoke chokes me as I witness the rush of others running and yelling, already far off in the distance and out of danger. The horses are long gone and I stagger to my feet, breaking the thin and pus-filled skin to stumble desperately. My vision blurs and my breath catches, tears rolling down my face in a stream of terror.

I can’t even survive one day outside the palace!

It doesn’t take much to light these buildings on fire. Beams and debris fall from the stories above and I roll onto the hard ground in an attempt to dodge them. Hot red and gold flames strike like lightning out of windows and doorways is the only sign of movement around me.

Help! my voice strains, Help! Please!

I repeatedly scream in agony, pleading for help as I crawl desperately out of the blaze for sanctuary. Everyone who could flee is already long gone, and no one would come back to save one girl they never knew. Pieces of the building fronts crack and fall around me, truly alone and sure to die. I won’t be the only casualty tonight, but I never imagined this would be the outcome of my escape.

"Help! Please! Help Me! I’m begging you! Anyone!"

I fight for my voice to be heard, helpless to the struggle of breathing before my vision completely leaves me in the swirl of smoke and tears. My fumbling to escape turns into clawing for inches. My throat chokes on gasps, suffocating on the ash.

If only I waited to escape, then I might have survived to live a life I truly wanted. Maybe I might have survived to see a better day rather than a fiery Hell.

Maybe…I could have lived…

We arrived solely with the intent of gaining information but left with a blaze of fire behind us. Drunks decided to pick a fight and when they lost, they resorted to setting the damn place on fire. It’s amazing how one lantern can light up an entire street, but luckily, we got out of there in time, heading back to camp just as the buildings begin to collapse. We helped everyone escape the pub before fleeing ourselves, but it isn’t much of a clean getaway. The fire ignited and spread so quickly that the entire inside was set ablaze in a matter of seconds.

They’re gonna blame us, you know! Kai calls out beside me.

Of course, they will. They’ll twist anything, I call back.

A faint cry comes from behind us. At first, it sounds like the whine of the buildings under the strain of fire and I pay no mind, but it comes again and again—unmistakably human. I slow my horse, turning around as we’ve already escaped the fire. Few others are left running away on the street, but none cry out in such a way.

What’s wrong? Let’s get out of here! Kai attempts to command me, his horse stomping with the same anxious energy.

Wait! I pause before sprinting back toward the fire, the burning rubble of buildings already falling onto the road and blocking the way.

The cries come again and again, but fade as I draw near—and then they stop. Without thinking or hesitation, I command my horse over the flames of a fallen beam and into the ring of fire. A young woman lies face down in the dirt with the ends of her ragged dress and cloak singed off, coughing harshly. I quickly drop from the saddle and pick her up, brushing off any remaining embers on her bag, and hastily throw her onto the saddle in front of me. She’s unconscious and her breaths run shallow, her legs a mangled mess up to her knees from burns and blisters.

I start up my horse again and we circle back, leaping over the large flames. She almost falls from me, but I hold on tightly around her waist. Her face is covered in dirt and black smears across her cheeks and arms, the look of her charred calves enough to feel the pain she must be in, but she’s unresponsive.

Great! Now what? Kai reprimands me as I catch back up to him, You’re gonna bring her back with us?

You know they won’t take care of her here, I scold, She’ll die.

Then just leave her!

No! he shudders under my glare, If we leave her, we’ll be just as bad as they are.

With a cautious glance, he turns back to the road ahead of us as we leave the city and back to camp. They would have never taken care of her, treating their people with such basic human denials as to leave her for dead—one less mouth to feed. Their King is nothing but a selfish pig without any understanding of the life his people live in poverty.

It won’t be long before we’re back at camp, but I don’t know how long she can hold out. Her breath is labored and coughs come now and then, but she’s out cold. It’s hard to see her in the darkness of the late night, but she looks young underneath all the soot and grime. A crackle comes from her breathing as mucus begins to thicken in her lungs and throat.

I race our horses faster, leaving the regular path to go through the woods and spot the tiniest fleck of firelight from our camp, out of sight of the roads and too dark and uncharted for anyone to find us.

We need help over here! I command.

I slow my horse as the men emerge to greet us, shocked and confused. Two men help carry her off the horse while the women assess for the supplies they need. I jump from the saddle and take her from them. She’s limp and her shallow breaths became more erratic—hardly audible.

Sir! What happened? the incessant questions come, You weren’t supposed to be back until morning!

I’ll explain later! Get me some damn help for her or else! I demand.

Her health is more important right now and I can’t be bothered with the details of tonight’s undoing. In a scramble, they fetch water and cloth for the nurses and open the tent door flap for us to enter. Carefully, I place her on my cot, removing the blankets and furs. I toss the ruined fabric of her cloak to the side along with her bag as the nurses come in.

Her legs are worse than I thought, the light of our lanterns revealing every contour of her swollen and bloody blisters as they will scar her permanently. The dust covers her burns and the women carefully remove her torn shoes. They have to remove the blood-mixed filth and wash off the grime to prevent any infection, carefully tweezing out the melted fabric and debris of rocks.

In a sudden intensity, she screams as the cold, soaked cloth touches her leg. Her whole body tenses and flinches sporadically, twisting and writhing. I hold her back down for the nurses to do their job, her wails and movements fighting against me. She either can’t or won’t open her eyes and each new attempt to clean out the wounds brings more pain to her. Whatever feeling she has left in them is ignited in another tormenting fire with each touch.

The stream of tears stains her face through the smudges. I’m not one to shy away from blood and wounds, but her agony pierces me. She’s scared and ignorant, not knowing where she is and who is around her. It’s like watching a terror-filled animal waiting for death without seeing her assailant. She falls in and out of consciousness as they continue relentlessly and it’s at least another two hours before they finally finish dressing her legs. She passes out into a painful sleep, tears still rolling down her cheeks and her body twitching as her chest heaves. I take to gently washing her face, hoping to soothe her as they deal with the burns, and she starts shaking instead of flinching as violently as before.

I need someone to get her new clothes, I address the nurses as they stand, It’s only until we get back.

We’ll find something for her, sir, Silvia, my lead nurse, assures me.

Leave us, I dismiss them, I don’t want to be disturbed unless I come out of the tent or it’s an emergency. Understood?

Yes, sir, they scatter.

Kai, retrieve the rest of our party and finish the rendezvous, I order from him before he leaves with the rest, responding with a single nod.

The night will be much longer than anticipated, especially with my attention diverted to her care. Clothes are brought in for when she wakes, but I don’t know when that will be and what I’ll have to explain to her when she does.

Her hair hangs in long brown waves and her skin is soft light ivory. She’s a young woman, no more than twenty, and she frowns in her sleep. Her dress does little to hide her build, not as starved as some other girls may look with her poor status, but she’s healthy. Her dress is harsh wool, not to be worn in the heat of the oncoming summer, but with the poverty here there is not much else you can expect. What’s left of the bottom of her dress is blackened and tattered, pieces of the fabric cut away by the nurses just above the wounds around her knees and the bandages concealing it all.

I didn’t even see her in that pub. I must have completely overlooked her or she blended in so well with everything and everyone else.

Picking up the rags, I take them outside with the cloak to be washed, silently stepping through the camp as the others sleep or are on night watch. If anything should happen and she wakes, I’ll attend to her.

* * *

It’s been a few hours and I sit on the ground next to the bed. If I lay next to her and she wakes up then it’ll be much more of a headache to get her to calm down and trust me. She coughs or whines, but never opens her eyes. I tuck the blankets over her so she won’t be cold, checking on her here and there between drifting off for a few moments, but I never truly fall asleep. When the outside sky seems to brighten a little, I rise and clean myself up for the day. Whatever happens with her, I still have a job to get done and a mission to complete first.

I strip myself as much as I need to and wash myself off with a cloth to change, having been through three days in the same filthy garments. Simple black pants, my boots, and a loose white shirt with whatever armor or gear I might adorn later.

She stirs on the cot, bringing the blanket up under her nose. I can see her eyes start to move under her closed lids and her eyelashes flutter. It takes her a moment before suddenly her blue eyes widen and horror sweeps her face.

Shit.

My legs tingle under my blankets, feeling their unusually rough fabric on top of me in my cold room. I’m exhausted just from the memory of my nightmare, struggling helplessly as I choke on the ashy clouds of smoke that fill my lungs. My body aches from the terrifying visions which fill my dreams and my legs grow numb, my lungs itching as the headache behind my eyes pounds.

It’s all just a bad dream. It was just so intense that it’s probably a cramp in my calves from the heels I wear all day.

I bring the blanket to my nose, feeling the warmth of it consume me. I’m weak and depleted of all energy despite my rest, perhaps my doubt getting the better of me before I escape. No matter what, I will get out of here. And how much of a coincidence would it be that I die the night I escape? Kind of far-fetched and dramatic, I guess.

Just one more day until freedom.

The cool air strikes my face in relief and I begin to wake myself. Strange, my blanket seems heavier and rougher and my room is never this cold. My eyes slowly open, heavy from exhaustion, and the room blurs before my vision clears.

Wait…this isn’t my room…this isn’t my bed. None of this is mine.

Who is he?

I falter and halt in the blanket, staring wide-eyed at the half-dressed man in front of me. He’s the one from my dream! The one on the horse with the long black hair! Where the Hell am I? What is he doing here?

Shit, I think I hear him say.

I take in the whole room, noticing the tent opening as he begins to slowly walk toward me. In a quick frenzy, I throw the blanket off me and run for the door, but my legs give out in an excruciating and crushing sting. He reaches out and grabs my bicep as I fall, holding me firmly in his grip.

Calm down, he demands firmly.

Let me go! I protest in panic, the anxiety and tension in my stomach beginning to burn and twist as frightened tears prick my eyes.

My legs are like the burning pits of Hell and I strain to whine, trying to hold it in as the sound escapes, seething at the blistering stabs. I fight against him as he holds me, writhing my arms and punching him for my freedom. When all else fails and my legs can no longer support me, I drop and let my weight carry us down to the floor.

Hold on! Just stop! he continues to demand.

This has to be a nightmare and I have to wake up, or is this punishment for wanting to leave the palace? Panic covers me as he wraps his arms around my chest, sitting me up between his legs and his bare chest against my back. It only deepens my terror and I kick my legs out, unable to use my arms under his grip.

Hold on! It’s okay! I’m not gonna hurt you!

No! I shout in my desperate fury.

Will you please calm down! I’ll explain everything! his grip tightens and I kick more, slamming my heel into his shin, "Ow! Damn it!"

The pain of impact strikes us both, but he’s the only one able to recover. I’m so numbed by panic that I didn’t even think about the pain and the burning misery spreads through me relentlessly. He’s furious as he turns me over and pins me down, sitting on my hips with all his weight and holding my hands beside my head.

Stop it! he demands once more, but I only halt out of fear, I’m not going to hurt you. I need you to stop and listen before you hurt yourself even more.

His long black hair hangs over his shoulders as he looks into my eyes, his expression threatening and enraged as he demands control over me. His closeness is menacing and my breath staggers as I struggle to breathe. I can feel the weakness in me as I fight to stay conscious as well as to draw my arms back to my chest. The frustrating anger engulfs me, but I still just enough to appease him.

I’m letting go, now. I just want to talk to you, his voice only softens in volume.

In a slow movement, he backs up, releasing my hands, but still sitting on top of me. I hold my breath as steady as I can, my chest caving in. When he seems less guarded, I take my shot—literally. With all the strength and power I can muster, I sit up and slam my knuckles squarely into his jaw, just like how Caladen taught me. It would have been a broken nose, but he flinched, not expecting me to fight back anymore.

No! Damn it! he pushes me back down again, snarling, Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn! I’m trying to help you!

Then why are you sitting on me! I question back, staring him down with all the hate I have for him.

Maybe because you won’t listen!

We’ve been shouting this whole time and I hear voices outside the tent, stirring at our loudness.

Help! I holler between coughs, Please! Help!

They’re not gonna do anything, he’s mildly annoyed now.

He places a hand over my mouth to keep me from talking and I bite down on the smallest flesh I can get between my teeth. He throws himself back, releasing my hands in reaction.

"Fuck! What is wrong with you!" he growls once more.

I try to push him off and pry myself free, but he’s too damn heavy to move.

Look, I saved you from that fire so the least you could do is stop acting like this, he doesn’t move to restrain my arms, but rather places his hands on his hips, watching me struggle. He’s fully aware that I can punch him but anticipates whenever I might strike.

Get off me! my voice is harsh and forced as I cough, pushing unsuccessfully at his knees.

As my coughing worsens and I give up my fight, he carefully stands up and I roll to the side, the black mucus spitting onto the ground as I’m desperate to breathe. He could have done far worse to me already. He’s much stronger than I can ever be, so resisting is pointless. Why hasn’t he hit me or beat me yet? After landing a blow to his face he still hasn’t raised his fists against me and, as far as I can tell, he didn’t take advantage of me while I was unconscious.

If what he said about the fire is true then maybe he isn’t going to hurt me. Does he know who I am though? Will he hold me for ransom or return me for a reward? I have to assume he doesn’t know who I am to survive for now, but what will he do if he finds out?

As the coughing slowly subsides, my arm wraps around my abdomen as it tenses. Once I can finally breathe, I prop myself up onto my arm. He holds out his hand to help me up and, after a moment of hesitation, I take it reluctantly, sitting on the bed to get off my burnt legs. I shake uncontrollably as he takes his seat next to me, his shadowy figure a beast in size compared to mine, having all the advantages over me. I keep my eyes forward, resenting his presence as we sit and I see him staring at me from the corner of my eye.

I didn’t hurt you, did I? His voice is still intimidating.

The question catches me off guard, not expecting him to ask. No one has ever asked me that before and I shake my head subtly in response.

What’s your name? He tries to break the icy wall between us.

I hate his closeness, but he won’t stop unless I cooperate in one way or another.

…Easa, I whisper shakily, giving him my nickname.

No one knew me by anything other than the degrading words they called me, and I doubt I’m talked about much outside the palace.

It’s a beautiful name. Stand for anything?

…Alloiese, I choke, looking at him sideways and hesitantly.

Quinn, he gives without question.

I face him now, wide-eyed and terrified, taking in his features as I’m sure he’s done to mine. He is that same rider I saw entering the pub before the fire—I’m sure of it. He’s taller in person, more muscular too, and I picture how quickly he can overpower me. I can’t offer him anything valuable for my safety or for saving me, only the leftover coins in my bag are all I can give up. He will try to use this rescue as an excuse to use me, no doubt.

He stands and hands me a stack of folded clothes, walking back to the other side of the tent to retrieve his shirt and bring me the water basin.

I’ll leave you alone to change. Spare rags and water are here for you to wash off with. If you need me, I’ll be right outside, he peers back at me as he opens the door flap, After, we can talk about everything and I’ll have someone look at your legs.

He leaves with powerful grace, the flap swishing as it falls behind him. I finally allow myself to breathe and I cough hard, spitting up a dark mucus from my throat, before undoing the neatly folded material. It’s a soft linen dress in a creamy color, breathable, and the edges are lined in a light embroidery of dark brownish-red. Compared to the dress I currently wear, it looks like a masterpiece. It’s a common dress, but not the kind I’ve seen before, and not what you’d expect from the Common Place people.

I can see the shadow of Quinn standing outside and facing away from the tent as the morning light starts in—even his shadow is foreboding. I carefully stand, each step a harsh stab of pain, and slip out of the dress to wash. I hope he will announce himself if he walks back in. I can’t handle the shame of being seen like this.

I wash my hot skin; the cuts and bruises being revealed more easily—both from the fire and my most recent beatings. The water cools me and I see all that I’m afflicted with, but the burns are wrapped in clean bandages and the draining blood and pus stain its fabric. In the cold air, I try to move quickly so I don’t freeze and wash off all the dirt. By the time I finish, the basin is filled with tainted crimson and brown water and the rag has lost its original clean color.

As I dress, I gaze at the beautiful fabric, the simple underdress and the detailed cover is light and cottony. It’s looser and more relaxed than the garments I’ve worn at the palace, comfortable and freeing in its movement. The only part that’s fitted is around my chest as I can’t fasten it up entirely, as the button pattern would suggest, but I’m not exposed.

Are you almost done? He speaks through the tent wall.

I’m so focused on the dress that I haven’t noticed him moving closer to the door.

Um, yes, I sit on the bed, playing with the sleeve hem that hugs my wrists.

He stands at the opening for a moment and watches me before closing in. Our gazes fix on each other, his arms crossed to emphasize his build, and he hides his thoughts from his expression, stoic and commanding.

I break our gaze to look down at my hands, shying away from his intense stare. I aggravated and provoked him, that much I know to be true. I punched and fought against him after he supposedly rescued me from the fire and now, he’s deliberating what to do with me, imagining sickening and disturbing scenes of what he wants. He can get away with it too if he wants. No one will stop him from acting on his own accord.

Comfortable? he asks.

Yes, thank you, I answer quietly.

Good. It fits you well.

His compliment confirms my suspicions. I shift a little at the awkwardness, but I need to get on his good side the best I can, and hopefully persuade him to think I’m too worthless for him to touch.

I’m sorry…

For what? I can’t tell if he’s genuinely wondering or taunting.

For behaving like that. I’m sorry I punched your… I look back at his jaw, still slightly red, …face.

It’s all right, he nods, "I’m sorry I handled you in such a way. I could have gone about it more…delicately."

Despite my open chest he only locks eyes with me, never wavering. He’s testing me surely by the sound of his voice. No one would ever apologize like this, not for anything. Why would a powerful man like him apologize?

Silently, a shadow appears at the tent flaps behind him, stopping before entering.

Sir, she calls, May I come in?

You may, he invites, stepping away.

He stands in the corner, giving her space as she comes to the bedside.

Good morning, Miss. Are you feeling better? She’s a small woman with dark hair streaked with gray and a joyful welcoming face. She isn’t at all intimidating or commanding like Quinn and reflects a compassionate and welcoming air.

Yes, thank you, I remain timid.

The truth is, my legs feel like I am still sitting in that fire, only numb from the tightly wrapped bandages and prolonged pain.

Alright, I’ll need you to lift the skirt a little so I can look at the burns, she directs me, We only had a brief look at them last night, but it was dark, so I need to look at them better.

Okay…

I oblige and bring the hem over my knees, careful not to raise the skirt too far and keeping an eye on Quinn who still stands nearly in front of me across the room. We were instructed never to do such a thing in front of anyone in the palace, especially in the eyes of men. It’s scandalous and provocative in any kind of way, but I have to for her to work. He won’t leave, even if I ask him to. I know he’ll make an excuse to stay, so I tuck the skirt tightly under me and solely focus on his eyes to lock in our gaze.

She’s delicate as she undoes the tight wrappings, revealing the bloody, pus-filled wounds which sting with the cold morning air. The sting breaks my stare and I’m mortified. My calves, shins, and ankles are all disfigured and tender, a chilling sensation piercing me in painful relief. I want to throw up, to faint—to do anything except look at them—but my eyes can’t falter from the haunting display in front of me, black and bloody in every shade of crimson.

Well, she sighs, keeping that joyful look on her face, They look better than most burns I’ve seen. We’ll let them breathe for a bit so I’ll be right back. Don’t let anything touch them.

I nod and she’s off through the door, leaving me with him. I keep my focus on the blistering mess that will scar me for the rest of my life. No man will see me as more than a broken trinket by the