My mother's hand pulls my left arm, tugging right at the elbow. I flinch in pain. The arm still hasn't healed entirely, not to mention the bruises all around my body.

It all hurts but my mother doesn't seem to care. She suddenly swings back her hand and slaps me across the face again, so hard that I hit the stone wall once more.

She immediately descends with another slap on the other cheek and then another. With each strike, her nail digs into my skin, scratching and ripping at it with her fingernails.

I put up one hand to block but she yanks it down hitting me again, cursing in Kabbani the entire time.

I think surely any moment now, someone will put a stop to this. There are two guards at the entrance, and families milling about.

I'm the victor they just cheered for moments ago.

Yet no one intervenes. No one cares. Out here, I'm no victor. We are just two savage muzungus doing what muzungus do best.

Why are you waiting for someone to help you? Why not help yourself?

The next slap whips my head to the left and I spot him then. Wolf. He's standing in a dark corner, shielded by the trees, arms crossed over his chest, eyes blazing.

I don't know if anyone else sees him but I do.

His mouth is pressed into one thin line and for the first time, I can read his expression clearly. Displeasure.

Not at my mother. But at me.

Finally, I reach out and prevent my mother's next blow by grabbing her wrist. She swings with the other hand, close-fisted this time, and I catch that one too. Humiliatingly, I note that a few people have stopped to watch the show. I hate it, hate that they see me like this.

This is not like back in the arena where I faced a giant of a man and won. This is a girl abused by her mother, a girl who doesn't even fight back.

It's pitiful, makes me look pitiful and I don't want to be pitiful anymore.

“Enough,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. I find that strangely I'm close to tears and it isn't because any of my mother's hits hurt necessarily. The real pain is located somewhere in my chest, suspiciously close to my heart.

I should be used to this by now, damn it, why is she like this? Why has she always been like this?

And why have I always been the way that I am?

Who does she hate me and why do I let her?

My mother is not all that strong and perhaps when I was younger I was too weak to deflect her blows, or too slow to avoid them. But after I grew up I just kept taking it. I would let her beat me until I bled, broken on the floor. I would let her beat me until she was satisfied, and then all I would do was cry and curse and nurse my wounds.

Preparing myself to be beat another day.

Wolf's blazing yellow eyes are a judgment unto me.

“Enough,” I repeat to my mother firmer this time.

“Enough?” My mother struggles against my hold even trying to kick my shins when she can't work her hand free. “I’ll show you enough you stupid, ungrateful, mata! You whore! You stole from me, didn’t you?”

I nod. “I did. I'm going to replace it with the stipend I get from winning the trial.”

My mother pauses. Then laughs cruelly. “You? Win? Please, who are you trying to fool? You’ve never won a thing in your life. You’ve always been a pathetic loser. God, I should have left you in the forest to die when I had the chance.”

I've heard the words before, but this is the first time they register.

It's the first time I don't assume she's speaking metaphorically, and maybe think she means it literally.

"When was I in the forest?" I ask and her eyes blaze with anger.

"How dare you ask me that you thief?" she barks and I glance around. I need to resolve this quickly because we're only attracting more and more attention.

“I will give you the money,” I tell her. “I won my battle so I should be able to afford it, plus a little more for the trouble."

“You better,” she says. “Or I will have them drag you away for theft. And ready yourself. Chief Bertrand is coming for you today.”

“No,” I said. “I’m not going with him. Did you not hear me? I won my first trial. I need to get ready for the second in a few days.”

My mother's lip curls with disdain, but then she stops fighting me for a second. It's like this is the first time she's actually ingesting the words I'm saying.

"You won?" she asks, disbelief stamped on her face.

"Yes, I did," I say. "Ask anyone here if you don't believe me."

My mother doesn't look at the crowd. Her eyes remain on my face, astonishment crawling onto her features.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

But if I thought that would absolve me, I'm sorely mistaken.

A sneer once more twists her lip and she says, "You may have won the first trial, but what makes you think you'll win the second?"

"I'll win," I tell her confidently. "I’m going to be an Elite Soldier, mother. I will repay the money I took from you and more for the burden you've had to bear, taking care of me all these years. I'll give it to you. But I will not marry Chief Bertrand."

Her face heats and her chest swells like she's going to explode. She's furious, especially since I'm not cowering and capitulating to what she wants. This would usually be the part where she beat me into submission but I currently have her hands trapped in mine and she can't extract them.

She steps closer hissing the words so only I can hear. “Then you owe me a lot more than a few coins child.”

“You can have everything I earned today,”

“You owe me more than that,” she says smiling. “I've taken care of you all these years despite everything. I kept my promise. You will pay what I'm owed." She rips her hands out of mine. I let her go ready to block another hit. “And don’t even think about coming back to my home. From now on, you have no mother. You'll be eighteen in a few days. You can rot on the street corner for all I care.”

Even though I expected this, I feel an inexplicable wave of sadness go through me. I swallow it down and nod. “If that’s what you want."

She gives one last sniff of disgust and then storms away. I don't meet the eyes of anyone in the small crowd as I peel myself off the wall, ready to slink onto a private corner.

Suddenly a hand reaches out in front of me with a handkerchief.

I glance up to find the foreign boy's mother, who smiles kindly although she looks somewhat uncomfortable to be interacting with me

“Your cheek is bleeding,” she says simply, softly. Her eyes are nonjudgmental if uncertain of her welcome. It's a kindness I don't expect and I find myself on the verge of doing something humiliating like bursting into loud, raucous tears.

But I hold my emotions tightly, accept the handkerchief with a choked-out thanks, and move away from the throng.

I don't get far.

The minute I'm just a little away from the crowd, about to turn into the street, a hand swings out and grabs me pulling me into a dark alley. Instinctively I strike out with my good elbow, but it's easily caught. I'm spun around to face none other than the crown prince himself.

“Caster.” I tuck my emotions away and steel myself until the ice freezes in my veins. Did he see the display with my mother? I hope he didn't. Although he probably knows my situation, I don't want to receive Caster's pity anymore.

It's even worse than Wolf's judgment.

Caster doesn't look pitying right now. He looks furious. “What on earth do you think you’re doing here?”

“What does it look I’m doing?” I raise an eyebrow. “Clearly, I'm not baking so that takes one thing off the list.”

“This is not the time for your off-colored humor." He sounds exasperated. “Why did you join the trials?”

I shrug. “Because I have to. Not all of us have the luxury of royal birth to assure us that we won't starve. It was either this or marrying Chief Bertrand and I would rather die on the battlefield a thousand times before marrying that evil lump of lard."

He chews his teeth. "You shouldn't have joined the trials. It's dangerous, more so than you can ever imagine."

"I'd be in danger anyway. Unlike you, I'm not assured safety in this life."

"Assured safety? What is wrong with you? Nothing about my life is safe."

In some ways he’s right. The King's son could not become an apprentice or a performer. He had to be an Elite Soldier. It was already decided for him when he was born that he would rule, fight, and likely die for this nation.

But still, he will die in relative luxury, with a full belly and no one invading his body as they please.

"What has gotten into you? You've been strange ever since that day in the Dark Forest."

"I’m fine,” I announce. “Perhaps I’m seeing things clearer than I've seen them in a long time.”

Caster shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Is this about Genya and me?” he says. "You know I would call it off if I could but I need time–"

"This has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me and what I want," I tell him. "For once I’m living my life the way I want. This isn't about anybody else but me."

Of course, that salient point also flies over his head, because he completely ignores it and immediately frowns.

“Is this about your mother?" he says, and there it is. The flash of pity in his eyes that I loathe.

I rip my hand out of his grasp. “That is none of your business”

“Of course it is,” he says cupping my cheek. I shiver despite myself. It seems this old body still craves intimacy from Caster although I've closed my mind and heart off to him long ago.

Perhaps, it's still inundated with the memory of those tender innocent moments we had together.

”She hurt you again," he says. “I heard there was commotion but I came too late to stop her. I'm sorry.”

"You apologize too much as of late," I say. "It's unbecoming of a prince. Let's conclude our meeting here."

"You don’t have to join the Elite Soldiers. I'll help you leave your mother. We can even find a way to be together. You know Genya and my marriage will be purely political."

“It didn't look like that.” I'm unable to keep the bite out of my tone.

"That was purely for show. My father practically demanded it."

“So you mean your marriage will not be consummated?”

Caster's face reddens.

“Of course, it will,” I say with a smile.

“I can still take care of you,” he says. “I have savings, enough to get you a nice cottage. We could…we could still be together.”

I nearly laugh at just how closely this conversation mirrors the one we had in the past. It’s after a different series of events and the location is also different but he presented this offer too in my first life after I already embarrassed myself so many times to get his attention.

Stupidly, I took it. I agreed to be his mistress because I had no other choice.

Because I wanted him more than I wanted to keep my pride. I wanted whatever scrap of love he would give me, cradled every piece of him he let me have.

And that led to my first death.

“You mean for me to become your personal whore?” I dislodge his hand from my cheek. “No, thanks.”

“Adria.” He grabs my arm again accidentally jostling my wounded elbow and I gasp. Suddenly, a shadow falls over us. The sky was already pretty dark but it gets even darker as if all the light has been sucked out of the space.

Caster looks up first and his face goes still as stone.

I follow his gaze, knowing exactly who I'll find but still surprised to see him here.

“Wolf.”

He stands at the entrance of the alley, cooly and calmly watching us.

“Prince." Wolf's tone is more mocking than anything.

“What business do you have with me?”

“My business is not with you,” he responds and his eyes flicker to me.

I could have laughed out loud at the look on Caster’s face. It is, once again, a combination of confusion, anger, and horror.

“What do you want with Adria?” Caster asks.

“It’s personal,” I say in a sickeningly sweet voice. "Let go."

Caster ignores me.

"I'm Adria's lover," he says. “Everything that has to do with Adria must be relayed to me." He uses his princely tone, all commanding and intimidating.

Wolf merely raises one eyebrow.

“Your father and betrothed are looking for you,” Wolf says. “I thought you might want to know that.”

And thus, he delivers a blow Caster can't counter. Because Caster might be able to ignore Genya's call, but he can never ignore his father's.

Caster finally sighs and as proudly as he can, he lets me go. I begin to leave with Wolf, but then he calls out one final time. “Adria.”

I don't answer, don't turn back.

“Adria you don’t have to do this."

I stop and finally turn around to regard him. He has a regretful look on his face and some part of me that still loved him aches at the pain he's in.

“You could die,” he rasps like the words are dragged out of him.

I smile. “So be it.”