𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙀 :
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗣𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗪𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗔 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗢𝗳 𝗚𝗼𝗹𝗱

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑯 𝑶𝑭 𝑹𝑶𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑵 𝑭𝑳𝑬𝑺𝑯 𝑷𝑰𝑳𝑬𝑺 𝑻𝑶 𝑩𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑫 so their dust may carry through the thick air of smoke ravishing homes after home including the people trapped inside. Sylvia found herself standing in a dark alleyway where she last saw her mother, plummet to her bruised knees struggling to catch her breath. She had searched the roads but there was no sign of her. She ran as far as she could until her boots broke in and her aching bloody feet were peeling against the hot sand, and her chest tightened because her heart surpassed its limit. Just running and running until she found herself back in the same alleyway.

        It was a loop. A tormenting loop of loneliness and death.

        But the trail of dried-up blood was new. . .?

        Sylvia followed its trail to a headless body rotting with maggots feasting on their dead flesh of ash grey. Cuts along her breast and inner thighs that were pried open were deep with yellow pus oozing and she wore the same sheer dress as her mother, now tattered and ripped with force. The same birthmark on her right thigh. The same gold anklet around her ankle. And then a head not too far away — a head that wore the face of her beautiful mother, soulless eyes staring back with maggots crawling from her pale lips.

        Death had taken her beautiful soul and damned her to darkness, an eternity alone and awaiting an impossible dream.

        Sylvia snapped open her eyes and lunged forward from the thick sheets weighing her down. Drenched in cold sweat, shaking, heart pulsating, she scanned the dark room with paranoia that her mother may have followed her here. She was not here. There was nothing but a lonesome ache so painful it formed into salty tears screaming to cry out. To mourn a death her mind conjured.

        And it was so real she was sure it was true.

Was it possible?

Could it be possible?

        Could her mother be — no.

        Sylvia refused to think otherwise. Her mother was coming as promised and she would remain in King's Landing or Dragonstone until then. No decree or man would stop her.

        "My lady," on call, Meya was at her side ready to assist her in any way. Her cold hand pressed against Sylvia's forehead, removing white strands from her sweaty skin. "Another dream, was it? Do you wish to talk about it, or would you like to remain in silence?"

        "I'd rather be alone."

        A crease formed between her thin brows. "My lady — "

        "Please," Sylvia begged. "Please leave me be."

        And that she did.

        Shoving the thought deep into the back of her mind, Sylvia hugged the sheets over her head. Only able to hear her shaky breath, she forced her eyes shut. But she couldn't sleep. So instead, she lie there in bed praying to many Gods for a miracle. Many miracles to come until dawn broke the sky and she found herself outside of River Gate near Fish Market.

        Sylvia stood at the center of the port like a mad woman shaken by a false dream, scanning the bustling crowd and checking each face that belonged to her mother. No food on her stomach, no energy to conserve, no spec of sanity as the nightmare continued to feed off her thoughts — yet was convinced her mother would arrive today. Maybe not now but sometime today she was sure they would reunite.

        Like what Prince Viseron said about Dragon Dreams; once cast, it becomes true. Rare but common. There were no dragons present last night but it could hold the same value as a dream with dragons.

        "How long must we wait? I mean, what exactly are we waiting for?" Lady Clarice had the nerve to complain. Soon as word got out that Sylvia left the Red Keep almost without a sound, she and Lady Anya rushed to provide their company as promised. "When I heard you were outside of River Gate, I was under the impression we were to enjoy the breeze along the shore on a boat filled with cakes and tea. Not. . .this."

       Cakes and tea?

        "Who gave you that impression?" Sylvia asked with genuine curiosity. She scanned each face offboarding and boarding ships. While her words were present, her mind was very much elsewhere.

        Without a word, many eyes shifted to Lady Anya slouched in her cushioned seat planted in the middle of the loading deck, fanning herself ferociously with no care of anyone's directions. However because of four armed palace guards securing their bubble and patrolling knights keeping them in close view, many simply walked around. Their glares and curiosities were noted.

        There were two more seats huddled, all filled except for Sylvia and Lady Clarice and their attendants.

        Lady Anya jumped from her seat with a gasp. "Whatever was said, was not me! It was not. I swear it!"

        "Well, it had to come from somewhere." Said Lady Clarice. "Did you not say Lady Sylvia snuck off from the castle to enjoy a light breeze across the sea?"

        "That is not what I said. .  .exactly."

        Sylvia zoned out of their conversation going back and forth and caught Lady Mercia exiting her carriage and walking toward them, accompanied by her attendant. She wore her curly hair free with two medium-sized braids decorated in gold jewelry, her swamp green dress perfect against her complexion. A raw beauty that always stole Sylvia's attention no matter the day.

        She stood straight, her posture just how Meya taught, instinctively checking her black dress for rips and stains and touching her hair that was somewhat neatly styled. A sense of excitement stirred whenever she was graced with her presence. Such trivial matters as her mother suddenly cleared in a moment of haze.

       Meya, who stood at her lady's side, followed Sylvia's attention but said nothing. She snapped away her gaze and could still feel her smile stretching her thin lips, enough to showcase her obviousness.

        "Ugh," Lady Clarice covered both her nose and mouth with an embroidered napkin far too nice to display. "The smell of shit and sea is nauseating. I have been out here for far too long, the value of my dress declines when viewed by each poor set of eyes."

        "I fear I might become one of the smallfolk." Lady Anya added, and Sylvia felt her wide eyes burning through her head as if to navigate around her feelings to judge if she should laugh or remain quiet. Lady Clarice certainly allowed the joke, her laughter low and warm.

        Sylvia continued identifying each passing face, fighting herself not to look back at Lady Mercia. "You both can leave. I didn't force anyone to be here and came on my own accord." She reminded.

        "But what of you?" Lady Anya asked.

        "Yes, we can't leave you here out of all places." Lady Clarice added with disgust. Didn't think she cared so much about Sylvia given each struggle to address her as 'lady'. "We are your friends and I think we should stay together."

        "I won't leave until I meet who I came here for," Sylvia told them. "There are knights at every corner, Meya accompanies me, and Lady Mercia is here. I'll be fine. Plus, just because we're friends doesn't mean we spend every second together. We'll see each other when we do."

        If Lady Clarice was working with her father to gather dirt on Sylvia, now wasn't the time. Not when there were too many faces to uncover.

        They tried to stick it out for as long as they could but left soon after just before the sun began setting and Lady Mercia took their place. She didn't say much after formal greeting. Neither did she complain or ask the purpose of them staking out at the port, and stood silent by Sylvia's side watching the ships board and the people come to life. By her eyes jumping around from the same faces Sylvia inspected, she knew the girl was trying to help or understand without outwardly asking.

        Sylvia peered down at something soft and warm being placed in her hand and saw it was only bread. A piece of it that Lady Mercia ripped, handed from her attendant who backed away with her head lowered. "Eat." She demanded softly.

        Sylvia lowered her hand with the bread still clutched. "I'm not hungry."

        "Bullshit. We have been here all day, you longer than anyone I'm surprised you've yet fainted. I know you're hungry. You eat more than any lady I know." Lady Mercia leaned closer, her curls tickling Sylvia's exposed shoulder. "There are people who worry for you as I do. People who have much to lose if anything happens to you on their watch, and have begged me to talk some sense into you. If not hungry for roasted duck stew or fruits or anything you fancy, then eat this bread and I'll leave you be."

        Meya tore away her gaze when Sylvia glanced over her shoulder. She was the only person who had much to lose if anything happened to her, and it didn't sound out of her nature to ask someone else to do her job after many failed attempts. In truth, Sylvia was staving. Her belly had gotten used to eating three meals a day and more if she asked that she felt on the brink of death, but this dream suppressed the need to care for herself.

         She'd be no use to anyone if she hadn't the energy, and decided to accept the bread. "You don't have to be here, you know? Whatever you heard this day entails, you heard wrong." Sylvia told her, chewing off a warm piece that melted along her tongue.

        "Yes, but I want to be here. It's far better than stuck in the castle listening to the same problems over and over again. Well. . .I don't mind the gossip but I like when I'm with you." Lady Mercia tore a piece from the half-sliced bread and ate it in small bites at such a bold confession.

        "Me too," Sylvia admitted like the fool she was and caught her small smile before it faded.

        "Why are we here? Does something trouble you? Are you in trouble?"

        Sylvia finished her piece and wiped her hands, shaking her head. "My mother. False dreams of a false faith continue to haunt me, and I'm no longer patient to wait another day. It's been too long. . ." She shared the truth. "I'm tired of waiting behind castle walls, mesmerizing century-old lessons that have nothing to do with me, becoming a lady to marry high — when I should be here. My focus should be here. Right where I promised I would be; waiting for my mother to find me."

        Lady Mercia simply nodded. "What's she like? Your mother?"

        "She's beautiful. Intense. Honest. A bit mad. The kindest woman I know who would not only kill for me but die for me as well if it meant I'd be safe from danger. She's my voice of reason, my ultimate protector, the first person in life to love me without fault. I'm never truly mad when she pushes me for better or judges my heart for being too sensitive, too open, and too welcoming of those whose intentions weren't clear. She may go about her wants in the wrong way and is harsh when it comes to love, but she's the only family I have — until now, of course."

        "Sounds like someone I would like to meet." Lady Mercia said and a small smile stretched across Sylvia's face.

        "You would like her."

        "If she's anything like you, I don't doubt it."

        "Try not to like her too much." Sylvia chuckled at her excitement. "She goes for pretty faces like yours, and I hate sharing anyone with my mother."

        She locked an arm around Sylvia's, resting her head against her shoulder as if to assure her. A sweet scent emanated from her healthy hair and skin and couldn't be helped but inhale numerous times. "I would never give her the impression. I'm quite content with who I have in my life. . .though your jealousy would be an interesting matter."

        "Ahh, you'd bait me?"

        "A dragon's fury is like no other. My curiosity to witness it firsthand grows strong."

        Sylvia felt her growing smile. She couldn't help her hand placing on top, caressing Lady Mercia's soft skin. Neither she mind the roughness of harsh labor. The two of them watched the warm colors in the sky as the sun continued setting and burning lanterns brightened the darkness of night, still analyzing each face that passed them. By then, Sylvia's feet ached and her eyes grew heavy with exhaustion, and the determination to wait for her mother started to fade.

        She jolted when a hand touched her shoulder and calmed herself when it was only Meya. She apologized quickly for startling her. "My lady, we have been here for far too long I suggest we head back. It's not safe at night. If you wish, we can come back tomorrow and wait again."

        In truth, Sylvia wanted to wait just a bit longer out of desperation but knew Lady Mercia would neglect her needs to wait at her side and she didn't wish that on her. The girl was already struggling to stay awake, her heavy head constantly bobbing back and forth.

        Perhaps today wasn't the day of her mother's return. There was still tomorrow, the day after, and so forth. Surely if her mother were to arrive while Sylvia wasn't present, she would know where to look first on King's Landing or Dragonstone. . .hopefully so.

        Sylvia accepted defeat by lowering her head and could have sworn Meya whispered a 'thank heavens' under her breath, or it was said out of another's mouth passing by. "Alright, fine." She mumbled.

        Lady Mercia offered a comforting smile as she took her hand with a light squeeze. "She will find you if you don't find her first. I'll be on the lookout too."

        Her words brought comfort but it wasn't enough to extinguish the underlying fear that the dream of her mother's death was true and Sylvia refused to accept it.

        "Please. Anything will help my children and I. Anything. Please."

        A mother cradling a young babe in her arms was on her knees, begging every passerby for coins and food. Her two young children stood in silence with their eyes on their bare dirtied feet, one hugging her frail arms around her tiny body in long rags with holes and far too loose. They were easily ignored, treated as if neither existed.

        Yet to Sylvia, they did. In another universe, their faith would have been hers and even before, she was just a sneeze away from it.

        Sylvia halted from making their way to the carriage and everyone followed in pursuit. "Meya how much do we have? Is there still bread left?" She asked her attendant who followed her attention to the family. If she had an opinion, she kept it to herself.

        "There is, yes. About half a loaf."

        "And enough silver?"

        There was some hesitation before she replied. "Just a moment, my lady." Meya, who was in charge of carrying a pouch filled of silver and gold coins whenever they left the castle, untied the pouch hooked to her belt. Just as she was opening the pouch to count what was left, Syliva took it from her hands.

        "That will do." She took the half bread Lady Mercia's attendant was carrying, which was already offered by her lady's order, and caught Lady Mercia's heavy-eyed attention. "Go ahead. I will meet you in the carriage."

        Lady Mercia lowered her head into a bow and left with her attendant without a complaint. A guard accompanied their journey, the other stayed back. Once Sylvia saw her safe to her destination, she left to purchase a blanket from a merchant whose hands trembled the entire transaction once spotting her white hair and the guard who practically glared.

        "Perhaps you should stay here and I take this to them on your behalf? The girl looks sick and I don't wish you to contract anything." Meya suggested already taking the blanket from the merchant.

        Sylvia took the blanket from her hands. "I will do it myself."

        "You shouldn't risk your health, my lady. Certainly for no smallfolk. It isn't wise."

        "I'm sure I will be fine. The blood of dragons will protect me from a little cold." Meya didn't appreciate the humor in Sylvia's tone but didn't oppose anymore given her words would go in and out the ear.

        The mother lifted her head and her eyes immediately caught the color of her hair and lowered her head. "M-my lady — no, your highness, forgive me for being in your way," with her head still lowered, she grabbed her children and stepped out of the way.

        "You aren't in my way. I came here for you." Sylvia didn't bother correcting her title and handed her the bread first.

        She was hesitant at first but was quick to take the bread, ripping it to pieces with her babe still cradled and offered the biggest pieces to her children. Their skinny fingers took the bread and shoved it in their mouths, barely chewing as they swallowed.

        Then she offered the pouch. "This is all I have on me. It should be more than enough for shelter, new clothes on your back and proper shoes for the children. Even a good doctor to look at the girl."

        The woman broke into a cry. "This is far too much, your highness. I can buy small land with this. I — you," Sylvia's hand was grabbed without warning by the woman who pressed her sweaty forehead against the back of her hand. Meya and the guard were quick to step in and push the woman away until Sylvia stopped them. She was no threat. "You are too kind, your highness. Bless your soul. The princess with a heart of gold, that you are."

        Sylvia kneeled so the woman wouldn't have to strain her neck as she was still on her knees. "You grace me with such a title, but I'm no princess. Just a lady." She inspected the babe resting peacefully in their mother's arms and offered the blanket to keep them warm.

        "I wouldn't know the difference. An Angel comes in all forms."

        Sylvia only smiled. She kept her distance from the girl but the boy reached out first to touch her white hair. Meya stepped in swiftly, blocking the boy and Sylvia allowed her this win, though she allowed the boy to feel the sleeves of her dress as she helped the mother wrap the blanket around the babe.

        As they were walking back to the carriage, Sylvia felt herself lunge forward when someone rushed by. It happened all too fast that she could have sworn she felt hands flat against her back than someone's shoulder — and lost her balance, sending her straight to the ground.

       The palace guard unsheathed his sword and called out to the back side of a man. "HEY, YOU STOP!" When the perpetrator didn't stop, the guard left his post and went chasing after them either to bring him back or slay him.

        "My lady," Meya rushed to help Sylvia up. Luckily there was minimal damage from the impact that she knew of, but Meya wasn't easily convinced as she checked every inch of her face. "Are you alright? Are you hurt? Is there any pain?"

        Sylvia rubbed her palms together to wipe off minerals stuck in her hands while Meya patted down her dress. "I'm fine. This is nothing. Accidents happen." She assured, though she couldn't shake the feeling that something felt off yet didn't know why the feeling came about.

        Just a burning sensation along the back of her neck like someone was watching her. But when checking her surroundings, nothing seemed out of place. Everyone minded their own.

        "I was right. I told you nightfall brings all sorts of chaos that goes unnoticed. We must get you and Lady Mercia back to the castle immediately. For who knows, maybe a monkey shall appear next and drag you by the ankles."

        Sylvia chuckled. "That would be the best entertainment I've had my entire life, I almost look forward to it."

        Her thin lips pressed thinner. "Of course, it would. It doesn't surprise me one bit you would welcome chaos with open arms, my lady. Your dress is all dirty. Ugh, he should've watched where the hell he was going! Does he not know who you are? The Crown shall have his head for this. . ." Meya suddenly gasped when reaching below Sylvia's dress. "Your shoe! You're missing a shoe!"

        Sylvia didn't realize until she pointed it out. "It's there," she pointed near the wheel of a merchant's stand selling fish. She did her best to contain her laughter, finding her anger and panic somewhat cute and appreciative.

        Meya spun to grab the shoe when a large hand clamped itself around Sylvia's mouth, dragging her back into the shadows of bricked buildings while everyone was distracted. "Say a word and I'll slit your throat." An unfamiliar voice demanded.

       Even if she tried — which she had — her screams were muffled. Screams that quickly turned into a struggling breath with their arm hooked tight around Sylvia's neck, cutting off her air supply. And with their hand also covering her nose along with her mouth, panic quickly rose. She thrashed but they were much bigger and stronger.

        The light got further and a cold breeze chilled her bones. Away from the people and Meya's worrisome voice calling out for her lady.

        Sylvia coughed air back into her lungs once freed, finding herself yet again being pushed to the ground of a small dark room. She scurried to the nearest wall to inspect her kidnapper and assess the situation. One shadow became two. One with some muscle and hairy by the little lighting the moon offered through the small window, the other was as skinny as a stick.

        "Where's Little Johnny?" The skinny one gurgled saliva up his throat and spat it near his ragged boots. A blade glistened in his hand.

        "Losing the guard as we speak. He'll be here shortly." The other replied.

        "There isn't much time. We start without him."

        Sylvia searched around the room for the nearest weapon or anything useful. There was hay stacked to the ceiling and buckets lying around. Few were empty, most lingering the stench of shit. Her nose riled in disgust feeling something mushy beneath her feet, the one without a shoe. It was far too dark to see anything, having to feel along the wall and shuffle to make out her surroundings. To make it to the door.

        A figure rushed toward Sylvia and she scattered with a gasp, already with her fist up as Yanis taught her. "Come near me and you will die." Her threats didn't sound as confident that her voice wavered, but no lies were spared. "Touch me and you will die. If I dare smell your stench on my skin or within my air, you will die. If you let me go — "

        Sylvia screamed out when a fistful of her hair came into possession. With a hard yank, her head jerked back which left her neck exposed and her body in a weird bending position. She tried slipping her fingers through his grip to free herself, scratching at his hand and tugging at his ripped sleeves. He remained unbothered by her desperate attempts as he gained control of the situation when something sharp pressed against her pulsing flesh.

        She froze.

        Though his face was hidden underneath a cloth bag with uneven holes cut through for eyes, Sylvia felt his satisfactory grin. "Not so troubling now, huh?" The blade was far too close she feared swallowing. "My terms are simple; strip and give me all the jewels and gold your body harbors."

        "If we like what we see, your cunt will warm my cock as gratitude for your service." A deep voice chuckled somewhere from within the room. It left a sickening pit in her belly.

        "Do as we say and we'll let you live. If satisfied by your obedience, we'll let you live. . .Though nothing is ever guaranteed." His dark eyes had a hint of green. The only color easily distinguished.

        Sylvia remained strong despite her fear seeping in. "I strip for no one. Certainly for no man who doesn't have the balls to show me his face."

        "If I show you, you die."

        "If I die, everyone dies." She continued to stoke any fear that would force him to release her. "The King will show no mercy as he burns this city to the ground with his dragon. No man, woman, or child will be spared upon his wrath until your screams burn louder."

        A mere flash of panic and fear gave hope her freedom wasn't just an option but guaranteed. Sylvia gritted through her teeth as she was dragged further into the beaming light. She was released immediately and the man scattered back. "Fuck. Fucking hell, you fucking idiot!" A stressful hand ran across his clothed face before pointing a finger toward the hairy man. "Your orders were to procure a noblewoman, any fucking woman offboarding a ship. Why would you choose the only bitch with white fucking hair? Do you not know who the fuck she is? Whose blood runs in her veins?"

        He blinked. "Should I? Just strip the old Dornish hag and slit her throat so we can move on to the next. I reckon fifty pounds for the dress alone."

        The man grabbed him by the back of his neck and pushed him closer to view Sylvia. "Does she look old to you? Dornish to you, you ass wag?"

        Realization settled and Sylvia knew they knew her. At least her family ties, not her personally. "I-I couldn't see. You know I have terrible vision! This is why I told you to do it and not me. I thought she was pissin' old! Her accent confused me."

        Their whispers carried back and forth. Neither knew what to do now that they had kidnapped and threatened a member of House Targaryen, but Sylvia knew freeing her was not an option. Neither did she wish to stick around and find out. The door was left unattended as they continued to talk amongst themselves. Sylvia chose this moment to push off her feet and run for her freedom. Nearly pushing open the door, the cool breeze spiking the hairs along her arms and the taste of freedom raw on her tongue, a hand grabbed her hair and jerked her back into pure darkness.

        "You fucking bitch — " Sylvia swung her arms like a wild child, grabbing and scratching whatever in range. This panicked him to release her but she didn't stop fighting. Her fingers grabbed the thick cloth which hid his face and tore it off.

        Finally, a face pieced together his green eyes.

        His stiff greasy hair fell when he momentarily lowered his head, puffing out an irritated breath. "You shouldn't have done that. You've seen my face. Now I can't let you leave."

        "You never were letting me go."

        "I was considering it. But now," the knife flipped in his hand with a careless shrug. "I guess, you'll never find out. Bog, grab her. We'll finish the job — both jobs — and slit her pretty throat. We'll be far from King's Landing, across the sea before your body is found. Before the King burns the city."

        A hand grabbed Sylvia's arm and pulled her back against someone's chest where another hand ripped the delicate stitchings of her dress. More of her shoulder was left exposed by the quick action. With a gasp, she spun and slapped the man so hard that her fingers tingled against his rock-hard face. He retaliated and struck her back. Her vision blurred momentarily, her face burning with fire. Wet substance leaked from her nose and a metallic taste sunk into her tastebuds.

        Not once in Sylvia's life had she the need to defend herself against someone twice her size. All her life she was taught to hunt animals. It came in handy when she was hungry or needed quick coins to save up and hopefully leave that little city that held her back from the world. Yanis corrected her stance often but only to handle a weapon, not throw a punch.

        She didn't have the skill to take on two men — nearly one man without a proper weapon in hand — but she refused to give up. Though a bastard at heart, royalty was in her blood. And the blood of dragons, this house so proudly proclaimed. With faith on her side, Sylvia didn't need the skill when she had what she needed; adrenaline and the will to live.

        "You're quite the looker despite whatever shit is on your face." He grabbed the fabric and ripped it further off her arm, exposing her right breast. "I bet your dragon cunt is pretty too."

        Sylvia felt around in her hair and wrapped her fingers around a hair ornament. She was thankful Meya disobeyed her wish and added it anyway. "Too bad you won't get to see it." Before he had a chance to process anything, she stabbed the sharp end in his eye.

        The man threw her to the ground and clutched his bleeding eye, his screams loud enough that someone would be able to track them. Something glistened a few feet away from him. A knife. Sylvia rushed off her feet toward the weapon and tightened her grasp around the handle before swinging at the skinny man who tried to attack her. He ducked her first swing, somehow grabbing hold of her arm and kicked her in the stomach. It took all the air from her lungs, sending her back against the stack of hay.

        A dark figure rushed her and Sylvia was quick to avoid whoever it was, pushing off the hay and free-swinging the knife in her hand. By the mixture of a cry and a deep grunt, the blade sliced something. It wasn't detrimental given they kept coming back no matter where she attacked. she was then snuck upon and held hostage by both her arms locked behind her back. His breath hot against her neck as he prompted the other to grab her legs so they could gut her like a pig, but was unable to while kicking forward and wild with no sense of direction.

        But suddenly, her feet bounced off the belly of the figure before her. He lost his footing, tripping and twisting with flailing arms over a bucket where he met the ground, flat on his belly. Now silent and unmoving.

        "Bog?" The man who held her hostage called out. His chest hammered against Sylvia's backside when he'd gotten no response. "Bog? Answer me you fat f — " A painful groan filled his throat at the impact of headbutting him, which forced him to release Sylvia.

        Despite aching all over — especially the back area of her head and her stomach each time she inhaled — Sylvia seized the moment and jammed the knife deep into his thigh muscle. Blood soaked her hands red and his piercing cry intensified as Sylvia quickly removed the blade and stabbed him again. This time the blade pierced his skinny hand, failing to block the attack.

        She tackled him to the ground before he had a chance to attack her with his knife that he lost. They struggled to gain control over each other, rolling back and forth in filth, screaming deep from the gut at each other like feral animals asserting their territory. It didn't stop Sylvia from stabbing whatever was available when exposed. It was not an equal fight as she saw it, nor did she view the man as any lesser than prey. And she, the predator. To her, this was just a regular hunt without Yanis' assistance. Quite the challenge to beat but nevertheless determined to survive and cash in her prize.

        There was enough blood puddled beneath them to create a river by the time he finally gave up. His last breath remained uncertain and Sylvia didn't wish to risk it, so she continued to stab him until every inch of his body was punctured with bleeding slits. She did the same with the other man. The metallic taste of their blood seeped between her white teeth, wet and dripping along her face, stained into her once beautiful, now shredded gown — she could tell by multiple strands that her hair was drenched. It even momentarily blinded her but she pushed through.

        Her mother was right. Men were no different than animals. If anything, their flesh was much tender. But no one mentioned how exhausting as it was exhilarating to burden the weight of another's life in her hands. The action alone was tiresome. How easy it was to release her frustration — another day her mother hadn't come. Another day left alone in such an unfamiliar world. Another day watching over her shoulder from powerful men wanting her head on a silver platter. Another day she didn't have until she's to wed a husband and be forced away from where she needed to be, forced into a domestic lifestyle that was also unfamiliar to her. Another problem after another.

        When would it end? When would it get easier? When would life stop moving for a moment and allow her to adjust on her own time?

        With no energy to stand after exerting herself, Sylvia slumped over the man's bleeding belly and sobbed. The knife slipped her numbed fingers. Her body ached all over even more now her arms. She needed a moment to not only catch her breath but to feel.

        The door pushed open and a much younger and unfamiliar man stood dumbfounded as his eyes adjusted to the horror displayed. Possibly the Little Johnny they were waiting for.

        Sylvia's shoulders dropped with a heavy sigh, eyes still red with fresh tears. "Fuck. I forgot about you." She certainly didn't have the energy for another fight, but if it came down to it then she would push through.

        He scattered back with fear. "What the f — " Blood gurgled around the blade of a sword forced through his head and out his mouth. His body fell limp once the blade was retrieved.

        Sylvia grabbed the knife with a bending blade and jumped to her feet all in one go that she had gotten lightheaded. Blood pounded thick in her ears and her fingers trembled around the wet handle. She wiped any remaining tears that were easily blended into the blood scattered across her face and readied herself for another fight.

        Relief flourished in her system once the owner of the bloodied sword revealed themselves and Sylvia lowered the knife. "Viseron," his name trembled pathetically off her tongue she knew her mother would be ashamed. She would hug him if the action wasn't deemed unfit and if he wasn't a prince.

        He entered the room on guard with his sword steady in both hands, dressed in simple clothing hidden beneath a black cloak. Ser John entered behind in similar clothing — not of his usual white armor and cape — and wasted no time sweeping the room.

        "Is it just you, my lady?" Ser John asked, carefully checking behind the knocked-over stack of hay and wherever else his vision made out.

        "Yes. Just me."

        He shot her a surprised look. His thoughts remained unknown but given the display of bodies, he doubted her capability to handle two men by herself. The blood she showered in said otherwise. His eyes fell somewhere below and quickly turned away with his back facing them, now watching the door ready to attack on sight. Sylvia didn't understand his rigid reaction until realizing her breast was exposed. She grabbed the loose fabric and covered what she could by holding it up.

        Sylvia's chin was grabbed and snatched in Prince Viseron's direction. "Are you hurt? Where are you bleeding?" He scanned her face, his voice deeply concerned for her wellbeing and his violet eyes ranging between many emotions being discovered for the first time.

        She swallowed thickly. "I-I'm unharmed."

        Still holding her chin, his thumb followed the red direction from her nose. The subtle touch caused Sylvia to jerk with a hiss. Confirming his suspicion and calling her out on a lie.

        "It's not that bad. I nearly forgot about it." Sylvia attempted to free herself but his grip was quite strong. Somehow she knew he was questioning her new entire, nowhere near convinced she remained unscathed. "The blood isn't mine, my prince. I am okay. I swear it."

        His brows rose, stunned. "This was you?"

        "I made a mess of things, I know. Don't tell my handmaiden or she'll bitch how unladylike I appear." She chuckled. "Half the time I wasn't thinking; I just knew it had to be me who stands last."

        Prince Viseron stood nearly out of breath like he had been running and it left the question of how he knew where Sylvia was. That she had been kidnapped. His hand dropped from her face to her neck with gentle strokes and shivered upon the action, stroking the question from her mind. His lips parted as he devoured every inch of Sylvia's blood-covered body from head to toe, and it was known he very much liked what he saw. If he had a favorite look, this was it.

        "A woman you fucking are. Just as I dreamed — no, this is even better," he spoke in a low voice that sounded like random mumbles. "What choice do I have but to give you what you've been haunting me for? And fuck, it's yours. It's all yours to do as you please."

        Sylvia didn't know what to make out of his mumbling. She had no idea what he was talking about nor did she have the energy to dissect it. "I don't know what you're saying but I'd like to leave." She removed herself from his touch to and headed toward the door with or without him. "If I spend another moment in this room I might pass out."

A U T H O R S N O T E

— Many apologies for such a late update. Aside from being quite busy with competitions and practices. A last-minute idea consumed me and I had no choice but to write it which are these next two chapters. As I said before (I think), you can outline all you want but once you start writing, the story tells itself. Also perfectionism is a crippling disease I suffer from. However, I'm happy to be back. I'm happy you're still here and ready for more and I'm happy to show you more !

— Thank you again for reading! Your messages have truly motivated me to keep going more than you know. Choreographing fight scenes is a bit challenging for me, but I'm happy with what I came out with.