A glass bottle shatters against the side of a stone building and laughter erupts as glass rains down onto the dirt. On the other side of the street, a harlot advertises her goods and none of the men appear to be takers. She curses them, spits on the boots of the one at the front of the crowd, and flounces back into the tavern with broken windows on both floors. The men giggle as if that was what they were hoping for.

Either side of the street we ride down is clogged with small market stands—people selling goods while others cook rat meat and sell that as the finest beef of the west. There aren't any takers standing by, waiting for that meat to be cooked and I don't blame them. The smell here is rancid.

Every repulsive stench finds its way into my nose. Feces, urine, rotten meat, blood, molded cheese, and spoiled milk. There is more where that came from but I can barely get past the first few scents to recognize the next one.

Ducoria is not a place I would want to live. But the same does not go for the prince. He's practically beaming. His shoulders are relaxed, his posture is straight, and when he smiles at those that he passes and they frown, he finds himself in more glee. I don't understand.

Smoke from barrels clouds the streets that have turned to night, the only light being what comes from shady taverns and brothels that keep their candles dim to avoid anyone recognizing familiar company. Through the smoke, people run back and forth across the dirt streets packed with mud or...feces. I can't tell.

Market stands are cluttered with hanging blankets and tattered knapsacks to block out shady deals. The roads curve and bend to mold with those market stands and anyone trying to get through here with a wagon will find themselves stuck in the mud.

I keep a close eye out for those that step too close to my horse and the satchel around my body. One of my hands is wrapped around the leather strap in case anyone tries to pull it directly from my shoulder and take me along with it. I've already received a few lookers, they study our saddlebags and the light weight of our food supply. We've nearly run out and not only are we here to find the third box but also to stock up for the rest of the journey.

After Ducoria, we'll head to Lona in search of the final box and after that, we're to travel back to the capital and deliver what the king sought. There's no telling what will happen after that, if we'll be allowed to stay or if he'll force us to retrieve something that he's too busy to take himself.

We've been traveling for three weeks now, have scoured the kingdom from one end to the next in search of these boxes. I doubt we'll be rewarded for the danger we've put ourselves in.

Renit finds an inn that's in worse shape than the one in Flitsea and pays for a room with one bed, two stalls for the horses, and a meal for the night. But we will not be sleeping, at least that is my suspicion. The night life here is much more prominent than the chaos during daylight hours and Renit will not waste a second on finding the box and stocking up on supplies for the rest of our journey.

The inn room is much smaller than the one in Flitsea, there's not a separate space for the tub except for a curtain that is tattered and torn in more than one spot. I won't be bathing there tonight and neither will Renit, he frowns at the condition of our room before the door is shut behind us.

"It's not the best," he sighs with a frown. The bed is small, barely big enough for two people, and the slanted roof leaves for short ceilings towards either wall. We can barely stand at full height without hitting our heads or bumping into each other. But this was the best that was available, apparently. As if there are no other inns in a city like this. None that make you pay to breathe, at least.

"We won't be here very long," I offer. "Who knows what's living in these walls." I scrunch up my nose and Renit does the same, mimicking my disgust. Neither of us want to be here.

Renit hides the two boxes underneath the bed and stuffs extra bedding down there to make it look like there's nothing but trash. Then, he hands off a satchel to me and carries one himself so we can buy supplies. "Ready to explore?" He asks with a grin. He's hardly been so carefree.

I shake my head as he opens the door for me and allows us out into the cramped hallway. "I hope you know what you're getting into. This city looks terrible."

With a quirked raise of his brow, Renit places a hand on my back and leads me back down the stairs towards the messy streets beyond. I'm not ready. I'll never be ready to explore a place like this, not when I haven't been properly trained to fight for myself when someone threatens to kill me for simply breathing in their direction.

As soon as that door opens into the street, someone runs by with a satchel in their arms, glancing behind them wildly. A small crowd chases after the man that disappears into an alleyway, never to be seen again. At least he had the wit to steal during the night when no one could see his face.

"Welcome to Ducoria," Renit mumbles.

My boot splashes into a warm puddle and before I can cringe, someone is bumping into me before continuing on. A slight tug on my satchel results and I grab onto the strap quickly to keep them from vaulting it over my head. I glare at them but they don't turn back around to reveal who they are.

Everyone here looks the same, there is no way for me to watch for thieves as they're likely all going to do the exactly same thing he did. I put an angered look on my face, hopefully that will be enough to keep someone from tugging on my belongings any further.

Many of the stands selling food are overpriced once they realize Renit and I are carrying enough money to stock ourselves for another few weeks. When the price was once cheap for a homeless woman pulling a small wooden cart with her, it became much more when Renit and I approached each stand with our armor, leather, and weapons.

These people know how to spot a rich resident of the capital before they can identify who is trying to steal their goods.

Renit shoves off a man that bumped into him, sending the thief skittering to the side and slamming against a trash bin. The thief curses but when he looks back to see Renit's mass, quickly continues on. "This place is terrible," I comment once we're walking again.

The prince shrugs. "It's not so bad. These people are just trying to survive. Same as us."

"They're stealing every change they get. We're almost out of money and we can't afford to be paying their prices." I keep my voice hushed as we pass a small restaurant with the owner standing outside, sweeping off the front steps covered in dried vomit and blood. He glares at us through lowered brows, eyes immediately darting to the full satchel Renit carries with him.

I quickly avert my stare. But I doubt he could catch the glimpse of amber watching him as the streets are so dark.

We turn down another street and pass by residents standing around a barrel lit with fire. Their conversation dies for a moment but once we're down the street and out of earshot, their hushed tones echo across the stone buildings once more.

This is worse than the slums. Most of the buildings here don't have doors or windows, they've long been removed and trampled over as people tried to steal what they believed belonged to them. The stone is a dull grey, near black, as there is no one here to clean it. But there's one thing that separates Ducoria from Lona.

A city like this is full of people that are too lazy to take the chance at having a better life. They steal because it's easier than making a living, they drink themselves wasted because that dulls the pain.

In Lona, those people have already lived a great life. So great they were rejected for it and after years of training and using their sharp wit, are out for vengeance. There are no assassins here, no banished warriors, or well-known thieves. The lowlifes are here while in Lona, there's more death and hate than one could ever imagine.

Renit's father thrives on these cities. To him, these are the goldmines that will hold all his worth. The cruel people in Lona are on his side but the same cannot be said for Ducoria. With the way they look at Renit and myself, they would pummel us if they knew where our loyalties lied. Ducoria is against the king and all his cruelty, they're just trying to survive. My heart softens for them, only until someone else bumps into me and I shove them to the side when the tug on my satchel is enough to jerk my neck.

I don't like Ducoria.

"We can pay their prices. After this, we'll only need to have enough money to pay for an inn room in Lona. That's basically all we have left anyway," Renit goes on to say. Like me, he keeps his voice from rising too high. Others might hear.

A tavern door to our left opens and a man is thrown out, directly into a puddle that could be urine. Renit pulls me around the man, grunting and swearing underneath his breath, and continues on without a second glance. "How can you be so calm about this place?" I hiss.

In the distance, a child wails and a mother tries her best to hush the crying. I don't want to know what happens to those that can't keep their children contained. Who would want to raise a child in a place like this? Trash litters the alleys, not to mention the residents string up their kills on the side of the street and strip them bare to be eaten for later.

Deer, bear, squirrel, rabbit—anything they were able to shoot with an arrow. It's all hanging on the sides of the street, near a fire barrel. My eyes begin to water as the smell of rotted deer guts finds its way into my nose. The buzzing of flies has me moving faster, as does the quiet snarl of cats trying to decide who gets most of what's left.

"I like Ducoria, the people are survivors. You'll meet resourceful people here," Renit explains.

"You like this place? That's impossible, I can't see you anywhere other than the capital." I sink into his side to make room for another hooded man that doesn't look at me nor does he reach for my satchel this time. I was too far away and noticed him too early.

"I used to come here all the time, a hundred years ago or so." The corner of his mouth turns up in a smile. "The fighting pits are exciting."

I arch a brow. "The fighting pits?"

"Care to see one?" He stops, already searching before I've given my answer. I don't have to, he jerks his chin towards one of the alleys, urging for me to follow. Taking one last look at three men glancing our way, huddled together and whispering, I decide to follow after him before I'm their next target. If we aren't already.

Renit leads me down alleys filled with trash and more animal guts until reaching the back door to a tavern. Frequented, as the trash has piled up in the back and the blood-stained cloths appear to be what takes up most of the space.

Down the alley, a woman takes a swig from a flask and looks on, like she's waiting for someone that will never come. That's the last thing I can focus on once Renit opens the door and I'm immediately hit by the stench of blood and sweat. My eyes water but I follow Renit's stalking frame and through the crowd of shouting, hollering witches.

I slink through, getting a mix of more odors that I didn't want, until we're standing at the front. Shouting erupts as one of the fighters down in the pit delivers a punch that spins his opponent, another large man.

The pits are nothing more than a sunken ring surrounded by stone walls. The floor is sand, currently stained with blood that drips down both of the fighters and onto their bare chests. No weapons here, they fight with their fists and whatever tools they're allowed to use. Nothing, considering there are no gashes or cuts along either of the men.

I learn quickly there are no rules here. They're allowed to fight dirty, evident so as one takes the other out at the waist and slams them against the stone wall. The crowd reacts, oohs and aahs breaking out through some of them. Many hold ales in their hands while others, pouches of coins.

They're making bets on who will win. And this fight is neck and neck. Both competitors are exhausted, they stumble when they walk, but one manages to deliver a punch that nearly rattles the entire pit.

Renit crosses his arms over his chest, watching intently, and doesn't react the way the others do. Like he's studying them for later. If he decides to jump in the pit and fight...

Shouting erupts as one of the men collapses and the other takes that as his shot. A swift kick to the face. Bone cracks and blood sprays onto the stone wall that is caked in so many bodily fluids that I don't want to look too long to identify what might be there. For a second, the crowd is hushed and then when the down man is lifted up by his hair, bleeding in more places than one, screams of victory break through.

One final punch and he's out cold with his opponent standing victorious. Laughs mixed with grunts and groan break out through the people watching, some hand over coins while others open their palms for winnings.

Renit jerks his chin back towards the door and I follow him through the splitting crowd that mutters about the next competitors. I can't fathom what I just saw. These people fight...for money, for worship, for fame. They're doing it because they have nothing else better to do. And they make money off of beating the life out of others.