'Alright, so the rules are no weapons or magic allowed, and the winner is the one who stays conscious or makes the other person concede,' Char reiterates. We've heard the rules twice already. It's almost by repeating them, he hopes we'll decide against this match. 'Are we ready?'

The ring has cleared to make way for us two. Megara stands across from me, her red plait swaying as she bounces lightly on her toes, her fists already darting in her fighting stance. She's bound them in swathes so that her hands are protected.

I like mine open, free and knuckle-full. I tuck my chin and turn sideways, giving a brusque nod to begin.

'Three...'

I had better not lose, I think.

'...two...'

It appears that, by the fierce fire in Megara's eyes, that she feels the same.

'...one...go!'

We slowly pace forwards. My eyes don't leave Megara's face, even as my footwork shifts and feints. She makes a few punches, testing the air, whilst I dodge and step around her, waiting for an opening.

Around us a small crowd watches, and their interest is clear. I'm a newcomer, and Megara seems to be somewhat famous. Together, we make for a lot of gossip, and the murmuring is like the rustling of leaves.

Hadrian watches, stood in between us both so that he's sided with neither. A flash of annoyance goes through me, forming a growl between my teeth.

I lunge.

Megara leaps backwards, sensing my move at the last moment. My miss scrapes her jaw, tantalisingly close. My heart spikes in triumph, then fades in disappointment. 

Next one.

She moves to strike, taking advantage of my brief despair. She feints left, then right, then her fist flies for my abdomen. I turn, dancing away, and she hisses between clenched teeth. 

She moves again, taking a skipping step forwards. I counter her attack that comes in, and make for a obvious one in return. As Megara moves to block, I change tactics, moving my trajectory upwards.

My punch hits her clear across the jaw in a crunching sound that echoes. The gossiping crowd suddenly turns very, very quiet. 

'You little rat,' I hear her curse, too quietly to be heard by anyone else. She staggers back, raising a hand to touch the red, swelling area. Her face contorts into anger. 

'Why thank you...' I say sweetly. 'Rats are highly resourceful creatures.'

She straightens, cracking her neck from side to side. As I move to catch her off guard, she blocks my punch, deflecting me with a nimble hand. The fingers that grip my wrist are strong-- way too strong-- and she flashes me a confident smile.

She's inhumanly strong. She pulls me forwards, and my body just tumbles towards her, off balance. 

I know already that she's using whatever magic she has. Our eyes meet, and my glare speaks it all.

'Cheat,' I hiss against her ear. 'Is that the only way Hadrian will look at you?'

I throw my knee into her abdomen. She retches and tucks forwards, her hand raking down my arm. My skin sears in agony as she draws blood. 

'It's alright for you,' Meg spits. 'You don't have to constantly feel jealous all the time over nothing!'

I smirk. 'That sounds like me everyday.'

Her kick is a diversion; I nearly miss the flurry of punches that come my way afterwards. I block and feint at the last possible moment, spinning around so that I can evade her knuckles. She's even angrier now; each time I dodged an attack, she grew more infuriated.

'Do not compare me to your trivial human emotion!' she mutters, changing tactic. She waits for me to advance; I test the ground with a few tentative hits. 

Her hit, in return, lifts me off my feet. I slam against the barrier with enough force to send me hacking, but I stand up and swear I'm not about to get beaten by a cheating ginger.

'What are you?' I demand, and as I wipe my mouth, I wipe away a spittle of blood. She's too strong to be any ordinary soul. 

She grins. 'I'm one of the Furies. My strength is from my many days of torturing unfaithful spouses.'

I laugh, trying not to show how badly my ribs were beginning to ache. If I could just get a little closer...

'I'm surprised you're not an old woman,' I jabber. 

She shoots me a glare. 

She doesn't see my leg as I sweep her feet from beneath her.

She hits the deck hard, letting out a shriek of annoyance. Before she can right herself, I'm on top of her in a rain of punches and elbows. A satisfying groan escapes her as I slam a fist into her face.

'You've made it clear from the first day that you had a problem with me,' I snarl. 'You never did explain why.'

Megara's laugh is a mixture of pain and a breathless whoosh of air. 'I just told you. Jealous. Of everyone. Everything. Always.'

'That must make relationships hard.'

'I'm a Fury. We're not meant to have friends.'

'I still don't know what that is--'

She scoffs in my face.

'I take revenge on tortured souls! Ones who complain that their husband slept with another woman, or their wife is having another man's baby...and so on.'

I blink at her. Our fight has halted; I'm still kneeling on Meg, but she's talking freely, no sign of carrying on our fight. A wicked bruise is blooming on her chin, and I can't help but notice the swelling descending over her eye. 

It makes her look even tougher. 

'So, you're saying you hate me because you're jealous of me?' I sound incredulous. 'And that you're jealous of everyone?'

'I don't hate you,' Meg corrects. 'I'm jealous of your love for the King. And his for you.'

Heat flames my innards, turning my cheeks into beacons of red. I lower my head so it's in shadow, and nobody can see my blush. 

Meg does, though. And she gives me a vicious smile before her fist slams into my face. 

My vision turns red. 

I remember a cold, dark, wintery night. I was young-- too young to be out joining thugs and gangs, but there I was. The newest recruit. The most desperate.

They didn't ask questions. Nobody ever did. Another body to do work was all they asked for, and my size and vulnerable image worked in my favour. But there were always the fights I couldn't handle, the nights I was left beaten badly in an alleyway and praying to Death himself that he would give me another morning. 

In the end, Char has to separate us from the fight, the two of us evenly matched.

---

I'm applying a funny coloured poltice when a familiar emissary takes a seat at my side.

Pretending not to notice, I can only tell it's him by the woodland aroma and shiny, leather boots with viridescent buckles. I continue to poke at my arm even though I had long finished applying the medicine and continued to sulk afterwards.

Having to be physically restrained from Megara after our fight descended into savagery had been worse than losing. My vision had pinholed until all of my fury was rent on her; I hadn't paid attention to the fact we both began to play dirty, disregarding any training we might have learned. Nail marks still rake my arms and I shiver to think of the bites  I placed on her.

I'd acted as though I were back in the streets. Those days were only mere months back, and yet they might have been years. Back there, playing dirty was my ally. A stray rock, an empty bottle. Bites and nails and hair were all valid points. Survival instinct was aptly named.

I'd been pulled off Megara to find Hadrian's eyes, wide and filled with an unreadable expression. He'd walked away and not looked back. 

I don't want another conversation about that match, or what happened. 

Thankfully, Quillan doesn't seem to want that either. After a brief pause, he speaks in a low voice about Spring.

'Your mother would like to meet you before the wedding,' he murmurs. 'She has a lot she regrets. She would like to see you in person to talk.'

Well, I hadn't wanted to talk about Megara, but here's something I never expected.

'Talk?' I repeat, and I realise I've spoken loudly. Lowering my voice, I say again, 'She wants to talk?' 

What I really want to say is that she's had eighteen years, and she didn't even come to my funeral. That's the height of rude.

My eyes meet Quill's as he glances over my face, his gaze passing over the bruises, the swelling. He looks aghast. An ache blooms in my heart: for a moment, despite the differences, Quill looks like Mercer when I'm doing something dangerous. 

'He can't treat you like this,' he whispers, shaking his head. 

I chuckle. 'Trust me, this wasn't Hadrian.'

But Quill continues. 'No, but he allows this. The Spring Court doesn't allow for such savagery. We would protect you, let you live in peace and happiness, never having to worry about food...your brother, too.'

I pause at that, wrapping my fingers around one another. 'Nate's dead. He's got to stay here.'

'That's what he's told you.'

I go very still. 'Excuse me?'

'There are always alternatives,' Quill speaks faster now, in more hushed tones. In fact, there's a furtive way he keeps his head lowered, angled towards me. To an outsider, he looks like he's taking a keen interest in the state of my poulticed arm.

'Like what?' I reply back, casually looking down at him as though he isn't whispering traitorous words. Inside, my heart drums like crazy. Another life for Nate?

How?

'The two of you could be granted citizenship of Spring,' he says. 'It would mean you could live at our court, away from this miserable place. I'm sure we can come to an arrangement that suits you.'

Only two words really stick. 'Miserable place?' 

'Yes,' Quill says, 'You, trapped here eternally, your only option to marry the King and drown all over again. You are not that girl, Nerissa.'

My knuckles turn white at his words, clenching my hands so tightly. 'I...do have feelings for him.'

My words choke out: I'm half angry at the "miserable place" slur, and the other half is denying that I would abandon Hadrian for a court that left me alone until I was useful. 

Quill rests a sympathetic hand on my elbow, away from any wounds. 'I know you do. Nobody is saying you don't. But feelings change, Nerissa, and a lifetime on such...whimsical emotions is exactly why this curse was unbreakable in the first place.'

I go back to staring at my hands, my voice lost and my words dying on my tongue. No good defence jumps to me, and Quill pats my elbow in comfort.

'I'll leave you to think on it. Take this leaf; if you wish to speak to me, visit the Spring Court-- just burn it, and I'll know to find you.'

He places a small, perfect green leaf into my palms. It's waxy and lifelike to touch, as if it still sat on the tree it came from. 

'What reason would I have to visit Spring?' I glance up at him, feeling guilty for even asking. For checking out my options. 'Officially, I mean.'

Quill seems to get my drift. 'It wouldn't be unusual, to want to meet your family before your big day, Ness. That would be quite normal, in fact.'

Normal. That's a good one.

I look down again at my hands, pink and no longer tense. 'You forget that I also have to save my friend. There's a tiny issue of an evil bitch called Hecate.'

Quill only smiles in the most alluring way possible. 'My dear, I can't possibly reveal military secrets to you. You'd have to ask the Queen that.'

I bristle at the answer.

'We would not forget your friend,' Quill continues. Now, a solemn expression has crossed his face, and his words carry a heavy dread. 'Hecate has taken much from us all. No matter what court you choose to reside in, all wish her gone.'

He taps the leaf once more. 'Think on it, Nerissa. You and Nate have had a tough life. You needn't spend the rest of eternity suffering, either. A new start is always just a day away.'

The emissary leaves as silently as he'd arrived in a poof of wood and cinnamon.

I can't help but think I've underestimated him-- and his entire Court. 

--

A/N: SO...do you feel sorry for Meg? Now you know why she's so spiteful...how does it feel to have a constant, negative emotion?

What's Quill's game? Will Ness make the decision to go to the Spring Court?

let me know your thoughts!

P.S, for those of you who have not yet seen, the chapter from HADRIAN'S point of view is UP, over on LITTLE SAINT BRIDE. It's the last posted chapter as it's an added extra.

Hope you enjoy!

lots of love

Larissa

'