My instincts kick in and I dodge the sharp object, then grasp and twist the attacker's hand. There's a yelp of pain and an iron fire poker hits the floor with a loud clanking sound. I push my assailant away and we stop, facing each other.

Hadrian's chest is heaving, his eyes fixed on my face. For a few moments, we just look at each other. He has the baggy gray shirt and pants on that castle servants usually wear. It feels strange, for and ex-servant dressed as a noble to face a prince dressed as a servant. I didn't expect for him to look like this. Also, the fire poker is a surprise. I'm sure Oliver had ordered to tie Hadrian up before locking him here, but it was just naïve of him to believe that the bratty prince wouldn't find a way in his own chambers to free himself .

Even now that his game is lost, he still tried to get me. Like a poisonous snake that still manages to bite you even after you crushed it with your boot.

I move forward, and he backs away. I pull my dagger out of its sheath, take another step. He backs further away until his back hits the window sill.

"Don't you dare come any closer." His voice wavers a bit.

Ignoring him, I move forward. His eyes dart from my face to the dagger in my hand.

"Stay where you are." He raises his voice and pulls himself to his full height, which, as I can see now that we're finally face to face, is a good head below mine. "I command you to stop!"

"Or what?" I take another step.

"Or I will jump out of this window!" He points behind him. "You won't lay your hands on me, you dirty, insolent servant—I'm your prince!"

I shrug. "The window is open. It's been open all the while. You could have done it already, have you had the guts." I nod at the window. "Go ahead. Do it. I let you."

He glares at me. "You don't 'let me' anything. I do as I decide!"

I stop in front of him. He looks up, his expression flickering like the light of a candle, going from anger to fear to despair to disgust.

The disgust gets to me, somehow. I'm suddenly painfully aware of my black eye patch. I remember him pulling off my bandage, saying I was too ugly to remain in the castle. I remember asking him where I should go and him answering "it's not my problem, is it?" It's only at this memory that the spark of anger buried underneath all the exhaustion and the confusion of the day suddenly flares up again.

"I had a family," I say. "My parents had twins and they didn't want to give one of us to the tax gatherers. Was it such an awful crime, for a young couple to want to keep their children? To see them grow and not become servants, or meat for your father's stupid wars? Grandpa left all he had and went to live with us in a forest, and our parents only dared to visit us once a year, so that the tax gatherers wouldn't find us. Yet in the end, they did."

"What does it have to do with me?" he snaps. "Your dumb parents have broken the law. Do you expect sympathy?"

It feels like a kick in the gut, to hear him speak of them like that. On the other hand, what did I expect? Understanding?

"They disobeyed, and they paid for it," he continues. "And you—all of you—will pay for this." He gestures at the window through which the muffled noises of the celebration can be heard. "Do you think you will get away with this? The only way for you to redeem yourself is..." He pauses, swallows hard. "The only way for you is to help me, in which case I could insure --"

Before he can finish, I grab him. He gasps and tries to push me away, but can't break out of my embrace, so he mostly concentrates on keeping my hand with the dagger away from himself. I'm not even sure what I intend to do, but my anger burns hot now, and having one of its objects within my grasp brings back the desire to hurt and tear—like it happened with that tax gatherer I caught in that alleyway, or the guard I pushed from the pier, or the others like them. The left side of my face and my destroyed eye are suddenly pulsing with pain, and all I want to do is to make him feel it, too.

"You animal," he spits, wriggling in my arms, "get your hands off me! Attacking someone unarmed... you have... no honor..."

"Honor?" I growl. "Unarmed? You want unarmed?" I fling the dagger away and drag him, despite his resistance, to the middle of the room. "There, fight me! I got no weapons!"

"Get away from me!" he shouts, but his voice is flickering just like his expression did—one moment angry, the next nearly dissolving into tears. "Let go, you, you..."

"Yes?" I say, dragging him towards the fireplace. "Yes, I—who am I? Say my name. I will let you go if you say my name."

"I...let go!" He struggles to unlock my hands wrapped around his chest, to slow our progress by digging his heels into the floor, but his strength is no match to mine. I tighten my grip and pick him up, allowing his bare feet to kick in the air, occasionally landing blows on my legs.

"Let go, servant!"

"I'm not a servant," I mutter through my teeth. "I have a name. Why don't you say it?"

"I..." He keeps struggling, but there are genuine tears in his voice now. "But I never...I never knew your name!"

In one final effort, I throw him down in front of the fireplace. Then I look around and my gaze falls on the sharp fire poker he tried to attack me with.

"It's not my problem," I say, picking it up, "is it?"

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