| Chapter Eight | Friends of Foes |

  Adara sits on a hard wooden stool in the saloon, large purple bags settle beneath her dull green eyes.  Her hair was frizzy and tangled, pulled into a semi-neat ponytail.  Her side was covered in purple and green bruises, and it hurt her to breathe, but she managed to get up from the bed and make it to the bar.

  "What can I get you, love?" The elf asks from behind the bar, and she stares at him.  When she woke, the prince was on the bed beside her, an arm draped over her waist.  Octavian laid at the foot of the bed, stretched over the prince's legs.  She did not remember much from the night before, and she was unsure as to if she wanted to.

  "Anything strong," she murmurs, watching the man pour a tall glass of a auburn colored liquid. She didn't dare to ask what it was. The elf sets the glass in front of her, watching her take a sip. She drinks the bitter drink, smiling as though it were the best she had tasted in weeks. He smiled in approval.

"Is it true that you saw humans?" The elf asks.

Adara peers over the top of her glass, his eyes as curious as a child's. She lowers her hand, running her fingers over the hilt of her dagger, releasing a mental sigh of relief as she stares at him. Eventually the lies would entangle and the facade would crumble and then they would be killed. She stares down at her lap.

"Thank you for the drink," she nods, sliding gently from the stool.  He snatches a quick arm out, landing it atop her gloved hand, stretching the fabric.  She casts a glaze towards him, her heart pounding for a fight despite her declining physical strength.  "I will be going now."

  She rips her hand free and almost runs out of the saloon, leaning against the side of the building.  Grabbing a string on her pants, she wraps it around her finger until it snaps.  They needed to leave, and they needed to do it quickly.  Adara makes her way back into their small room, the prince had woke and Octavian lie sleeping on the bed, stretched out.

  He was always sleeping, and he was always tired.

  "Where had you gone?" The prince asks, his voice low as to keep both prying ears away, and to keep Octavian rested.  He looks over her, the smell of alcohol poured off of her breath.  She looked like a dead man walking.  Deep hues of purple and black scatter across her side, conflicting harshly with her pale white skin.  There was something beautiful about it to him. 

  "Your highness,"'Adara spills the words from her mouth quietly, but harshly.  "When my people are around, you must be mute, because eventually they will catch on that our story is nothing except a lie."

  "What does that have to do with anything that I just said?" The prince asks, raising his voice a level or two.  Octavian rolls over and groans, dragging a large sheet over his body.

  "Where I was is frankly none of your concern," she spits.  "Second, you watch your tone with me, boy, for we are in my lands now and you do not have the upper ground."  She smiles.  "All it takes is for me to simply say your names and thousands of my kind would line up to take a piece of your bone for their jewelry."

She is right, and he knows it. He clenches his jaw in protest, but he slumps in a chair.

  Adara lowers herself gently onto a hand-woven ottoman covered in bright reds and blues and yellows.  She stares at the prince, who just stares at the dirty-brown floor.  She no longer saw a prince.  She just saw a man.  A man who is trying to do what is best for his kingdom.  She did not trust him, but she felt she understood him.

"M'Agda, she is going to cause issues," Adara quietly whispers, staring over through a large open window.  A small minuscule breeze whips her hair off of her shoulders, her eyelashes flutter before she closes her eyes, sucking in a sharp breath.  "She is insistent upon sending a bird to the king, my king," she sighs.

  "Why would she do that?" The prince asks, and Adara runs a hand down her face, tracing the scar on her face.  The prince frowns at her silence.  The one time he wants her to talk, she shuts herself down.  He tightens a hand into a tight fist as he searches her face.

  "I had to come up with a story that made sense and the one that made sense was the truth," Adara's voice cracks as she watches a scorpion crawl onto the windowsill. "I did it only so that they would believe me," she grimaces as his eyes narrow, "so that they would not kill us."

"What did you do?" He asks, his voice neither harsh or soft.

  "I told them that our village was attacked by humans," Adara whispers, her hands tremble in her lap.  "How all of them were killed except for us, and that they took our ears," she murmurs, "How we escaped death and came here."

  They sit there quietly, the prince gripping his hair tight in his hand, the girl whose hands felt as though ants were crawling over them, tickling her skin.  One was a ticking bomb, the other was death.  Adara flinches as he stands up, kicking his chair backwards into a wall. 

  "Stop it," Adara shouts, bringing her hand over her mouth afterwords, shaking into it.

  She was not sure as to what was wrong with her.  She sat there falling apart, right in front of him.  It was not like her, not in the slightest.  It scares her, as she sits there crying. 

  "I messed up," Adara whimpers, "I know I did, I know, I know."

  The prince stares down at her, rage coursing through every vein, artery and organ in his being, but he could not strike her.  His anger was not aimed at her anymore.  He was not sure who he was mad at.  Her idea was not bad, but that means the king would know they were coming for him.  He would know that war was coming.  It put them all in more danger.

  Adara nearly jumps out of her skin when the prince walks gently forwards, wrapping his arms around her frame.  She tenses, her muscles tense as he drags her off of the chair and into the floor, slowly.  He cups the back of her head with one hand, the other around her back, pushing her against his body.

  They sit like that for what feels almost like an eternity, till Adara's tears had run dry and her body no longer shook.  After a while, the prince slid her body from his, sitting carefully beside her.  He had not said a word, he had not shown any anger.  He was comforting, like the night in the forest when they had been attacked.  It was a side of him he did not know existed.

  He himself was afraid of it.  It appeared that the both of them had hundreds of thousands of secrets, lies, and truths untold.  Neither was willing or ready to reveal any of them.  So they sit there, his large hand sat atop her own smaller one, as they stare out of the window.  They sat that way until there was a large knocking on the door, waking even Octavian.

  Adara's head snaps towards the door, standing slowly, she glances towards the two human men.  She was no longer sure how long she could keep their true identities secret, but she knew she had to try.  She peeks through the small peephole, staring at M'agda and two troll soldiers.  Her hands clench into fists. 

  She rubs the tired tears off of her face before opening the wooden door.

"Adara, dear, I do hope you and your friends slept well," M'agda smiles, taking a step into the room, her hand wrapped around the skull of the cane.  "Adara, I do hope you will join me this morning," the woman seems to offer a choice, but Adara knew she did not have a choice.

  "Of course," Adara catches a quick glance of the prince, who stares a cold gaze at the trolls who stand on either side of Adara.  M'agda just smiles and takes one of Adara's hands, pulling her through the door.  The trolls pull it closed behind them with a bang, leaving Octavian the the prince alone in the quiet room.

Octavian rolls off of the bed, staring at the prince who stood from the floor.

"Where are they taking her?" Octavian asks, running to the window, staring out.  He can no longer see Adara as they round a corner, catching only on glimpse of her wide bright eyes. 

  "I have no idea," the prince growls, slamming his fist into a wall, and destroying the room.  Octavian covers the window with the curtains as the prince loses control. Quickly, every movable thing in the room is broken, including the Prince Leonidas. It was an impossible situation created by impossible circumstance, and Octavian was trapped in the middle of it all.

"Where are you taking me?" Adara asks, her voice low as they walk at a quick pace.

M'agda and the trolls stay quiet as they lead her through a marketplace. Animals, herbs, vegetables, random items, all being sold. Adara is pulled next to a woman who was selling chickens, M'agda smiles at the troll woman, who nods back. M'agda uses her cane to hook a small wire on the ground, pulling up a trapdoor. Adara does not have time to hesitate, because a troll grabs her arm and hoists her into the hole.

  She hits the bottom hard and her knees grow weak, and she collapses onto the floor below. Adara grimaces in pain, gripping her side as the trolls hop down, helping M'agda safely to the ground. A troll grabs her arm, lifting her up.

  "You must write a letter to the king," M'agda grumbles. The only thing to be heard was the tap of her cane echoing off of the walls until they reach a small door.
Adara is pushed inside, but the trolls and M'agda remain on the outside. It was a large room, a cell almost. "You are going to sit in this room until you do as I ask."

Adara gasps as the woman slams the door closed, locking her inside.

She pounds her fists on the door, shaking the wood, but not budging. Adara kicks it, rams her body into it, but nothing gives way. Adara grimaces, pushing the hair from her face as she backs away from the door, bumping into a chair and knocking it over. She grabs a cup of water and hurls it against the door, shards of glass explodes across the room.

M'agda has a room for prisoners to do what she wanted them to do, so she would not have to do it herself. The thought brings another wave of rage through her. She grabs a wooden chair and slams it against the door, over and over until the back rips away from the seat. She flings it across the room, running a hand over her stomach, grabbing her side.

"Let me out of here!" Adara can only scream and bang her fists on the door. As soon as her throat becomes sore and her chest ached, she steps back. Leaning against a table, she feels weak. In the past, she would never give into whatever pain they put her through, but she did not see any other option. She was trapped. She would not get out of the room without doing what that wicked woman wanted.

Adara fumbles with a drawer on the table, ripping out a piece of yellowing paper, scrambling for a feather and ink.  As soon as she has the feather in her fingers, sitting with her legs folded beneath her on the floor, she freezes.  Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath. She was safe from him in this little box in the ground.

  Your highness, King Dasheem,

  I write to you from De'Naga, out-skirting Bal'Sol, sister city to Xarenth in regards to to barren-lands village known as Juula. In a few days past, Juula was attacked by the northern infantry of the golden kingdom as told by survivors.

  The survivors had their ears cut off, and told of the barbaric ways of the goldsmen. It is believed that this is an act of an impending war on our kingdom, and the destruction of many more villages is soon to follow.

  I write to you now with the hope that you will end the vicious attack, and declare war on them before they get a chance to do so to us.

Dwasabi,

  She leaves the name blank, staring down at the sheet of paper, her act of war sitting on the floor in front of her.  As soon as a bird was sent with this- the peace they had- everything they loved would be torn away.  It did not take a genius to realize that not even a million years would be enough time to forget what the prince had done to their village. 

  Adara takes the paper into her hands.  One side of her demanded that she rip it into pieces and burn the remains.  The other side pleaded that she admit what the prince and his father had done, so ultimately send their death certificates to her king.  To Dasheem.  Both thoughts make her stomach clench in pain.

Just as she takes the paper into her hands, beginning to destroy it and rip it apart, a lock on the other side of the door clicks open. She watches the door open, but M'agda was not the one standing there. Instead, it was two trolls unlike the ones she had seen before. These were glass soldiers. Adara flinches back as they snatch the sheet from her hands, skimming it quickly.

Adara nearly screams when one grabs her arm, dragging her forewords. She wanted to scream, but these were not simple village trolls. These were the ones from her nightmares. The ones who ruin lives.

They take her from the hole in the ground back into the marketplace. She thought it night, but the sun still hung high in the sky with no intentions of moving any time soon. Adara grimaces as they pull her back to that small room, glancing once more at her before leaving with the paper tight in hand. She bites her lip before pushing the door open.

  The room is dark, but Adara did not need a light to tell that something was wrong with the room.  Furniture was broken in pieces, glass and clay littered the floor.  And it was eerie quiet with holes in the walls and burns on the curtains.  Her heart skips a beat at the thought that they were discovered and the room was destroyed as a result.

  That would not explain why they let her go.

She is struck in the shoulder, knocking her into the wall. The floor creaks an unholy groan as she feels a sharp edge of a sword push against her gut.  She grunts as she is shoved with her knees onto the ground.  Looking up, she squints as a bright light fills the room as a curtain is drawn back.

Before her eyes have time to adjust, the sword is dropped and large hands grab her arms, hugging her. The prince. She could tell because his hair smelt faintly of cinnamon, and his arms were rough. Scarred. Worn, unlike Octavian's. He was also tense, his body radiated with nervousness.

With his arms wrapped around her, he hoists her up to her feet, squeezing more gently than he had before. Rather than looking at him, she stares at the state of the room. A miserable sight. The holes in the walls were splattered with blood. Glass broken and embedded in the paper of the wall. Tables and vases smashes and splintered into small pieces. The hands holding her were raw and bloodied.

"What did they do?" Octavian asks. The prince releases her, but otherwise unmoving. Adara walks around him, slowly, her body felt alien to her for a moment.  Like she was floating above everyone else as she stares at the pool of blood next to the bed they slept on.

  "What did you do?" Adara whispers, walking forwards, following a trail of scarlet blood.  She watches the trail become faint — more and more until she stops at a small closet, closed.  A shaky hand grabs the small knob, ripping it open.  She gasps as a troll stood in the small area, staring at her, his eyes glazed over and unblinking.  Dead.

She slams the door closed, pressing her back against the hard wood. The room plunged into silence. Her breathing intensifies as she thinks about what might happen when villagers come asking where the troll went. Her fright turns into anger as she glares at the prince.

"What did you do?" She growls — the hate in her voice shocks even her.  Her hands shake as she places one gently onto the door.  "What have you done?" She squeezes her eyes shut as she pushes her fingertips into the wood. 

  "I- I do not know," The prince stares down at his hands, like they were alien forms attached to his body. It only infuriated Adara further. Before any of them could blink, she marched up to him and struck him in one swift motion across the face. Her bright green eyes filled with darkness they had barely seen before slips through as she glares with nothing but pure hate.

"What do you mean, you do not know?" Adara growls, shoving the prince in his shoulder. Whereas he would typically hold his ground and fight back, he stumbles. She shoves him again, harder this time. "Do you understand that people will look for him?" She spits, "that people are going to realize it was us?"

She shoves him until his back hits the wall.  Rather than stand tall above her, he almost seemed to shrink beneath her feet. He thought for certain that if she was an animal, she would be frothing at the mouth, snapping her jaws wildly in the air. It was not until she raised her fist, that he grabbed her hand in his own, holding it in the air.

"You just created a problem," Adara grits her teeth together. "A problem I would not mind killing you over." She rubs a hand over her face, taking a step back. "But I will clean up your mess."

She bites her lip as she spins on her heels, walking slowly to the closet door, placing her hand on the knob. "I want both of you to leave," she whispers, pressing a gentle hand to her forehead. "Go next door, but do not open your mouths to anyone." She stares at the door until both men's footsteps could no longer be heard.

  Adara opens the creaking door, catching the shoulders of the troll.  His skin was cold and pale.  She drags him into a smaller room, dumping him into the small basin full of water meant for baths.  Adara stand slowly, walking back into the large room, a small kitchen in the corner.  Gazing over the selection, she grabs a large jagged knife from a rack.

  It takes her moments to begin cutting into the troll.  His red blood splatters as the saw-like blade slices through him, gritting against his long white bones. First his head. His left arm. His right arm. His left leg. His right leg. The whole time she held her breath. When the marketplace chatter would die down, she would stop, stare at the window. She would just wait for the noise to return and continue.

The bottom of the tub filled with dark blood, so dark that it no longer looked red. Just black. She grabs the sheet from the bed and places it on the floor. She dips her hands into the basin and takes the parts and sets them gently into the middle of the sheet. She wrap them, twists it, turns it over and wraps it again. She then throws it over her shoulder.

She walks slowly through the streets, crowded with people. Every person carrying something different. The only difference was that hers was a dead body. She also was not planning on selling her object. She pulls down a smaller alleyway, where the sound of pigs squealing could be heard from miles away. A sound she knew well.

The narrow walk-way opens up to several pens. Each filled with animals. She stops in front of the pig pen, staring down at the beasts that stirred at her arrival. Glancing around quickly, she sees that no one is there. She rips the blanket open, dumping the body into the pen, watching the animals rip it to shred. It was their feast of the year.

She watches them eat the remains.  It isn't until a flash of movement from her side catches her eye, that she takes a step away from them, clutching the sheets tightly to her chest.  It was an older goblin-man.  He was short- his hair had since fallen out- his hunched back made him even shorter, he was barely as tall as her thighs. 

  "What can I help you with, darling?" He asks, resting a wrinkled green hand on one of the wooden posts.  She noticed then that his eyes were a similar cloudy color.  He was blind. 

  "I was just admiring your livestock," she murmurs, glancing at the marketplace.  No one else had seen her yet.  She turns back to the goblin man.  "Your pigs."

  "Maybe you could buy them off and I would not have to worry about them any longer," he chuckles, and Adara smiles at the older man.  A loud bang echoes from a small hut- a woman's shrill voice lifts in the air- the man frowns.  "Have a good day young lady — burn those sheets and stay out of trouble."  She freezes at his words, but he simply smiled and walked away. 

  "Maybe one day I will," she mutters before spinning on her heels and running back to the small house. Each step echoes off of the sandy ground, each step heavier than the last. She pushes through crowds of people, finally reaching the hut. Her hair had since fallen almost completely out of the ponytail, trailing down her back like a cape.

She opens the door and slips inside, nearly slamming the door closed. With that she got to work yet again. She made a fire, quickly incinerating the blankets as she works on correcting salvageable furniture, covering holes with random art pieces of beads and string. Adara takes the bloody tub and empties it into the street, knowing most will assume it is pigs blood. 

  Rinsing the tub with a small bucket of water left in the kitchen, she takes a step back, staring at the room.  It was clean.  Tidied.  She began to head towards the door when she noticed the blood coating her gloves.  Adara's hands shake as she pulls them off, tossing them gently into the fire.  She grabs her bag from beneath the bed, rummaging through until she finds a thin pair of white gloves. She slips them on silently, before leaving the room and going to the tavern.

When she opens the tavern door, she is overcome with the strong smell of drunkenness. Adara grimaces as she walks inside, brushing her hair back as she scans the room. Her eyes land on those sky blue and light auburn eyes, and she almost laughs.  He was drunk.  No.  She laughed.  He was wasted to nothing. Him and Octavian both.

  "Come on over, we are have a wonderful time," the prince slurs, his shoulders limp and his eyes glossy with liquor.  Octavian stood and stumbled over, knocking a chair over, his hands shaking as he spills the vile liquid over their feet.  The prince threw an arm over his shoulder.

  It reminded her of how they were the night she met them.  The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she no longer felt comfortable in her clothes.  She takes the princes arm delicately and pulls him to the door.

"Come on now, we need not to make a scene here," Adara feigns a smile as she makes eye contact with the bartender from earlier in the morn. Octavian moves a few feet, not nearly as drunken as Leonidas. When it came down to the unspoken truth, he was nothing other than the prince's babysitter.

As Adara stares at the bartender whose eyes make no effort to leave her own, she does not notice the prince's hand that causes a rush of heated pain cross her face. She was not prepared for it. It knocks her down. Adara cups her cheek with a delicate hand, the tavern suddenly a dangerous quiet.

It happened in a flash. The bartender slid over the counter and grabbed her arms, pulling her to her feet. Several previously stationary drunkards were now standing, casting glares. Men and women sobered quickly. They all bit their tongues, but the notion was clear. They were not happy. The man checks her face.

Octavian grabs the prince, rushing him out of the building, quickly as the crowds are distracted by the elf girl. It took moments for her to find her tongue, a few more for her to bring it back. "I am alright," she reassures them, but no amount of words would alleviate their rage. Her lands were different. When a man hits a woman, his woman, they were not men any longer and they were shunned as boys.

Men often go missing if they are known to hit women and children. She could no longer let his ignorance cause their downfall. "I struck him first," Adara smiles grimly, "It is truly alright." She backs up into a woman who held a small trollchild in her arms. His small tusks stuck out too far for his small frame, his tongue flops out in the gap between them. Adara smiles a kind and genuine smile for the first in a long time.

She nearly ran from the tavern. Her heart aching as much as her face. As she walked outside, she saw a large hawk fly overhead.  In its beak lay an enwrapped and tied scroll.  Her scroll. 

  "You fools," Adara spits as she pushed the door open, only to nearly throw ip when she saw M'agda standing in the middle of the room with two trollguards.  She came to a slow stop, propping the door open gently with her foot, pulling her hands together in front of her.  Behind her, crowds continues on.  Behind M'agda, the prince was lying on the bed, weak, Octavian stood close by.

  "M'agda," Adara murmurs, glancing at the prince who seemed to stir at the sound of her voice.  He rolls gently to his feet.  "What did I do to have this pleasure of seeing you twice in a single day?" She smiles.  She grew angry at the sight of the orc, hand gripping the skull of an usurper no doubt.  Perhaps next it would be her own.

  "I wanted to make it known to you myself that I have sent the letter to my king, so that hopefully we will be safe from the golden scum," M'agda grumbles, smiling still.  Adara felt another wave of unfathomable fury wash over her as she stares.

  "I also know that a fellow troll maid says her husband went missing after speaking with your friends," M'agda smiles still, glancing at the human men.  "You would not know anything about that, would you?" She asks.

  Adara shakes her head, no, very gently.  She stares at prince Leonidas.  With that, M'agda waves her hand, the trolls grab the men, bending their fragile arms behind their backs.  They were larger than humans, stronger, and held the upper hands. 

  One of the trolls punches Octavian as he reached for the prince, and Adara runs forwards, but M'agda catches her waist.  The prince was slumped over in the trolls arms, nearly dead already.  It made Adara pull against the orcwoman, swelling with anger.

  "There, there," M'agda whispers, "I will make sure that they do not suffer long."  Adara flinches as the woman runs a nail down her throat.  "Because you helped me so, it is the least that I can do."  The woman began to drag the girl back, but Adara throws an elbow back into the gut of the woman.  M'agda releases her.  Adara launches at the elf holding the prince.

  She sweeps the legs out from under him, knocking the prince's limp body onto her own.  The troll landing beside her.  Adara grimaces as the troll grabs her, dragging her away from beneath the prince.  She throws her hand forwards, raking her nails across his face.  As he throws himself back, she presses her hands vice-like around his throat.  She pushes until his hands grab at her face.  She leans neck away until his arms go limp, but by then the other troll had joined. 

  He kicks Adara in the side, sending her rolling off of the man who made no attempts to stand.  He grabs Adara by her straps of her top, lifting her taller, taking his crooked scorpion-style blade into his hand.  She almost succumbed to her fate, but a sudden slack in his grip shocked her.  He drops her. She stares at a large glistening silver sword that ran through him.  Octavian held it skillfully.

  M'agda fumbles with the handle on the door.  Adara slips a hand into Octavian's belt, gripping a standard blade.  She rushes forwards and digs the blade deep into the woman's neck.  She pulls it back and sticks her again.  Blood drips from the open cut, her old hand scrambling for the knife.  She glances back at Adara for a moment before her eyes roll into her head.  Dead. Her body crumples.

The room collapses into a complete silence, Adara leaning against the bed, chest rising and falling so fast it hurt to breathe. Octavia held his sword tightly in his hands, eyes wide. He just killed his first troll. His first glass kill. He knew it would not be his last. The prince lay on the floor, eyes closed, his breathing slow. Cold.

"My god," Octavian mumbles, wiping the blood onto his shirt. "What have we done?" He asks, his hands foreign to him. The sight of the dead reminded him of the boy from the forest. He felt lucky his father raised him to do what he did rather than as an executioner. He grimaces.

"Single handedly killed the matriarch of a village who knew the kind as a brother," Adara whispers, realizing that they were in even deeper trouble than before. "We can not stay here any longer."

"If we leave, it will look very suspicious," Octavian states point-blank. He pulls his hair back.

"Fine," Adara says, pulling the tips of her hair. "We clean this up, make it disappear and then tomorrow night we disappear?" She asks him quietly, asking permission. It felt odd that she thought his opinion was needed. All he does it nod. They just stare at each other, then down at the prince. He was quickly becoming the true enemy in their story.