| Chapter Sixteen | Knocks of Past |

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Adara glances at the innkeeper, who was pulling his pants over his hips. His eyes darted lazily to the door, as though he knew he would face no judgements.

The innkeeper smiles at her, pressing one knee gently onto the end of the bed, leaning over her with one arm. The other settles on her throat as he presses his lips onto her forehead.

Adara's teeth clamp down onto the cloth, her head jerks to the side. He responded by pushing her face back to face him. He dug his fingers into the flesh on her shoulder as he kisses her on her lips which were stained red with blood.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He pushes himself off of her, bending down to grab a thin white shirt. Glancing back at her, he laughs. "Tell a soul about this and I will tell the royal guards where you are, Jasper," he smiles as he takes a thin and yellowing sheet of paper from his pockets. He simply throws it onto her as he gazes down at her — she was lesser than him.

"I expected so much more from you," he murmurs curiously as he walks slowly around the room. Toying with her as a cat does to a mouse; playing with it till it can fight no more. "A little fight, some resistance, maybe murder in your eyes, but I found nothing," the innkeeper murmurs. All she could do was lie there as he runs his hand through her hair.

"Regardless, I know you are weak," he smiles, kissing her down her neck. "I know you are so weak that you can hardly move, which is why I am willing to help you," he bites her skin. She was weak. She could barely keep her eyes open. All she could do was lie there.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Perhaps," he mumbles, "if you beg, I might untie you." He straddles her now, running his hands down her chest and sides, like he was a blind man searching for his salvation. "Because I know that if I leave you here now, you will die, because you are weak," he spits, pinching her skin.

She lied there solemnly, her mouth parted with pain and contemplation. She could spit on him, screaming at him about how she would not need his help or anyone's help ever again. She would, but she knew, she knew she was weak. "Please," she whispers.

He strikes her across the face, a scream spilled from her core as she writhes beneath him. "What are you asking for?" He growls, gripping her sides with iron fists. She could not move. "Not only are you weak, but you lost your sense as well," he hisses.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Who is it?" He shouts suddenly, gripping Adara's hip tightly, turning to stare at the door. He throws himself off of the bed and stalks his way to the door, opening it slowly. It was a maid, a small goblin woman. "This room must not be cleaned, tell the whole staff it isn't to be touched," he says firmly but almost kindly, closing the door and locking it.

"Please, untie me," Adara says quietly, tears brim her eyes as she stares at the ceiling. No one was coming to save her. She could not get herself out of there without help, and she hated it. She hated being the mouse instead of the cat. "I beg of you," she whispers.

He turns back to her, kneeling over her, he bites a lip seductively, but it repulsed her. She thought she might vomit. "Since you asked politely, I suppose I might untie at least one hand," he laughs as though he had made the funniest joke to have ever existed. "One hand and that is all," he cackled.

"Please," she croaks as he grips her wrist with vine-like strength, wrapping and twisting around long-forgotten artifacts. He takes a small delicate blade and cuts her hand free, almost immediately grabbing her hand and kissing it. His cold lips press over her bruises and cuts as though they were the Queens' herself. He looked down at her as though she was a drop of water in the middle of the sands.

"One hand, two hand," he mumbles under his breath as he runs his vile finger down the scar under her eye. She could remember when the prince had touched it, how it made her feel safe after the attack. All she felt when this man touched her was disgust. She was scared of him. She was afraid of few things, and he was one of them. She hated it, but the thought of him near her made her tremble.

Adara bit her tongue as he reaches over her, freeing her other hand, placing more kisses over her battered body. He frowns, glancing down at Adara — Jasper in something that resembled concern. "A woman in pain is a different kind of sadness," he whispers quietly as he grabs her frail arms and lifts her into his arms.

The knife sat gently in his back pocket. "It just hurts a kind soul to see someone in such sorrow," he whispers. Her arm dangled so close to it. "It just makes a man crazy," he sighs, "makes a man want to help a damsel in distress." Her fingers touch the blade so gingerly, her hands ache with desperation. "I will care for you, to make you feel treasured," he smiles as he carries her into a small bathing room, a large wooden tub in the center filled with water.

It was as though it was waiting for her — like it was another cell she would be locked away in, no more sunlight or sand, just darkness.

Adara grits her teeth as he lowers her into the water. The water was ice-cold, making the hairs on her neck stand up straight. "I am going to take care of you," he stoops in front of her face, smiling as he begins to scrub at her body. "Like that man upstairs should have," he whispers, placing another kiss on her forehead.

Like that man upstairs should have.

The Prince Leonidas. The Prince. Leonidas. He was the enemy. A golden prince. He could not care for her, even if he wanted to. And she has given him every reason to not care. She knew that. She looks slowly to the door, imagining him coming in and slaying the beast, saving her. She was cruel to him, even though she did not hate him.

He murdered her parents. The ones who sold her. The ones who let her be taken away for years. It hurt her more to admit that she wished she had been the one to do it. She could only imagine how much it would pain her to tell the Prince that. That she hated him simply because she hated that he did what she could not.

Adara stiffens as the innkeeper runs his fingers through her hair. The water around her turned a murky brown, her skin left a soft pink. He ran the soaps from roots to ends, running the chilling water down her back. "You are so beautiful," he whispers as he hooks his arms under her own, hoisting her from the tub and onto her own two feet.

She had to grip his shoulders tightly to keep from falling over, letting him dry her with a soft towel — the gentlest thing to touch her in a long time. She would have welcomed it had it been someone else. Almost anyone else.

She just wanted to be anywhere else with anyone else.

"I have the perfect thing for you," he smiles as he grabs the back of her head, her wet hair clings to their skin as he kisses her on the lips. "I have been saving it for the perfect girl," he whispers as he sits her down on the edge of the tub, turning around to dig through drawers. The knife seemed to wave at her, taunting her.

He turned back around, helping her slide on underwear and a simple padded white bra. "It is going to be beautiful," he seems to be reassuring himself as he holds out a long white dress. The straps were thin, string like straps, the dress went all the way to the floor. "Beautiful," he smiles and nods as he pulls it over her head, dragging it down her body, standing her up and stalking around her.

Gazing at every single angle, savoring each moment. It stops at her ankles, it was flowed and had two layers of fabric. It cinched in at her waist, the stop was a silk fabric, hugging her chest tightly, cut-outs where her ribs were in the shapes of hearts. The chest was held together by strips of white materials lacing down, exposing some of her bare chest.

"So stunning," he whispers as he takes the small necklace that the Princess Aehlsy had given her, readjusting it on her neck. Stooping down, he slips soft white slippers onto her feet, letting his hand linger on her leg. "Do not think for a moment that I like you," he snaps suddenly, grabbing her by the throat, standing up taller than her, brooding over her.

"You disgust me," he spits, smacking her across the face, knocking her to the floor. She lands sideways. "The real Jasper would have fought me," he growls, "I do not know who you are," he kicks her in the gut before turning and leaving. Slamming the doors behind him.

Adara slams her fist into the floor, screaming into the open room. She screamed until her voice burned and her throat tasted like blood. She screamed like she wished she had been able to do when he touched her. She screamed as she lost everything.

"Who am I?" She shouts, grabbing the tub and dragging herself to her knees, shuffling to her feet, staggering to the door. He was right, I am weak, she thought. I do not even know who I am anymore, she stumbled to the door, opening it slowly, gripping the paper the innkeeper had thrown at her tightly in her hand.

Adara gazes down the long hallway, her heart sinking. I will never make it up those stairs, she bit her lip as she walked forward. She looked down at her feet as she walked, bracing herself on the walls to each side. One foot. The next foot. Walking as an infant would. Her legs seemed to shake with each uncertain step.

"Hey?" A voice chimes quietly ahead of her. Her head jerks up, meeting those mismatched eyes. She could feel tears pouring down her face as he practically runs down the steps, pulling her frail body into his own. She wraps her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest she squeezed her eyes closed, breathing faster than before.

"Prince," she breathes out quietly as she hugged him, before pausing, pushing on his chest to get him off of her. Her eyes were wide with fear, her heart felt frozen, her eyes search his face. He looked at her with confusion, her face was pained. "Are you real?" She asks quietly.

"Am I real?" He takes a step away from her, frowning. "Yes, I am real, what are you talking about?" He asks.

Adara looks at him from eye to eye, his nose, his lips, his hair. The bandaging on his arm and side, his bare chest with every scar and bruise. It looked like him. "What is my name?" She asks quietly, staring him deep in the eyes that looked utterly confused and scared.

"You are Adara Nightsong," he whispers, "even though these people keep calling you Jasper, which I still do not fully understand."

She could not help but smile as she throws her arms back around him. Hugging him. Her tears drip onto his chest, which puzzles him, but he just hugs her back.

"Adara," he says quietly, "where is Octavian?" He asks.

It suddenly felt as though her heart was gripped tightly and ripped out of her. She looks up at him, taking small steps to the stairs. The prince hooks an arm around her, her arm over his as they guide each other up the stairs. Her smile was torn off of her face as fast as it had appeared.

"Why are you out of bed, you are hurt," Adara frowns, staring at the floor as he pulls her up the stairs.

"Why are you dodging my question?" He asks as they walk into their room. The sheets were clean, blood free. Erased. As though it had not happened. As though nothing they went through happened.

"Octavian," she whispers as he helps her sit on the edge of the bed. Closing her eyes she could see him, standing in the broken window, dying.

"I do not remember much," he frowns, "I remember breaking out of our cells — grabbing you and that is it," he says quietly. "Then I woke up here, alone," he crouched in front of her, pained from his wounds but he would not let her see it. He could see all the cuts and black bruises down her arms and chest. It made his blood boil.

He used to hurt her too, and it sickened him.

"He died," she whispers, glancing up at him, seeing nothing on his face. He was stone. It lasted for what felt like an eternity. Finally she watched his eyes drop, wet tears slowly peel down his face. "He died so that we would live," she croaks, her voice betrays her as she gripped the sheets. He died so that two criminals would live.

"I do not want to believe you," he sighs, his voice shaking. "But I know that he would do anything for you."

"He would do anything for you," she says quietly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, "you were his best friend."

"He was a brother to me," he says, "I was always told that my knight would live and die for me, but I did not want him to," he presses his eyes shut to keep from crying. To keep his body from falling apart as hers did. He had to stay in control, because if he did not he feared what he might do. "I never wanted him to," he grimaces.

"He was a good man," she smiles, "he just wanted to make sure you could be happy."

She could tell that he heard her words, but she knew that he was finished with the conversation. Adara took his hand slowly, rubbing gentle circles over his knuckles. They were two lost souls who keep straying further and further away from salvation. She felt small claws dig into her arm, climbing onto her shoulder, Exriam. A loud hiss sounds in her ear.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Both of them look up to the door, the innkeeper leaned against the doorframe. Adara gripped the Prince's hand tightly as she stood, he stood to be beside her. She felt so small, surrounded by two men who have hurt her, but she knew she has hurt people before. She has killed people before, in ways that these men could never understand. She was a deadly viper, and she would not let them scare her.

"I am so glad to see you two are nice and comfortable in my inn," the innkeeper grins a jester-like smile. "Feel free to stay as long as you would like," he grins as he turns and walks away.

As soon as she could no longer hear his footsteps on the floor, she turned around and grabbed her bag, slinging it onto her shoulder. Exriam whips his tail around her throat, perched on her shoulder like a lizard, his head resting gently, smoke dribbled from his open mouth.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

"We are leaving, we can not stay here."

"He just said we could stay here as long as we would like to," he frowns.

"That does not mean that we should."

"What is wrong with you?" He spits.

"That man is not a good man," she growls, throwing his bag at him, letting him catch it against his chest. "Please do not fight me on this, I can not stay here."

He opened his mouth like he wanted to ask another question, but he closed it without a word. He was ready to be the brooding prince again. Except this time he had a reason to be good. To be the prince he was meant to be. One who helps people and puts others before himself. He thought that maybe that was who he wants to be. Maybe even what he was meant to be.

As soon as they are out of the building, Adara felt as though she could breathe. Nothing holding her back. She knew where she needed to be. She had to pray that the people there would listen to her. Give them a chance.

"I do not know where I am going," the prince whispers dully, hopeless.

"This way," she pulls his arm, leading him into a crowd of random peasants walking down a sidewalk. Exriam crawls down Adara's back, clinging to her calf, hiding himself under her gown. They were not exactly hidden. He was bandaged and shirtless. She wore a snow white gown and fire red hair.

A loud scream. Adara watches as long rows of soldiers walk through, marching with their shields and axes and maces and spears. Their war paints bright on their bodies. The ground seemed to rumble under their feet as a large black and orange scorpion nearly as large as the buildings around them, scurrying from structure to structure, several soldiers cling to its back.

Each time a long leg would hit a building, bricks and dirt would go flying, scattering onto the innocent people below. Screams. Running. Chaos. Adara grabs the prince and pulls him into an alleyway.

"What was that?" The prince chokes as they essentially walk single-file down the alley.

"A battle tank," Adara shouts over the screams, "some will stay to guard the city, the rest will go to your lands."

They walk down a lonely stretch of street, a few people strayed, mostly women of the night. Adara glances over at a small lonely shack, just like the rest, except no one came close to it. Cruel tales about the man who owned the building, but he was never home.

She pushes the door open slowly, glancing around the room. The same long wooden countertop, rows of bottles lined up on the wall. Small tables with little benches crowd the corners of the room. Adara stumbles inside, gripping the counter tightly, white knuckled.

"You want me to drink?" The prince asks as he pulls himself inside, closing the door behind him. "Why are we here?" He gazes across at the various glasses, licking his lips.

Adara rolls her eyes as she pulls herself up and over the counter, staring at the wall between the two racks of booze. She takes a step closer, knocking.

Knock. Knock. Knock knock knock. Knock.

"What are you doing?" The prince asks when a section of the wooden wall slides open, revealing hooded eyes. Those eyes widened quickly. Adara stumbles back into the counter as the wall jerks forward, revealing a small goblin man. She did not recognize him. He recognized her though.

"Come, come," the small goblin pants as he runs down the stairs. Adara takes the Prince's hand as he crawls over the counter, walking with her down the dark stairs. It all seemed so surreal. Like a dream. Like her hallucinations.

He is real, but is this?

As she touches the floor, leaving the last creaky step, she stares at what seemed to be a thousand faces. It was only a few, but it seemed like she was standing before her executioners.

Is that her?

No, it can not be.

It has to be her.

There is no one else it could be.

Why is she here?

I can not believe this.

"Adara, where are we?" The prince asks quietly, dropping her hand. They both stood as every head turned to them. Adara wanted to squeeze his hand so tightly, to never let go, but that would not bode well for her. Not yet.

What if I am not worthy?

Adara looked ahead at a row of backs sitting at a bar, hunched over. Their conversations slowly died as the room became noticeably quiet. She watches a large body turns around, the face familiar. She could only stare at him as he got up, squinting at her.

"Jasper?"

She glances down at her feet before looking back. Nodding. "It's me," she whispers as the ogre takes a few steps closer, looking at her from head to toe. She noticed then that his left eye was covered by a leather patch tied around his bald head. "Jasper," she chokes on the name.

The earth seemed to swallow her whole as she was judged before them. "How?" He asks, folding his arms across his chest. "How can I be sure that it is you?" He growls. Adara glances back at the prince before turning back to face the ogre with skin as pale as paper and was so tall he nearly touched the ceiling.

"Fashuda," she says, "that is your real name." She almost smiled. "You told me that after we finished a job with the Adwabi, over a couple of drinks on the top of the old school building," she stares at him, remembering the faint breeze, the taste of ale and the smell of cooking beef. Though those moments felt difficult at the time, they were much simpler days.

Compared to their current situation, it was a paradise.

"How?" he began, but was silenced by the slamming of a door. The door behind them. The prince stepped to the side as a figure lurked in the darkness. Adara grabbed her dagger, hurling it into the dark. The shrieking sound of metal on metal burns her ears. Sparks seemed to fly in the air as her blade is caught in the air.

"Raiali," Adara whispers, limping into the darkness and throwing her arms around the man.

"Adara," his gravelly voice whispers back, hugging her back, breathing into her hair.

"You remembered," she smiles as they step into the light.

Raiali was a troll. A bit smaller than most trolls, but he was still taller than both Adara and the Prince. His skin was the color of a freshly cut grass. His hair was an emerald mohawk, matching her bright eyes. His body was covered in black leather straps and chains, on his hands were thick gloves and on his feet were thicker boots. He held her dagger delicately between his fingers.

"How could I forget you?" He asks, smiling, "no one else calls me that name."

"And you were one of the only ones to use mine," she says quietly as she plants a small kiss on his cheek. "I cannot believe you are here."

"Me?" He gasps, "you should not be here." He stared at her numbly. When he delivered her to her parents, he prayed it would be the last time he ever saw her beauty. Now, here she is, looking as perfect as before, older, beaten. He was disappointed. He frowns.

"I know," Adara sighs, "If it were up to me, I would stay as far away from this place as I could." She bit her lip as her eyes dart from unknown face to unknown face. "Can I speak to you two somewhere a bit more private?" She asks, "Somewhere we will not be overheard."

"Of course," Fashuda stammers, turning somewhat quickly and clambering across the room down a long hallway. All of the doors were made of thick wood, except one, which was the shiniest metal Adara had ever seen. That one was her room. From her old life.

"I melted my key a long time ago," Adara whispers, but she felt a hand on her shoulder. Raiali handed it to her along with her blade. She looked down at the key, old, rusted. She stuck it into the large lock, turning, turning, turning, a click. She pushes the door open slowly.

None entered. Exriam scrambles to the floor, crawling into the room. It was a dark room, but he opened his mouth and blew a small flame, illuminating the room with a faint red hue. Raiali stared at the dragon, wide eyed, "Never took you as the kind to keep a pet."

"He is not a pet," Adara hisses quietly as she steps into the room. The red of the flame made her dress look as though it were on fire, her hair ablaze. She looked like a fire goddess to them, but they kept their mouths closed. "He is my dragon and I am his person," she shrugged as she brought a wax candle to her dragon and let it strike to life.

"Yeah," Raiali crosses his arms over his chest as he walks into the room. It was simple. A small bed, a pillow, a chest of clothes, and a rack of weapons on the wall. He spent many days and nights in the room with her. He smiled, remembering how close they had been. "Sure," he scoffed.

Fashuda entered. Then, the prince, he came in quietly, his eyes never left Adara's. He was the enemy. He was worthless. He could be killed and none of them would bat an eye. He know knew how Adara had felt when he took her all those weeks ago. Months ago.

"Why is he allowed in here but our people are not?" Fashuda asks, folding his arms across his chest angrily. "Why are you choosing him before your own people?"

"Because he is a prince."

"A prince?" Raiali laughs, "do I bow?" He almost giggled. "Do I take a curtsy?" He laughed. "Perhaps take a knee?" He raises a brow, leaning against the wall as he cackled.

"The Prince of the Golden Lands," Adara smiles at the two men as she took the Prince's hand. "So you should probably bow to him," she shrugs her shoulders as the mens' eyes widen unnaturally large. Pale faced.

"Listen here," Raiali frowns, "I am the one who makes jokes." He blink hesitantly. "This is not a funny joke," he says in their native language. The Prince's eyes dropped down as he prepared mentally for a fight. They would have nothing to do with him now, they would turn on her and it was his fault.

"It is not a joke," Adara says in the Prince's language. "He is Prince Leonidas, first of his name, sworn protector of the realms, peacekeeper and warbringer." She smiles, he thought maybe she was proud of his title. He was becoming a true protector.

He was bringing war in order to bring peace.

"Why would you bring him here?" Raiali whines as Fashuda grabs his scythe which was longer than the average troll.

Adara sat them down and told them everything.

How her village was attacked and she was taken as his prisoner. How she and his father made the deal to kill her king. How they were attacked in the woods and lost a lot of men. How they went through the sands. How they killed village leaders. How they were captured by Bal'Solian guards and tortured. How they escaped. How they wound up in the inn.

"Then we came here, because nowhere else is safe for us," Adara explains. "He may have taken me, but he wants what we want."

"And what would that be?" Fashuda asks.

"He was us to finish what I started," Adara sighs. "So will you please at least let us stay here, you do not even have to help."

"I'm helpin'," Raiali rolls his eyes, "duh."

"You can stay," Fashuda growls before getting up and leaving, slamming the door closed. The three of them sat in an uncomfortable silence. Exriam gave off the occasional hiss as he leapt around the room, smelling and scratching furniture.

"I don' care what they say," Raiali smiles, "you don' look like a cold-hearted elf-slayer tah me."

"Thanks?" The prince says hoarsely, sinking onto Adara's bed. His dressings had become red with blood, having torn open from trying to support Adara's weight.

"Get some rest," Adara whispers, helping him under the thin sheets. She bent over him, changing his bandages.

"You need to tell me who these people are," he whispers as his eyes drifted shut. She noticed the sweat on his face, fevered. She took a small glass from her bag and brought it to his lips, letting a few drops of a black liquid drip onto his tongue.

"I will," she whispers, watching Raiali take the cue to leave.

"When I wake you had better be here," Raiali sighs as he closes the door behind him, his feet quiet on the floor.

Adara pulls the sheets back, crawling into the bed. She smiled as the sheets. Untouched for years. "Maybe I will be," she promises. She pulls the covers over her body, Exriam curls against her chest as the flame slowly flickers to nothing.