After that, it didn't take long for us to start joking around. It felt good—refreshing, even—to focus on something other than the constant, heavy worries pressing on my mind. Eventually, we both wrapped up our conversations and exchanged brief goodbyes for the night.
Back in my quarters, I settled quietly onto my mat, stretching out and allowing my muscles to unwind from the day's training. Across from me, Mark lay sound asleep. Recently, I'd noticed him sleeping more frequently, often late into the morning. Given he never had the freedom to leave his cell, I supposed sleep was his only escape from the endless monotony. Yet, it still amazed me how he managed to stay sane after being confined for so long.
One strange detail nagged at me—his skin remained oddly tanned despite his extended imprisonment. His facial features were strikingly similar to mine, marking him clearly as northern-born. Northerners typically lost their tan rapidly without regular exposure to sunlight, so his continued healthy complexion was puzzling. It made me question exactly how long he'd truly been locked down here, or whether there was more to Mark than met the eye. He had deceived me before; perhaps he was still hiding something important.
I quickly pushed away these unsettling thoughts, annoyed at my growing paranoia. Maybe the constant strain from the princess's persistent attention was finally beginning to affect my judgment. If I started doubting Mark, how long until I questioned Kushim?
With a frustrated sigh, I stared up at the ceiling, letting my mind drift elsewhere. My thoughts quickly settled on the mysterious woman who had finally shown herself clearly in my dreams—only to have the princess, the person I despised most, rip that brief comfort away. The memory stirred deep frustration and resentment in me, accompanied by a gnawing sense of violation. Why did the princess persist in tormenting me? Surely there were plenty of others who might willingly accept—or at least tolerate—her advances.
With bitter amusement, I imagined sabotaging her next attempt by humiliating myself somehow. The sheer absurdity of the idea coaxed a quiet laugh from me. Eventually, the weight of the day's events pulled me into a deep sleep.
Days blurred into weeks, weeks melted into months, and soon, months became years. My life fell into a predictable rhythm of battles, training, and grim duties. My victories grew frequent, but each defeat was a stark reminder of my limits. My responsibilities as an executioner's apprentice became second nature. Most of those sentenced were criminals of the worst sort, making my conscience easier to bear. Sometimes, I even convinced myself that I was helping to cleanse the kingdom.
As the years passed, relentless training transformed me physically and mentally. Eventually, I towered over Kushim, my mentor and closest friend. Kushim had become something akin to an older brother, guiding me through life's complexities, particularly when Heather—the cowled girl—became a constant presence in my life. Less than a week after the princess's unwanted advances, Heather fully revealed herself to me. Our stolen moments together, though rare and brief, were profoundly meaningful. With Heather, I truly stepped into adulthood, a fact Kushim loved to tease me about endlessly, though beneath his jokes was unmistakable pride.
Mark also played a pivotal role in my life. His extensive knowledge about my Deva heritage proved indispensable. He patiently guided me, helping me navigate the strange mark Heather had placed on me in the dire forest. Despite my repeated questions, Heather remained elusive about the full meaning of the mark, which only heightened my curiosity and unease.
In time, my days became increasingly fulfilling. Each battle brought me closer to becoming a champion, and the princess, surprisingly, ceased her relentless pursuit. While losing her favor meant fewer privileges, the trade-off was well worth my peace of mind. I settled comfortably into this new routine, content with my hard-earned sense of normalcy.
Yet, unbeknownst to me, the apex fight—my ultimate challenge—was swiftly approaching. Kushim had deliberately kept it from me, perhaps to shield me from unnecessary anxiety. Ironically, I found out anyway when Heather mentioned it casually during one of her visits.
Heather's head rested on my chest, her finger tracing gentle patterns across my skin.
"So… do you think you're ready?" Her voice was soft and thoughtful in my stone-walled chamber.
"For another round?" I teased, smirking playfully. "You ask a lot of me, but I'd hate to disappoint!"
She laughed and gave me a gentle smack. "Not that, idiot. I mean at the end of the week—your championship fight."
I blinked in confusion. "No way. I haven't heard anything, maybe you're mistaken."
Heather raised an eyebrow, her expression adorably stern. "Then the whole city must be wrong, because flyers are plastered everywhere."
My heart skipped a beat, betrayal briefly flickering through me. "Why wouldn't Kushim tell me?"
Heather sighed sympathetically. "He probably wanted to surprise you, or spare you from worrying about something beyond your control."
I shook my head in frustration. "That's still stupid," I muttered, though her words eased my irritation somewhat. "What can I even do now? It's only two days away. I mean, I appreciate him wanting to shield me, but I still need time to prepare."
Heather gently smiled, glancing toward the barred cell door. Across from us, Mark lay facing away—his usual gesture whenever Heather visited. "Just ask him. You're going to see him soon anyway."
I sighed dramatically. "Fine, you're right. I'll talk to him." Then I smiled slyly, brushing my fingers slowly along her back. "Now, about that second round…"
"I never said anything about a second round!" she laughed, shifting to straddle my chest. "But, considering you might be dead next week, I suppose I can humor you."
"Me, dead? Never. I'd miss seeing sights like this."
"Idiot," she whispered affectionately, leaning down to kiss me.