The Princess and The Criminal [ CAITVI ]

2 | No Turning Back

5 Years Later

Author: Yes, another time jump. 😔
In the last chapter, the girls were around 15, but with this shift, they're now in their early 20s. The timeline aligns with Season 2 now.

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The cell was silent, except for the occasional shuffle of guards and the distant sounds of the prison's darker corners. But in the stillness, there was a presence. A woman who had been shaped by years of hardship and survival, now standing behind cold, iron bars.

She was far from the girl she'd once been. Time had carved its harsh path on her body. Muscles, thickened from years of brutal fighting, rippled beneath her worn skin. Scars and tattoos, each one a memory, were etched across her arms and torso—marks of a life spent in violence. Her hair, dark and unruly, hung in tangled strands around a face shaped by hardship and exhaustion.

She has been one of the Queen's most prized fighters, tossed into the pits as a form of twisted entertainment. The Queen had watched from her gilded throne, sending people like Vi—criminals or not—into the arena to fight for their lives, all for sport. The survivors lived, but their lives were never really theirs to keep. They were always at the Queen's mercy, and mercy was a rare thing.

Vi's body bore the map of that violence—every scar, every inked symbol a testament to her survival. But her eyes... her eyes told a different story. They were tired, yes, but there was an undeniable sharpness to them, a glint of fire that refused to be extinguished. That fire was something the Queen loved to toy with, a reminder that Vi was one of the few who had yet to break.

Vi hadn't killed the King, but they both knew it didn't matter. The Queen had used Vi as a convenient scapegoat, a cover for the truth behind the King's death. Locking her away in this prison, accusing her of regicide was easier than confronting the real cause.

Vi might have been a fighter, but she wasn't a killer.

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Vi's POV
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"You hungry seven?"

I ignored his question, choosing instead to fixate on the wall in front of me, deliberately avoiding his gaze.

A soft thud behind me disturbed my silence, pulling my attention away.

I shifted my eyes just enough to catch the guard standing outside my cell, a piece of stale bread at his feet like some half-hearted offering.

His expression was a mask of smug indifference, that little grin of his saying it all.

My gaze flicked from the bread back to him, narrowing.

"You're lucky I'm not out there," I stated flatly.

His eyebrows twitched, a wrinkle forming between them as he trudged closer, his movements restless.

"You shouldn't say things like that from behind bars," he said, his tone turning colder. "You might just get yourself killed, delinquent."

The bitterness in the air was thick enough to make the tiny cell feel suffocating.

I scoffed, my voice dripping with disdain. "Like I don't know that, genius. Either way, I'm boned—might as well make an exit worth remembering."

The guard didn't blink, just kept staring at me like I was some kind of animal.

"Say what you want," he said, "You're still not getting out of there."

I pushed off the wall and took a slow step toward the bars, my gaze sharp and dark. "Oh, yeah? I'll take my chances."