Dead Suitors Tell No Tales

1: A Princess in Pain

It was a stupid plan from the start.

Amara winced as a brute of a man shoved her body against the dirty stone wall of an abandoned alleyway. Several large bruises lined her arms and jaw and she grimaced as she recalled her foolish idea to challenge this man to a fight.

Pain erupted from her body and she gasped, struggling to escape as the man pinned her to the wall and proceeded to give her cheek a stinging slap. Her vision blurred as she took another hit to the head. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the stars out of her eyes, as she desperately sought to focus on the dizzy figure of her attacker.

SMACK. A clout to the temple. WHUMP. A kick to her stomach. THWACK. A sharp punch sent her reeling. She sagged against the wall, unable to defend herself. Retreat was the only option, but there was no where she could run.

Amara fought to hold herself upright, wincing as her bleeding hands found purchase on the rough stone behind her. Her breathing came in short, pitiful gulps as she braced herself for the anticipated beating she would continue to receive. She cringed at the stench of foul breath on her ear and unconsciously flinched as the figure raised a hand to strike her again.

The hits were equipped with insults this time, a never-ending stream of verbal abuse. Each strike set her body trembling from the renewed agony, and she didn't have the strength to protest.

For how long she sat there, cowering in fear and pathetically accepting her punishment, she did not know. The night wore on in a shadowy haze, and when dawn finally arrived, she realized she must have fallen unconscious sometime during the attack.

Slowly, she began to sit up, and immediately jerked back as a burning sensation shot through her abdomen. Clutching her stomach, she gasped and felt a tear trickle down her cheek.

I must have broken a rib, she thought, panicking. She sucked in a breath, working up the courage to pick herself up.

Glancing at the sky, she estimated she had about an hour before someone noticed that she was missing from her room. Once she realized she had to walk home, she knew it would take a miracle to be able to get on two feet in her condition.

It hurt like hell.

Every bone felt like it was breaking, her skin was on fire, and every single curse she knew flew swiftly out her mouth as she gasped and stood on her feet.

I have to do this, she thought desperately. I have to get home.

Step by step, Amara shuffled her way to the side of the street, where the looming shadows of dark houses hid her small, broken form from sight. She drew the hood of her torn cloak over her head and kept her face angled down. She had to remain unseen at all costs. It was no good for her to be walking here, especially if she was discovered.

If she was caught...she shuddered to think of what her father would say. What he would do.

She was walking much too slowly. The morning light was fast approaching and she still had many miles to go. Yet for the life of her, Amara could not force herself to move faster. She mentally berated herself as last night's events replayed over and over again in her mind.

It was her own fault she had gotten into the fight. Challenging a man that was at least twice her size, with hands larger than her head and a multitude of weapons at his side, was definitely not her brightest decision. Even if she had been quick and capable, he more than made up for her lack of abilities with brute strength and raw power.

He hadn't looked so skilled at first. She had matched him for the first minute and a half by ducking to avoid his hits, trying to find an opening in his attack. It wasn't long before she realized there wasn't going to be any openings. He was a much better fighter.