A Fallen Princess

Ian stared straight into the man's golden eyes, his gaze unyielding as he spoke.

"Blood? You'll need more than a wooden sword for that," he said, his voice calm but laced with confidence.

The man glanced down at the wooden sword in his hand, his smirk widening as he replied, "Really? I hope so."

"You seem to be really underestima—" The words died in Ian's mouth as realization dawned on him.

He looked down at his ripped tunic, his hand instinctively moving to his torso. His fingers brushed against wetness, and as he brought his hand to his face, he saw the dark red stain of blood.

His blood.

'Ah, so I have already… been cut through.'

The pain hit him like a wave, sharp and searing, as the deep gash across his chest and torso made itself known.

His body went into shock almost immediately, his vision blurring as his legs gave out beneath him. The last thing he heard before darkness claimed him was the man's voice, dripping with disappointment.

"I didn't expect much, but this is quite disappointing."

---

When Ian woke, he was no longer in the courtyard. The air was cooler, the faint rocking motion beneath him suggesting he was in a wagon.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes as he tried to shake off the lingering fog of unconsciousness.

Across from him sat the man, his golden eyes watching Ian with a mixture of amusement and disdain.

"Not this shit again," Ian muttered, his voice hoarse as he sat up straighter. His hand instinctively went to his chest, where the wound had been.

His tunic had been replaced, and the skin beneath was smooth and unbroken, the only evidence of the injury a faint scar.

"You know where we're going?" the man asked, his tone casual, as if they were discussing common topics.

"From experience, I know it's nowhere good," Ian replied, his voice dry.

The man chuckled, a low, humorless sound. "We're going to Blackblood Forest."

"Of course it's called that," Ian said, rubbing his hand down his face with a sigh. He glanced at the man, his expression wary.

The man tilted his head slightly, the golden rings in his dreadlocks catching the light.

Ian's jaw tightened. He leaned back against the side of the wagon, his mind racing as he processed the man's words.

The forest's name alone was enough to send a chill down his spine, but the man's casual tone made it even more unsettling.

"Your healing… it's impressive," the man said after a moment, his gaze flicking to Ian's chest. "But that's the only thing about you that is… and it's not enough. Not when you're our last chance."

Ian's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'last chance'?"

The man sighed, turning his head to look at the landscape rolling past them. The wagon was moving through a dense forest, the trees towering overhead and painting shadows across the path.

The air held the scent of pine and earth, but there was an undercurrent of something darker.

"Velrosa Lionarde," the man began, his voice low and measured, "the princess of the Ivorian Empire, is your master. That title may seem powerful, but it's one she holds in name only. She's an outcast of the imperial family, exiled even from the capital and forced to Esgard, where she still struggles to hold power."

Ian frowned, his curiosity piqued despite himself.

"Why was she exiled?"

The man's expression darkened, his golden eyes narrowing as he spoke.

"Because she's a half-blood bastard, as the queen would always call her. Her father was the emperor, but her mother was the wife of a Shewati miner—a peasant."

Ian's brow furrowed, his own past flashing in his mind.

"Wife? So her mother was unfaithful."

The man shook his head, his expression grim.

"No. When the Shewati were raided, her husband was killed, and she was dragged away to the emperor. Her five-year-old son was left behind to die. Not long after, she was pregnant with Velrosa, and not long after that, she gave birth. The queen had her killed. The emperor tried to keep the princess as royalty in the capital, but there were too many people against it. Eventually, she was sent away."

There was a bitter irony in the princess's story, one that resonated with him more than he cared to admit.

"When the princess arrived in Esgard," the man continued, "she established her house and power with nothing but a worthless title and determination.

She soon gathered a camp of trained warriors who were frequently victorious in the arena. Each win raised her wealth and status. But a few years ago, the Duke of Lugard arrived, likely sponsored by the queen.

His fighters were unbeatable.

Man after man in the princess's elite camp died to their hands. They took no forfeits, and even many slaves bought after died as well.

Now, the princess is bankrupt, in debt, and stands to lose all she has built. If you die, we can't afford another slave, and she can't afford the disgrace that comes with your death in the arena. So that's why you won't die in the arena.

You either die in the Blackblood Forest or return from it a man strong enough to be victorious."

Ian understood, her fate—and perhaps his—rested on his ability to survive the horrors of the Blackblood Forest.

"What's in the Blackblood Forest?" Ian asked again, his voice low and steady.

The man's smirk returned, his golden eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.

"Beasts that feed on the flesh of men."

He exhaled slowly. "So this is my test?"

The man smirked. "No. This is your rebirth. If you survive, you will become something more than a worthless slave. If you don't… well." He shrugged.

"The beasts have to eat."

Ian clenched his fists.

The heaviness of chains still lingered in his mind, the taste of blood in the pits fresh in his tongue. He had fought tooth and nail for every breath, and he would not fall now.

"I will survive," Ian said, his voice like steel.

The man chuckled. "We'll see."

The wagon hit a rough patch, jolting Ian forward slightly. As he steadied himself, he glanced at the man again.

"You never told me your name."

"It's Eli."