“Is there anything you remember at all?” Lysandra asked, resting her chin on her hand.

After burying the hatchet, the two of them decided to take it to the couch to have a proper conversation.

“Just general concepts, bits and pieces.” Thirteen answered. “I know that the building we are in is ‘a palace’, but ‘Aervelis’ and ‘Aelius Empire’ don’t hold any meaning to me. I wouldn’t be able to name even a single country.”

Lysandra frowned.

Memory loss wasn’t common, but it wasn’t a completely foreign concept to her either.

She heard about people who would suffer from amnesia after a traumatic event, or as a result of an injury, or even caused by magic and alchemy.

Never before had she encountered a case this severe.

“How long has it been?”

“A week.”

“And nothing had returned to you during that time?” she questioned.

“Nothing significant. The general knowledge seems to be slowly returning, but my past is as unclear as it was on the day I woke up. The only things that feel familiar are fighting and killing.”

And you, Thirteen added in her mind. “Have we… met before?”

Lysandra looked at her suspiciously.

“No. Never. Not until now. I would have remembered.”

“I see…”

“Why do you ask?”

“You’re the first one to recognize the necklace, so I just had a thought…” Thirteen lied.

The golden gaze seemed to pierce right through her, trying to steal a glimpse of her thoughts.

Just as she was starting to believe that her lie was discovered, the Princess relaxed and got up from the couch.

“I told you already. I know the one it belongs to,” Lysandra answered and came over to the vanity by her bed.

From a richly decorated wooden case, she took out the familiar necklace.

“It belongs to the Wolf-King of Faolán,” she said and placed the jewelry on the table in front of Thirteen.

“It’s a gift from their Goddess to the first of their kind. It’s passed from generation to generation upon coronation,” she raised her eyes and looked at Thirteen, “That’s how I know it cannot belong to you. People of Faolán are shapeshifters. Unlike humans, they heal much faster.”

Thirteen processed every little bit of what Lysandra said, hoping that it would trigger some memory, but nothing happened.

“It does make me wonder how it is possible that nobody took the necklace from you when they enslaved you,” Lysandra said. “Not many people know about it, but it does look valuable. Even without a meaning, someone should just steal it for profit.”

Thirteen agreed. “My friend thought it was because nobody thought it would sell.”

Lysandra raised her eyebrows. “Friend?”

“Tally. We met on the transport to the Arena. He was the first person I talked to after waking up.” Talking about him, Thirteen realized that she had no idea what had happened to him.

She was taken from the arena before the auction finished, so they never met afterwards.

“It’s possible that it was hidden,” Lysandra broke Thirteen out of her thoughts. “There are spells that could be used to make items invisible. Powerful wizards can hide even a whole person.”

“But the necklace was in plain sight when I woke up,” Thirteen argued.

Lysandra leaned back in her seat. “The Handlers use special kinds of shackles. They block magic usage and break any spell around the person. They don’t want fireballs flying around and potentially hitting the audience. If the invisibility was broken late enough, it’s possible that simply nobody noticed.”

The explanation relied on luck in a major part, but Thirteen had to agree that it sounded plausible.

It was the only one she had anyway.

Listening to Lysandra talking about the necklace made her realize something.

“So the kiss wasn’t just a whim. You wanted to test me.” Thirteen smirked.

Lysandra looked at her from under her long eyelashes and gave her a cunning smile.

“Who said it wasn’t?” she purred.

Their eyes met.

A spark jumped from crimson to gold and drowned the room in silence. The time was brought to a halt under the pressure of the ambiguous atmosphere.

Neither of them moved or even blinked, too absorbed by the weird tension that suddenly appeared between them.

The heart in Thirteen’s chest sped up, seemingly for no reason.

Eventually, Lysandra was the first to break the mood, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

“I know someone who may help you get your memories back,” she said, her expression not betraying any emotions.

“I’m guessing you won’t simply give me this information, won’t you?” Thirteen asked cautiously. “You want something in return.”

“Clever girl,” Lysandra smiled. “I could use someone with your skills. Work with me and I’ll help you get your memories back. Comfortable life in the meantime is a bonus.”

“What exactly do you want me to do? I’m already your slave. You can order me to do anything.”

Lysandra approached the credenza and prepared two goblets and a wine carafe. “I have a reason to believe that my brother is trying to kill me,” she said while pouring the deep red liquid. “I need someone I can trust, someone who will allow me to play this game as an equal.”

Thirteen got up and joined her. “How do you know you can trust me? What if I’m working for your brother already?”

A smile curved Lysandra’s lips. “If you did, you wouldn’t be asking this,” she answered, looking Thirteen in the eyes. “My brother isn’t known for subtlety.”

She took the goblets and held one out towards Thirteen. “So how will it be…” she hesitated, then looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Do you have a name?”

“Thirteen.”

“That’s a slave number, not a name,” Lysandra answered, her voice sharper than expected.

Thirteen shrugged. Wasn’t it exactly who she was?

A slave?

Lysandra took a good look at Thirteen, scanning her from top to bottom.

Her eyes lingered on her face with strong Shahrezi features, the well-pronounced cheeks, straight black eyebrows, and captivating, big crimson eyes. She looked down at her full lips, smooth jawline, and long, slender neck.

Her toned frame, equally athletic as graceful, and strong long legs.

After a moment, her golden eyes snapped back to the unique irises.

She was stunning. Delightful. Lovely.

Lovely.

Lysandra smiled.

“Saria,” she said, pleased with how the name rolled off her tongue, “This will be your new name.”

She held out the goblet again. “How will it be, Saria? Partners?”

Just for a fraction of a second, Saria’s heart skipped a beat.

She pushed away the weird sensation in her chest and looked suspiciously at the goblet in her hand.

Lysandra followed her gaze, then sighed.

She slowly raised the glass to her mouth and took a sip of the wine, then offered it again.

‘Better?’ she asked with her eyes.

A smug grin entered Saria’s face as she accepted the wine.

“Partners.”

While Saria and Lysandra were celebrating their newly formed partnership in the Palace, Praetor Sulla was having a really rough time back at his villa.

He would have never guessed that the person who would steal his slave from him would be the infamous Princess.

If it were at least the Emperor, he would be able to understand. Albeit, it would still be a painful blow, since Lucius Octavius very rarely bought slaves. He was more interested in professional fighters and soldiers, having little use for amateurs.

But to have such a promising slave snatched right from under his nose by that woman? Preposterous!

Princess Lysandra was known for being rather trifling. Her biggest asset was her impeccable beauty that, to Praetor Sulla’s disappointment, didn’t go in pair with matching wits.

Being a dull and uninteresting woman, her main focus was always on less useful slaves, thaels, that she used as toys for her bedchamber.

Why would she suddenly desire a fighter? And the best one at that!?

Praetor Sulla simply couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t just let it end like this. This slave was too good to let her go to waste as a plaything for some woman.

He had to get her from Lysandra. No matter the cost.