29. Lily

PRESENT DAY

I never found out how Ohara could be so sure that I would never be chosen as a Prize ever again.

Maybe it was because of my lack of effort, my despondency after my time with him. No Champion wanted to spend time with a drip who sucked the life out of what was meant to be their victory.

Even if they had chosen me, it would have been like making love to a lump of wood. Why choose me when they could have one of the other, perkier, and far more willing Prizes?

And so, they did.

As a Prize, I should have been tossed onto the slag heap a long time ago. Much like Gpidod, my first and only real friend among the Prizes. She, like many other Prizes, had fallen out of favor with the Champions over the years.

Within months, they were shipped off, never to be seen or heard from again, likely incinerated or buried on some distant moon, or diced into pieces and blasted into the eternity of space.

The Prize Pool was a much colder and hopeless place without her. But I, for whatever reason, remained. I became the unofficial "madam" of the Prizes, a kind of mother figure to watch over the new recruits.

The Supervisor likely didn't have me discarded like the other Prizes because I was still serving a purpose.

I was still of value.

I helped the other Prizes, warned them of ever falling in love with the inmates. My advice often fell on deaf ears.

Any thoughts of Ohara only brought sadness. That sadness decayed into anger. And that anger morphed into hate. The memory of him had turned into poison in my veins.

And yet, I still thought about him. I thought about him all the time.

It was always with love and affection, which I immediately doused and tore into tiny fragments until there wasn't a piece of that happiness remaining.

Our time together had been short, but it was strong. Sometimes a single moment could change your entire life.

A knock came at my tiny office door. It was Erishia, a young pholidician who hadn't yet been Claimed.

I did my best to keep her away from the Prize Pool but it was only a matter of time before she would take her turn.

"Yes?" I said.

"Sorry to disturb you," she said, bowing her great head of green hair, "but there's a guard to see you."

"Thank you," I said. "Return to your duties."

So, the day had come. After the Supervisor told me about the investigations that were going to take place in each department of the prison, I smelled a rat.

They were looking for someone to pin the blame on for the recent riot. And who better than the female in charge of the Prize Pool?

I was little more than dead weight to them and meant nothing. They could easily throw me to the wolves, blame me for everything that'd taken place, punish me, and then move on with their lives.

It wouldn't solve their problems when it came to the next riot, but that hardly mattered. The important thing was in pointing the finger of blame and moving on with their lives.

I needed to be careful about what I said to this guard, and ensure I didn't give him the rope he could use to hang me with.

I touched up my makeup and made myself look more presentable. As I didn't need to attract the attention of the Champions, there was little need for me to look any better than when I stumbled out of bed.

But today could be different.

I doubted it would make much difference to the guard — they weren't usually much interested in the Prizes — or, at least, pretended they weren't.

I was going to need every last morsel of influence I could get and I wasn't shy about using it. I changed my dress and put on a plain pair of earrings.

I checked myself in the mirror. The female who looked back was not the same woman from five years earlier. This female rarely smiled without good reason. Her heart had been broken and never fully mended. She knew the damaging effect love could have and wanted no further part of it.

I looked good enough.

Then I marched out of the room, crossed to the doors that fed onto the Viewing Room, and placed my hand on the handle. I took a deep breath, affixed a practiced warm smile to my face, and adopted my "madam" persona, as I referred to it.

It was one of subservience and yet, more than a little sharpness, to deal with the problem patrons. It was a persona I had developed over the years to deal with any issues or problems that might arise… and there were a lot of problems that seemed to arise.

I saw the Lead Guard at the door. He stood, taller than the other guards by at least a foot. He had his hands cupped behind him, looking out the window at the fighting pits below.

They were very quiet. The fights had been suspended for now until the aftermath of the riots had completely passed.

The Lead Guard was new here — sent to specifically deal with the riots and although he hadn't seen the fights, he must have heard of them. They were famous throughout the galaxy.

"You should return when the fighting pits are open again," I said with a smile. "We have some of the best views in the whole prison. No obstructions, no jostling crowds. And, of course, the best company to be had in the entire prison. At least, we like to think so."

The Lead Guard turned to look at me. In his visor I could make out only my made-up face and caught the flicker of fear that I always wore when I had to deal with the prison guards.

If the Supervisor was God in here, then his guards were his arms, able to do just about anything they wished with the inmates, or us, the Prizes.

Each Supervisor managed differently and you never knew how aggressive they might be. The new replacement was untested… as was this new figure staring at me now with his shiny visor.

He didn't mutter so much as a word and his body language was just as cold and impossible to read.

"Well," I said, recovering quickly, "the invitation is open and you can take us up on it whenever you want. Shall I give you the tour?"

He turned and followed me as I led him through the Viewing Room.

"This is where we host the Champions," I said. "They come up the steps and stand here to observe the Prizes. Once they make their selection, they take their Claim and return to their cells where they… entertain the female."

Even now, it was difficult for me to describe what happened to the Prizes. It too often conjured images of my own personal experiences with Ohara, and that wasn't exactly something the "madam" persona I'd cultivated should be thinking.

I glanced at the lead guard and he just stood there, looking at me.

A talker, huh?I grumbled inwardly. "Onward then," I said.

I led him into the back where some of the females were practicing various makeup styles. With the fighting pits shut down, there was nothing else for them to do. After all, without Champions, there could be no Prizes.

"This is the back room," I said. "Here is where the Prizes prepare themselves for the Claiming. There's really not much to it. Those are the tables where the females can put on their makeup. And there are the cabinets where we keep the dresses. Would you like to see?"

He did not indicate whether he would or not, but as this was an inspection and I really had nothing to hide, I decided to show him anyway.

I led him to the closets and opened the doors one by one, exposing the flimsy negligees that the Prizes had no choice but to wear.

Some of the Prizes were skilled in adding little details and adornments — something they thought the Champions would notice, but I never thought they did. They were caked in blood and had just come from one of the worst places to be in the entire prison, narrowly escaping death. Did the females really expect them to notice small stitched pink hearts around the hem of a sheer dress?

I pushed the negligees to one side so the lead guard could see there were no trap doors or hidden sections. The thought of escape crossed my mind from time to time but I never took it seriously.

Failure would result in death, as there was nothing else worse than a life sentence at Ikmal. And who was going to try to escape more than a prisoner with nothing to lose?

The guard barely even looked at the closet and for the first time since this whole thing began, I wondered if that was the real reason he was there.

Maybe he already had information, some knowledge that things weren't as they seemed at the prison. Did one of the Prizes know or do something that they shouldn't have?

If they did, I didn't know about it. But how was I supposed to prove that without even knowing what it was that they'd done?

I shook my head and told myself not to worry. It would turn out to be nothing.

"Next we have the sleeping quarters," I said to the guard. "They're right through here."

But the Lead Guard took the initiative and instead of following me, headed in the opposite direction, to my office.

"There's nothing there," I said in vain as he pushed the door open and entered.

It was my inner sanctum, the only place that was private and for me only. It was a luxury none of the other Prizes possessed.

I checked around the door before I entered. There was precious little space with the both of us inside.

"Like I said, there's nothing in here," I said.

But the lead guard didn't move. He stood there, back to the wall, looking down at me.

"Are we alone?" his fuzzy electronic voice said.

"Uh, yeah," I said. "Why? What's all this about?"

He leaned over and pressed his hand to the door, shutting it behind me. Now we were alone in that tiny, cramped room, and I worried about what he would say next. The space suddenly felt very close… very intimate.

"Look," I said, my fear getting the better of me. "I don't know everything the Prizes get up to. If they've been doing something suspicious outside these rooms, then there's really nothing I could know about it and I suggest you speak with them directly."

He reached up and unfastened the straps holding his helmet in place. This was irregular and not something the guards ever did and it sent alarm bells ringing in my head.

This couldn't lead to anything good. I knew that much.

"There's no need to remove your—" I said, but the rest of the sentence lodged in my throat.

The moment I saw his curled tuft of black hair, I knew what I would see beneath that visor. And when his strong cheekbones and smooth chin came into view, I'd already passed into the realm of disbelief.

And when his eyes were finally exposed and there was no way to go back, no way to unsee his face, I just gaped.

It was the face that came to me each and every night in my dreams. The face that I'd thought I would never again see in the flesh. The cause of the greatest suffering of my life… and its cure.

It was him. My alien inmate. My fated mate.

It was Ohara.