When I got to my room, I decided to go to the market and look around to get my mind off trying to figure that squire out. But of course I couldn't buy anything because I had no money and was not going to go begging the King for some. I could always get a job…if anyone needed an unexperienced schoolgirl who hasn't finished school due to being transported to Another World, that is.

I also decided never to mention to anyone that I was from the Other World. It kind of disturbed them and got them all jittery and frightened, which of course ended up annoying me to the degree of wanting to punch their heads in, my favourite sort of manoeuvre.

But hey, once a freak, always a freak.

So I went back down to the stable, waited for the late picnickers to settle back into their rooms—because I wanted to be alone—and then mounted Calmheart and set of with her towards where one of the guards of some sort had explained to me the path to the Market.

I galloped down a few roads, swivelled a few corners and rounded up at a noisy, energetic, blustering open-mall sort of market with shops at every block and sellers calling out their 'good-deals' which were in fact the biggest rip offs on Earth. I smiled at the level of volume and welcomed the busyness of all people around me.

All the past few days I'd been stared and judged for who the people knew me to be; the girl from the Other World. Well here no one knew and I could do what the hell I liked and not be judged, oh, because I'm from the boring, pathetic, excuse of a planet: the Other World.

I regretted riding Calmheart though, because it attracted attention. Of course, there were a few people on horses, but they weren't casually sauntering around, gawking at the wonder of it all. I was. And if that didn't attract attention, then neither would a person having a heart attack on a bus, right next to you.

Stopping near a fountain, I dismounted and leaned against the comfortable Calmheart, I patted her neck and sighed with contentment. I was now far, far away from any troubles that haunted me all my life; they'd disappeared once I'd stepped into this magical world. I was as safe as—

—a girl with a sharp object—probably a sword or dagger—looming at her neck.

'Great,' I mumbled, as a hand was groped around my waist.

'Ye look like a nice sort'a girl, so would ye mind handin' over that nice, big purse o' yours,' a whispered, aggressive voice sounded in my ear.

Wonderful.

'I would, but use your eyes and see I don't have a damn nice, big purse! Dolt.'

'I'd look again miss, 'cause I wouldn't want meself to be in th'mess ye'll be in if I don' hand over that purse,' was the dry retort.

If it had been George, I thought angrily, he would believe me! Bloody amateurs.

'Look, dude, as much as I love that feeling of a dagger against my neck, I could live without it. So if you'd just stop poking that thing into my neck, I'd be very grateful. So grateful in fact that I wouldn't do this.'

I pinched hard between where his thumb and index finger connected, which made him yelp but didn't get the dagger off of my back. But I sent a backwards-kick, which was aimed at his groin, but since I was short it only hit his knees. But it worked and he doubled over for a few seconds, giving me a chance to grab Calmheart's reigns and make a run for it.

I didn't even look back as I swung over the horse's back and thanked Roald for the training lesson.

Only when I was quite a distance away did I look back.

But there was no one there.

Now if George had been that thief's King, he would have killed me in a gif. Not that George was a sort of cold-blooded murderer, but I meant I would have been in deep crap.

I decided not to hang around the Market anymore until I acquired some sort of weapon. A useful one. A sword preferably.

'Where have you been?' Hayley casually said, looking up from a book she was reading.

I dumped myself on my bed and closed my eyes, ready to relax.

'Market,' I replied after a few seconds.

'You're mad! Without a companion? Thank God you're in one piece!'

I laughed at how shocked she'd sounded. 'It's not World War Five Trillion out there you know, wait…has this world even had a world war yet? But anyway, I'd love to lie down here without—'

Ironically, the door swung open, and two grunting boys stepped in, fighting each other with sweat down their temples as they shoved each other and punched one another in the face.

Khalil and the Yamani squire.

Both Hayley and me jumped and turned to look at them with exasperation. Boys will be boys. They were attacking and growling manly, all they needed was the caveman's hairy body and monkey face and there! Perfection of an imitation of an ape—except apes weren't insane.

So me and Hayley waited for them to calm down and explain why exactly they'd decided to barge into our rooms and fight in our space and reek havoc in that certain space and room of ours.

Of course that took quite a while—what with Khalil kicking and shoving and swearing furiously, and the squire crashing into and wrecking everything that had a possibility of being rather breakable and fragile, what time did the poor guys have for talking?

I was lying there, clenching my fists and jamming my eyes shut, wishing them far, far away. Temper. Control. Need. Hit. Annoying. Dweebs. Those were my emotions. And no one needed to read my mind to know that because Hayley guessed what I would do if I got too angry and she was, in her soft and caring voice, trying to get the boys out of the room—quickly.

But they looked so angry and ferocious and none paid attention to the poor girl's pleas.

I, of course, was doing my best not to punch their heads together. So much for the peaceful picnic! The migraine was increasing by the second. You'd think the guys, after circling the wide room once, would leave and annoy some other people. But no, they circled the room and each other again and again. And I had to admit; Khalil was damn good!

'Khalil,' I said. Too busy, try again later! 'Khalil,' I said, louder. No response or reaction.

'KHALIL!' The guy practically groans in pain and hits the floor. I'd distracted him enough to get the squire enough room to hit him hard.

But Khalil was up and on the squire in a second, punching him hard. The Yamani did what he was trained to do. Kick butt. And poor Khalil was being pounded. I was shocked, so my reaction was delayed.

They were really fighting, not some I'm-the-man, no-I-am nonsense.

I got up and ran to the two, who were fighting like two crocs over a scrap of meat, shoving the Yamani away with one quick push and punched his jaw and then his cheek. 'You bloody idiot!' I glowered at the Yamani. 'Are you trying to kill him?'

I turned to Khalil and saw his limp, unconscious body lying on the floor. I ran to his side and tenderly touched his bleeding nose and mouth. 'Oh God,' I whispered, as I saw his puffed up lips and nose. His nose was obviously broken and he was doing all he could to hide the pain. Like a typical man. Was it so wrong to show that you're in pain? It takes more strength to cover up pain than not to, and strength is not what you could spare in these situations.

I turned back to glare at the Yamani squire. 'You maniac! You mother friggin' maniac! Get out, get out now before I seriously murder you!'

He clenched his teeth at me, narrowed his eyes, stood there for a while and then got the hint when I clenched my fist and left.

'Hayley!' I called to the stunned girl, her eyes were wide and her hands were shaking. 'Call a Healer, hurry!'

She very much nearly tripped over herself running.

I closed the door because people had gathered around and then returned to tending to the closest friend I'd ever had—other than my mother.

'Oh, Khalil, why do you have to be such a typical man?' I whispered, getting out my handkerchief and wiping the blood away. I needed water. I looked around and saw the vase on the desk and ran to it, threw the flowers out the window. The hole was big enough for me to dip the cloth in, even if it did smell of lavenders.

When he woke up, I nearly threw my arms around him with happiness, but I was scared he'd broken something and I'd hurt him.

'Khalil, is anything broken, other than your nose?' I asked, but his mouth was too puffed up to respond, so I told him to point to anywhere that hurts and he pointed to his chest.

'The bastard punched your chest? Are any rips broken, any—'

But he shook his head, almost angrily and pointed to his chest. No, his heart.

I frowned at him. 'I'm not a love doctor but Serena'll be here in a sec. Is there any physical pain other than your nose and mouth?'

He shook his head and I sighed with relief. 'Good,' I mumbled, finishing off the last wipe of blood on his face.

His whole face was swollen and was turning a red-purple-yellow colour.

He had a cut on his eyebrow and another one across his cheek.

I wondered what had started such a stupid fight, guys always attacked at the teeniest insult—I'd seen it happen and had sometimes unconsciously started many of those stupid fights with guys myself.

The Healer arrived then and I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled weakly at Khalil, assuring him Healers were just like doctors only they worked with their magic when his eyes widened at the glittery, bright blue magic spreading throughout him.

When he was safely tucked in my bed—which was the closest to where he'd lain—and was sleeping peacefully, I got up and went in search for the bastard who I knew had caused all that trouble.

I knocked on Roald's door—since Khalil had been assigned to the Prince's room and he'd considered the new squire a friend, I thought the shit would be there.

The Prince answered, but I pushed past him and looked around the room.

The beds' quilts weren't as soft and comfortable looking as my room and neither was it bright. The curtains had been drawn and the lamp turned on. I nearly growled when I saw the Yamani lying on his back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a lazy, careless look on his face. He wasn't even hurt!

Storming over to him, I laid a punch to his face once again.

His shocked expression came in a matter of seconds, and then he got up and realized who I was and snickered.

Not as friendly anymore, are we?

'You dare touch my friends again and I will break every single, tiny bone in your body! You get me you bastard?' Only I used more colourful, censored language.

'Oh?' he said, touching the spot where I'd punched him with a dangerous leer on his face. 'How're you going to do that with you on the floor?'

And sure enough, in seconds he'd grounded me to the floor.

Roald came rushing to my "aid". But I was fine without him.

My attack mode was set on and I was a punching, kicking and swearing machine as I brought my knee into a groin and cracked a few bones and stretched a few muscles that shouldn't be stretched as far as I stretched them. But the boy needed exercise.

I also bit, slapped, pulled and did anything that could cause this scrap of living cells pain. He'd pay. And this was just the beginning. I said I was very protective of my friends. And I meant it.

In the end Roald had to drag me away and throw me out of the room. I would have, with my rage, knocked the door down and got the jerk—the squire I mean—but he'd used his Gift. So I just banged on the doors and swore so loudly, Lord Wyldon came and slapped me.