I wake at dawn. I can sleep no longer. Iâve tried so desperately to just drift off, but just the thought of being out of here, of this tiny, minuscule taste of freedom is enough to set my body on fire.
I have to take another bath, a freezing cold bath, and I lie under the water for hours, daydreaming, fantasizing, lost in my own head until finally, the first streaks of daylight illuminate the glass in the windows.
I pull myself out of the water and dry myself before selecting the best of a bad selection of dresses.
I have never been one for fashion. I donât care for trends, and I certainly donât want to wear anything as revealing as what Issar forced me into, but every dress in the wardrobes is frumpy, ugly, and practically claustrophobic.
The dresses remind me of something an old lady would wear.
Something that covers, that does what a dress is designed to do, but with no grace, style, just lots of fabric. Perhaps that is the style of Helosâs court, but I seriously doubt it. No lady would choose to wear these.
I pull out a black dress that cuts in a square around the neck. It skims in the waist only a little and then flows in a glut of material to the ground.
The sleeves are just as thick and feel just as covering, though they stop halfway down my forearms, at least allowing that tiny morsel of my skin to breathe.
I want to be out of this room, out of this suite. I want to walk the halls and see this castle, but when I open the doors, the guards make me wait at least until breakfast has arrived.
I huff, but there is nothing I can do. I have no power over them. I cannot command them. I have to obey, and I sit waiting impatiently for the damn fruit to hurry up and arrive.
When it does, I scoff it down so fast my stomach actually protests.
I open the door and the guards turn again to look at me.
âYou cannot be done eating already,â one of them says, and I smirk.
âSee for yourself,â I reply, pointing at the empty bowl.
âFine. Letâs go,â another mutters, and they form up as if they are on some sort of parade. All eight of them make a quasi-square shape. I frown watching them.
âStand in the middle,â one of the guards says, and I realize what this is.
They will be like a shield around me.
I walk between them, fighting the unease in my belly at being this close to all these men, but if they want me, if they feel any sort of desire, they have good control of it because I canât sense anything.
âWhere do you want to go?â one of them asks.
I shrug. âAnywhere. Everywhere. Show me everywhere I am allowed,â I say quickly.
I think I might be pushing my luck, but I donât care. I want to see it all, to stay out of these rooms for as long as physically possible.
The guards nod and then quietly we start walking. They take me along the corridor and back through the golden doors. We walk through so many rooms.
Most of them are clearly meant for state occasions: a banqueting hall, lounges, thereâs even what looks like a giant greenhouse filled with birds that squawk and fly, a menagerie, and I make a note to come back later.
Thereâs a library, a sprawling two-floor room thatâs filled to the brim, and the shelves are so high that you have to climb multiple ladders to reach the very tops.
I seize the opportunity to take a book. I donât notice what itâs about. I donât really care.
Iâve never been that much of a reader, but if Helos is planning on keeping me in solitude forever then I need something other than just a bath to escape with.
We walk further down and a few people pass us. Most are servants, rushing about, but they stare at me all the same.
Itâs still so early it feels like the castle hasnât woken yet. That I am the only one stalking these halls, exploring.
They show me the garden last. I can feel the air before weâre even at the corridor that leads to it. I can smell it too. The scent of flowers, and butterflies. It fills my nose; it fills my pores.
I step out through the gate and my skin tingles as the cool breeze finally hits me.
The garden is not as big as I imagined, but it feels more intimate, safer too.
I can see the walls all around it, though most of them are covered with huge roses that have climbed their way up between the stones. It is a simple garden, unlike the ones in King Rufusâs castle.
Suddenly I stop and the guards around me frown.
âWhatâs wrong?â one of them asks.
I shake my head, shutting my eyes.
I realize then that I havenât thought of King Rufus since the night they caught me. Since the night I watched him die, concealed, hidden in his rooms after trying to find him when the last of his defenses failed us.
I havenât thought of Amera either.
So much has happened since weâve been separated and I still donât know where she is or who bought her.
âCan we stay a moment?â I ask.
I want to think, to breathe this space in, and in some small way, to grieve for the loss of a man that was more a father to me than any other being in this world.
The guards nod and two of them walk around, searching, as if they expect to find someone lurking, waiting to attack me.
âNo one is here,â one of them says as they return, and the lead guard nods.
âTake your time,â he says to me, and they bar the gate, stopping anyone else from coming in.
I feel a fleeting sense of guilt. I am monopolizing this space, but then I decide that I donât care.
These people have never once felt guilty for the way theyâve treated me, so why should I feel so when all I want is a little thinking time?
I walk away from them then. Into the space, into the center. All around me is greenery and shrubs and life. I can feel their life: the plants, the flowers, the bees.
My skin tingles even more, and I want to let out a laugh, but I donât dare.
I walk further away, trying to pretend that they arenât watching me, that Iâm not guarded. That I am back at my home, in the gardens, and that I am safe.
My face is wet, I realize.
My tears are falling before I even register it, and suddenly, I am sobbing, heaving, as they come thick and fast. I donât even know what it is I am crying for because it feels like everything.
The loss of my home. The loss of King Rufus. For Amera and whatever might have happened to her. And for what Issar has done to me.
I sob hard when I think of him.
I feel like I am partly responsible for what he did because if I had been stronger, if I had kept the creature inside me at bay, endured his treatment of me, endured the pain, then perhaps he wouldnât have been so cruel.
I shake my head because I know itâs nonsense. He was going to hurt me whether I played along or not.
I think of King Helos and my tears are still coming.
I donât know why he is keeping me here, or what he wants from me, and Iâm afraid he will disappoint me just like everyone else has.
The voice in my head tells me that he is stringing me along, keeping me sweet until he comes to whatever decision he is making, and when he does, whatever he decides will hurt me.
He will betray me, just like everyone else does.
When my tears finally stop falling, I wipe my face and curl up on a bench, reading my book.
I know I am pushing it, that the guards will grow sick of humoring me any minute now, but for the moment I just want to feel the heat of the sun and escape.
The book Iâve chosen is not the best. In fact, itâs pretty awful. Itâs a non-fiction geography book and I flick through the pages as it starts detailing different cloud structures.
Tomorrow, I will swap it for a different book, one more carefully chosen, but today, in this moment, it will do.
I stay in this garden for so long that I think the guards are starting to lose their patience. It must be well past lunchtime, and they are clearly itching to be doing anything other than standing here and smelling the roses.
We walk back faster through the castle than I like, but I donât object.
Tomorrow I can come back.
Tomorrow I can do this again if I choose, and I feel the faintest hint of a smile creeping across my lips.
But as we walk, something catches my eye, and I pause by a window and look down.
King Helos is in a courtyard. He is with a child, a boy who couldnât be more than eight years old, though he could be younger. The boy has unruly hair just like Helosâs, and I wonder if this is his son.
Everyone knows his story. His wife died of some mystery illness when his son was barely out of swaddling clothes.
I stand and watch as the guards quietly huff, but they donât see what Iâm looking at; they are too busy watching for threats in the corridor around me.
Helos is holding a bow and arrow, and it looks like he is showing the boy how to hold it.
Helos lets one loose, and it hits the target in the distance right in the bullseye. He passes the bow to the boy. It looks so large in his tiny hands.
Helos places an arrow, and he struggles to pull it, but Helos helps him, and it shoots out, hitting the ground just in front, barely a few meters ahead.
The boy is grinning, laughing up at Helos, and Helos smiles before ruffling his hair.
And then suddenly he looks up. Our eyes meet for the briefest of seconds and I gasp, quickly flattening myself against the wall, but I know he has seen me. I know he knows it was me. Iâd bet my life on it.
I stand there, waiting, letting my breath catch, and then I quickly return to my rooms.
I donât want to push it. I donât want Helos to change his mind and lock me back up again, and I pray to the gods that he doesnât think Iâm spying on him, even though thatâs exactly what it looks like.