The Archshade

Eleven

The Archshade straightens his posture and turns, catching me as I peer into the room. His gaze ignites a flush of red in my cheeks. Is this a test? A trick? He doesn't seem angry, though it's difficult to detect any emotion beneath all those wrappings.

Unfazed by my silence, the Archshade removes the kettle from the fire and carefully fills the grey ware cups on the table with steaming tea. Then, pulling a chair from the wooden table, he motions with a sweep of his arm for me to sit—a gesture which spreads the heat from my cheeks to the tips of my ears.

"I would be honored if you would join me at my table."

He patiently waits, his hands resting on the back of the ornate chair, as I hesitate one moment more. The heat in my ears creeps down my neck, and I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders. He gives me a small nod.

Letting out a conceding breath, I step forward and try to sit as elegantly as I can, but my shoulders keep slumping forward as if melting beneath the spreading heat. Once I'm seated, he gives my chair a small push toward the table.

"My servant Aria brought this for you earlier this morning."

His arm appears at my side, holding a folded bit of cloth—my silk headscarf. Careful not to touch his gloved hand, I take the cloth and quickly wrap it around my hair, deftly gathering up my tresses. The moment my headscarf is secured, a soothing salve of comfort fills my chest and a small shred of boldness returns to my veins.

The Archshade moves to take his own seat across from me, his gait slow and purposeful. Upon closer inspection, his regal mannerisms conceal a soft limp in his leg and a troublesome tightness in his shoulder. As he sits, he breathes out a weary sigh. My mind recalls the nursemaid's warnings. Flesh festered and rotting... hideous to behold... sick in his soul...

"I trust you slept well."

Though the words hover at the edge of my lips, I can't bring myself to make a polite reply. I stare at the wood of the table and merely nod.

The Archshade lowers his voice to a quiet mutter. "If you are concerned about what transpired last night, you need not be. No guards are coming for you."

Despite myself, I glance up at him, meeting his gaze to judge if he truly means what he says. There's a strange look in his green glass eyes—something distinctly perceptive. Peering out between strips of black cloth, he watches me with deep interest.

I take a breath. "Your Highness, I—"

"So you do speak?" A teasing smile lights his eyes, but a retort leaves my mouth before I can stop it.

"I do, my lord. But my words rarely matter, so I reserve my breath."

The black fabric over the Archshade's brow shifts upward. "And what would you say if you had no need to reserve it?"

"Nothing, my lord. My actions speak for me."

The Archshade tilts his head to the side. "I disagree. The context of your decision must be far more illuminating than the action itself." He pauses only a moment before asking, "Why did you try to kill me?"

I try not to cringe at his words, but my expression cracks, betraying me. All of my reasoning crashes around in my mind, tumbling over one another and fighting to be the first out of my lips, but instead of releasing them one by one in a torrent of justification, I clamp my mouth shut. I won't be ashamed of trying to protect myself when no one else could.

"I assure you," the Archshade says as he leans back in his chair, "there is nothing you can say to me which has not already been whispered behind my back. Rumors so rarely capture the truth, though I will admit, they are very skilled at masquerading as trusted advice."