The Archshade

Twelve

Aria arrives shortly after the Archshade leaves. She brings me food and spiced chai on a silver tray and insists I eat every last bite. Though I'm too much in a daze to truly savor any of the flavors, my gut begins to release the painful pinch I'm used to ignoring. I sip the chai as Aria delicately runs a rag over the wound on my forearm and wraps a soft, absorbent bandage from my wrist to my elbow.

Once every morsel is gone, she whisks me away to the bedchamber where she tries to dress me in an extravagant choli with lurid colors and gold embroidery. The garment is perfectly tailored to my body, but I still voice an uncompromising no. Aria pouts (and tries tricking me into a few other gowns) until finally relenting. She dresses me in a red salwar kameez with intricate black and gold embroidery along the sleeves and collar line. A band of red and gold flowers decorates the hem of the kurti. Though the style is meant to fit loosely, the soft cotton still hugs all my distinct edges and curves.

After I'm dressed, Aria brushes out my long hair and rubs coconut oil into the tresses. The smooth, tropical scent lingers in the room as she pats off the excess oil before skillfully tying my hair up in a plain headwrap.

When I'm finished, Aria beams at her handiwork and pulls me over to the mirror so I can admire myself. I blink at the reflection. Though it's an ensemble I'm much more comfortable with, I still feel like a thrall playing dress-up while my mistress is away. The soft cotton, the gossamer hair, the subtle jeweled adornments—it's only the shell of a noblewoman that I've slipped into. On the inside, there's just me.

I thank Aria and dismiss her, the words awkwardly tumbling from my mouth as I've only ever been on the receiving end of them. But Aria is unfazed. With a kind smile, she bows low and leaves the Archshade's chambers.

In the wake of her absence, I realize I don't know what to do. My discomfort and embarrassment coiled inside me so stark and heavy that I rushed to send Aria away without asking what I'm expected to do now. Am I allowed to leave the Archshade's chambers? Do I have to wait in this boredom and seclusion until he returns every night? Will I be beaten for wandering the halls? The sore flesh of my calves still aches with healing welts.

As the silence and the stillness feeds on me, the prince's expansive chambers suddenly become too small to breathe in. I rush to the door but stop a step away. Everything is tangled, set off-kilter. I now have a servant, so I'm no longer forced to serve, but I'm confined to this place, chained to a path I didn't choose, a path I would never choose. I now have fine clothes and rich foods, but I can only wear and eat what others agree is tolerable. Even my purpose has changed. As a thrall, I had to serve. Now, I must satiate. Or at least, as the Archshade said, I must make everyone believe that's what I'm doing.

In a moment of indignant clarity, I grasp hold of the heavy door handle and heave it open, leaving the Archshade's chambers behind.

The corridor is empty, filling the broad space with more of the same maddening silence. The brightness of the midmorning sun filters in through the windows, but the white marble stubbornly retains its chill, seeping through my shoes. A sweet aroma of lemon and honeysuckle wraps around me, emboldening my steps as I recognize the scent: bold citrus to repel skin-biting insects and a warm sweetness to soften the tart fragrance. This clash of the completely foreign with an unexpected familiarity only further fuels my muddled mind. I wander down the empty hall, thinking.

The Archshade is believed to be a monster, but aside from Baden, I've never spoken to anyone the way I spoke this morning with the prince. The way that man presents himself... If he's truly as kind as he seems, why is everyone so afraid of him? The nursemaid told me his skin is rotting, but the apothecary said he's a talented healer. How can he be a healer if he's unable to heal himself? Is someone lying? Or am I missing something...?