The Claimed: Rashika's Resistance

Chapter 5: Happy

"How may I serve you, Your Majesty?"

King Makapu raised a palm toward Makari, who was still wrestling with the mounting pile of toys in his arms. Smile unwavering, Honey picked her way across the toy-strewn rug to pluck up the small child. Makari screamed a protest as the toys tumbled from his arms, and he continued screaming and kicking while Honey carried him out of the room.

The galloping stallion slipped from Karoo's fingers to plop down among the other toys on the carpet. He stared at the now empty doorway with a trembling lower lip.

Chief Taroom hummed a bemused reaction. "Your slave has a beautiful smile, King Makapu."

King Makapu tsked. "Only the desert states have slaves, Taroom. Honey is a Claimed."

"Ah," said the Chief. "And could you remind me of the difference, Your Majesty?"

Irritation bit my chest at hearing this veiled criticism of the King, but I held my tongue. The King released a sigh of exasperation and leaned back a bit farther in his chair.

"I did not buy Honey from some slave trader. I spared her when her tribe challenged Rakim."

The Chief tapped his fingers against his armrests once more. "I have heard the Claimed are whipped quite brutally."

Now the Chief had gone too far. Though I myself sometimes fought spurts of misplaced discomfort when watching the Claimed, I could not tolerate the accusation in the Chief's tone.

"Chief Taroom," I ground out, "Rakim began Claiming back when Najila was only a collection of nomadic tribes. King Makapu upholds this cherished tradition in the kindest way possible."

King Makapu smiled, dimpling his left cheek. "Quite right, Epsa. Honey was only whipped during her initial training to free her from any previous attachments. Now she lives in comfort and luxury."

Chief Taroom gave a slow nod. "Well, she certainly appears happy..."

"Oh, yes," said King Makapu. "She couldn't be happier."

* * *

"How was your second attempt with Izra? As bad as the first time?"

I huffed a humorless laugh as I swung up onto the horse beside Pim. "Worse."

"Because of the Day of Blessings?" 

I nudged my heels into the horse's sides, and both horses broke into a trot. Several minutes passed with only the sound of gravel crunching and skittering beneath the hooves of our horses.

Then Pim said, "If you don't want to talk—"

"Yes, because of the Day of Blessings." I swallowed a knot in my throat. "Someone was burning crisps, and I... I broke down. Izra saw it all."

"Ah," he said softly—almost a sigh. "I wish I could have been there for you. That's not something you should go through alone."

The memory of my time in Izra's tent washed over me with such vivid clarity that goosebumps rose along my skin. Warm breath, an alto hum, gentle fingers tracing my back...

"I wasn't exactly alone."

Pim raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth, but I spoke again before he could.

"Pim, is it true Rakim is experiencing a famine?"

"Ah, yes," he said with a deep nod. "Because of the drought."

"Why did no one think to tell me this?"

"Maybe because everyone already knows?" I shot him a pointed look, and he sighed. "You really never leave the palace, eh?"