The quiet around me let me sleep.
.
.
Birds wake me up. For once, I slept through the night after Arthur came in.
I try to get up and my neck hurts, stiff and sharp. The whole left side of my body aches—my shoulder, my arm, my back. Maybe it's the hard mattress. I move my tied hands and my bones crack, loud in the silence. It hurts.
All I want right now is a warm bath. I lift my bound hands to my shoulder, trying to rub out the pain, and try to stretch my neck. It hurts even to turn it.
Then I see Arthur watching me. I straighten up, sit properly. He gets up too, folds the bedding, puts it back on the shelf, and walks out.
As soon as he's gone, I let myself relax and a spike of pain cuts through my back. I start stratching and rubbing my sore muscles.
Richard comes in then, a bag of vegetables in his hand. He walks past and asks, "So, did you sleep well?"
"Mm," I hum, then add, "Sorry , you had to get up in midnight because of me."
He tilts his head, gives a small nod, and sits by the clay stove. He starts cutting vegetables.
Arthur comes in with some clothes, puts them on the shelf, and walks over. He looks at Richard, then at me, and says, "Let her do it."
We both look at him. He glances at me. "I'm sure she can manage—at least cutting vegetables. That much she can do." It lands like a small jab, and I feel my cheeks warm.
Here he goes again. I look away, but he steps closer and sits in front of me. His eyes flick to the apple, a smirk crossing his face. He doesn't look at me as he works at the rope around my ankle.
When that's loose, he moves to my hands, fingers picking at the knot on my wrist. Richard stands and walks to the shelf, glancing at the knives. "A princess probably never did this. Should I, give her a blunt one so she doesn't cut herself?"
Arthur still looking down . "Her teeth are already way sharper , than any knife," he mutters.
I hear it. My eyes drop to his arm, to the bite mark peeking out from under his sleeve. I look up and he's already watching me. I jerk my hand away and start pulling the rope off myself.
When the rope loosens, bruises and red lines show on my wrist, the skin bruises where it pressed. I lift my gaze and catch Arthur looking at those marks. His face is blank, unreadable.
He stands and says, from the doorway, "Give her the blunt one." Then he takes his clothes and closes the door.
Richard picks a knife, hands it to me with two bowls—one full of vegetables, one empty for me to fill. He sets them down in front of me. "Just don't cut yourself," he says, then turns back to his work.
I stare at the bowls. I've cooked plenty of times in the palace, but I've never cut vegetables myself. Everything I needed always appeared already done. I remember my father saying you didn't need to do this—You're a princess. Yet he loved my food and praised me every time. A small smile touches my lips.
Richard's voice pulls me back. "Those are for breakfast, not dinner, so please—your highness," he says, nodding at the vegetables.
"Sorry," I murmur. I take the knife and begin. It's blunt, and my hands are slow and unsure.
When I finish, I stand and give the bowl to Richard just as Arthur comes back in.
He comes in with a towel, rubbing his wet hair. I'm staring even though I know I shouldn't. He's wearing black, and it makes him look sharp. He leans against the wall, neck tilted, eyes closed as he dries his hair. Then he opens his eyes and catches me looking. I drop my gaze fast.
"If you want to wash up, come," he says, slowly , voice cold, still watching me.
My eyes go wide. My chest tightens for a second. I look at him, shocked. His face stays blank.
"Why are you staring? Grab your clothes and go wash up if you want to," he says again, that cold voice, face empty.
"Oh..." I move to the mattress and pull the red dress from the bag. I stand and turn. Arthur is already heading out. I follow. He walks a few steps ahead.
Outside the hut, fresh air brushes my face. I like that feeling. It's the only time they let me out, and I breathe it in.
I stretch my arms a little—my body is still stiff. A quick sound makes me turn, and I see two foxes darting through the trees nearby.
Without thinking, I rush and grab Arthur's shoulder. My eyes stay locked on the foxes, breathing fast, heart pounding.
I keep watching until I feel cold drops fall on my hand. I look down to see water on my fingers falling from his wet hair.
Than only I notice , my fingers are still pressed to his shoulder. When I look up, he's watching me, we are so close that his breath warms my cheek and lips. It lasts only a second—my pulse jumps, my skin prickles—I pull my hand away and take a step back.
I clear my throat, start stratching my neck, swinging my arm, and walking toward the washroom. My face feels hot and red.
"Wait." He says.
I freeze. I feel him coming closer. My hands clench at my sides, my eyes flick everywhere, searching for a way out. He stops at my left. I stare straight ahead, not at him.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" His voice tilts, a little mischievous.
I look at my hands—no clothes. I turn right and look back. They're gone.
Where are they? My mind plays picture of grabbing the dress from the bag, but now they are no where in sight . I must have dropped it when the foxes ran past. I step toward the hut, eyes scanning the grass for red fabric.
Arthur clears his throat behind me—"uhm uhm"—and I look at him.
He lifts his hand having my dress, smiling.
I dart forward, grab it, and slip into the washroom, shut the door, press my back to the wood.
Why do I make a fool of myself with him? Why ? My thoughts scatter whenever he's near.
Through the crack in the branches I see him—still smiling.
Amira, get ahold of yourself. Why do you go stupid every time in front of him?
I turn to the bucket. I notice the herbal paste and clean bandages are already there.
Did he put them here? I can't figure him out. He is so , confusing .
I push the thought away, finish bathing, rub in the paste. I pull on a fresh dress. The red one will have to be washed for tomorrow.
I step outside. He stands in the sun.
"Where , can I get more water? I… I want to wash my clothes."
He pauses. "Put them in that bucket. I'll tell you where to wash later."
Another bucket sits nearby, already full of clothes. I lay my dress on top and walk toward the hut, passing him without stopping.
He stops me. "There's still time before food. Stand here until your hair dries."
I look at him.
"Don't even think you can run." He warns me .
I turn my back to the sun. Warmth spills over my neck and shoulders—real and sweet. In front of me, light threads through the high trees, laying bright bars on the grass. The trees are tall and green, their bark rough and gray. A soft wind shakes the branches. Birds flit and sing, high and clear. The air smells like moss and warm wood. For a moment the forest feels quiet inside my chest, and the fear loosens its grip. It feels peaceful, even though I know I'm not free.
Arthur's hand reaches toward me. He holds out a towel and two small mats.
I was so wrapped up in the sun and the trees that I didn't hear him come back.
I take the towel and rub my hair. While I dry it, I feel his eyes on me.
I lift my gaze—he looks down fast.
He tosses a mat by my foot, lays the other one on the grass, and sits.
I bend to pick it up, but my back aches. I press a hand there, try again slower, and set the mat in a little distance from him.
I sit, keep drying my hair, then drape the towel over my shoulders with hair loose to the sun.
I keep watching the quiet trees. I hear water—a thin, steady rush somewhere close.
I've just woken up, but the warm sun on my skin is pulling me back toward sleep.
I cross my arms around my knees and rest my head down. It feels so quiet and beautiful. Without my notice, the words slip out my mouth: "I didn't know… something this beautiful exists in our kingdom."
"Nothing here is your kingdom," he shouts from behind, and I startle.
I look at him, thrown. "Are we out of my kingdom?" I ask. How far am I, if I'm not even inside its boundaries?
"Your—" He scoffs, rolls his eyes, pokes his cheek with his tongue. He looks at me, eyes darkening, and shouts again: "Not even an inch of this kingdom belongs to you." He leans in, forcing me back. "Don't you betrayers feel ashamed, calling it yours?"
"Whom did we betray?" I ask furious .
"Your filthy father didn't tell you?" he says.
My blood boils. "Don't talk about my father like that. He's not a betrayer—there must be... some.. misunderstanding."
"SHUT UP," he roars. "Misunderstanding? You don't even know your own father."
"I know him. He could never betray—"
"He can. He definitely can, and he always did." He cuts me off.
"You—no matter what you say, I know my father. He is the King and this is his kingdom."
He grabs my shoulder, his eyes dark and wild, he looks like a beast ready to tear me apart any moment. "Don't… you… dare… call my kingdom yours." The words paste themselves into my soul , I swallow hard and tremble.
My kingdom? What does he mean? Why is he calling our kingdom his? Does he plan to take it with King Gabrial's help? But why would King Gabrial give our kingdom away to him ? What is their relation—who is he?
Just then , Richard calls out from inside that the food is ready.
My hair is almost dry by now. Arthur stood up and gather his mat. I do the same, clutching mine in one hand as we walk toward the hut. Outside on the veranda, Arthur spread his mat down and I follow his lead. I hang my towel on the rope stretched across the veranda, squeezing it in among the other clothes already drying there.
When we step inside, Richard has already filled three plates. The steam rose from the food, filling the small space with its scent.
Arthur grabs three glasses and began filling them with water while Richard lay out the mattresses for us to sit on.
I pick up one of the warm plates and starts walking towards my own mattress, ready to settle into my corner.
"Where are you going?" Richard ask, already settled on his mat, his eyes following my move.
I pointed toward my mattress without saying a word.
"Sit here," Richard said casually. He gesture toward a small mat he has placed on the other side of the clay stove.
He picks up his plate and begin to eat. I stay standing, frozen for a moment.
Arthur glances up at me briefly before looking back down, setting the water jug onto the floor with a dull thud.
Slowly, I sit on the mat facing the two of them as they sit side-by-side near the stove.
The food is delicious, but as we begin to eat, a sudden bolt of panic hit me. I remember the banana peels still hidden under my mattress. I have to get rid of them.
"When is our parcel getting here?" Richard asked Arthur.
"It will be here today," Arthur replied.
They kept talking, but their eyes fixed on their plates. I do the same, staring at my own food and trying to ignore their conversation.
"We have a lot to do today," Richard mention.
"We also need to gather firewood," Arthur added. "We're almost out."
"Hmm. Should I call someone to watch her?"
Richard ask him
I snap my head up. They are talking about me. Arthur hears the edge in Richard's voice and looks at me. He pauses, his expression unreadable. "No. She's coming with us."
Richard looks just as confused as I feel. "What would she even do there?" Both Richard and I wait for an answer, our eyes locked on Arthur.
He doesn't say a word. He simply looks back down at his plate and continues to eat in silence.
"But what if she try to run?" Richard asks.
Why do Richard have to say this. At those words, Arthur's hand freezes, his food halfway to his mouth. He slowly lowers the bite back to his plate and turns his head toward me.
His dark eyes are cold and hollow, like two endless pits that strip away any sense of safety. It is a dead, heavy stare—completely void of mercy—that makes the air in the small hut feel thick and suffocating.
I quickly look down at my lap, my heart hammering against my ribs. He is terrifying.
"She won't dare," Arthur says. His voice is a low, deadly crawl that sends a shiver straight down my spine.
Then, as if nothing has happened, he goes back to his meal.
I swallow hard, the food feeling like dry sand in my throat, but I force myself to keep eating.
When we finally finish, Richard reaches out to gather the empty plates. Arthur stops him with a sharp look. "She will wash them."
I don't dare say a word. I simply gather the plates and glasses and hurry toward the washing area.
Behind me, I can hear Richard covering the leftovers and stacking the mats back into their places.
As I begin scrubbing the utensils, the heavy thud of the door closing , echoes through the hut. I turn my head to see that they have both gone outside.
I remember Arthur's warning—that he will make me serve him—and it is clear he means every word.
I finish washing the dishes and put them back on the shelf. As I reach up, my gaze falls upon the knife set.
Should I take one? The memory of Arthur and Richard practicing with their swords yesterday flashes through my mind.
The sheer speed and power they move with makes my stomach turn. A small kitchen knife won't stand a chance against them. And if he finds out I am hiding a weapon... this time, he will surely—
My hand instinctively goes to my neck, my fingers trembling against my skin.
The door creaks open, and Arthur leans his head inside, his sharp eyes searching the room until they land on me. I quickly drop my hand from my neck, hoping he hasn't noticed my trembling fingers.
"Come," he commands.
I follow him out with my head down, my gaze fixed on his heels. Once we are outside, the heavy click of the lock echoes behind us.
He begins walking toward the washing area near the bathroom, his pace steady and demanding.
He stops abruptly and steps aside, revealing a massive, tangled pile of laundry. Pointing toward a stack of heavy bedsheets, he says, "Tie the clothes inside these."
I nod silently. I spread one of the bedsheets across the dusty ground and begin heaping the clothes onto it. My muscles already feel tired as I pull the corners of the sheet together, straining to tie a tight knot so the bundle will be easier to carry.
"You will wash it today," he says from behind me.
I look up at him, my eyes wide with disbelief. I point at the bulging bundle I have just tied. "All of it?"
"No." He moves his finger in a slow, deliberate circle, pointing to every single scrap of fabric in the massive pile beside me. "All. Of. it."
I stare at the pile of clothes, it looks like a mountain, tall and impossible to climb.
"There are more sheets in there. Tie all the clothes inside them," he orders.
My eyes remain fixed on the heap, but I know I have no choice. I have to do exactly what he commands.
I begin to work, I fill a second sheet and knot the corners, but the pile barely seems to shrink. As I start on a third, I hear his voice cut through the air.
"Richard, check my room. See if there is anything else that needs washing."
He is doing this on purpose. Every word is meant to weigh me down, to make me work more.
"No, there isn't anything else," Richard calls back.
I let out a quiet sigh of relief. Thank God. These clothes are already more than enough. I pull the corners of the last bedsheet tight and fumble with the knot. The packing is finally done. My body is already aching from sleeping on that hard mattress, and now I have to face this.
The sound of his voice cuts through my thoughts. "The curtains , in my room are dirty. Take them, too."
I feel a surge of heat and look up at him, my eyes burning with anger. He isn't even looking at me; he is staring at Richard, who stands by his room door.
But as Arthur begins to turn his head, I quickly drop my gaze, hiding my expression before he can see the defiance in my eyes.
"And take those towels hanging there," he adds coldly.
I clench my fists so hard my nails dig into my palms. I force myself to reach down and begin untying the knots of the bedsheets I have just finished, making room for even more.
Richard walks over with the extra laundry and stands beside me. "How is she supposed to wash all of these?"
"She will," Arthur replies. He snatches the clothes from Richard and throws them onto the dirt in front of me. The insult stings. I am shaking with a mix of fury and fear, but I keep my mouth shut. I grab the dusty clothes and stuff them into the sheet, knotting it tightly once more.
"Did you prepare the axes?" Arthur asks Richard.
"Hmm," Richard humms and looks at me, his eyes softening with a flicker of pity that I don't want to see.
"Let's go, then," Arthur says.
I struggle to my feet and reach for the heavy bundles. I manage to tuck one under each arm, but the third one sits stubbornly on the ground. "Hurry up," Arthur growls from behind me.
I swallow my anger, the bitterness coating my tongue. I loop my right arm through the knot of one bundle like a strap, freeing my hand just enough to claw at the third heavy sheet.
The bundles aren't heavy, but they are awkward and shift in my arms, making every step a clumsy struggle.
I follow behind him, my legs trembling as I fight to keep my grip on the bulging fabric.
Richard is waiting by the hut with a bag and the axes. I feel like throwing these bundle on Arthur's face.
But then, Arthur reaches out. He takes one of the axes from Richard. As he moves, the bright morning sunlight catches the sharpened axe, reflecting a blinding flash directly into my eyes. In that split second, the heat of my anger vanishes, replaced by a cold, numbing wave of terror.
Amira, just do what he says, I whisper to myself. Do exactly what he says, or that axe will be chopping you instead of the wood.
The sun beats down on my neck as I struggle to keep up. The sun which was giving me warmth and pleasure a moment ago is now making me struggle.
The bundles are so bulky I have to walk with my arms flared out, my muscles twitching from the strain. Every few steps, the third bundle slips against my skin, forcing me to hike it up until the knots dig into my fingers.
I stumble over hidden roots and rocks, my breath coming in jagged gasps as I try to match their long, effortless strides. My shoulders burn with a dull ache, but I don't dare slow down. I keep my eyes on the glint of the axe ahead of me—a silent command to keep moving.