by Neha Yazmin
Parth was as slimy as Princess Aaryana had predicted, though no one else in the Island seemed to think so. To the Queen and her subjects, he could do no wrong. His suggestion of exiling Princess Aaryana was the worst thing he’d done, according to many, but they also conceded that it was the best thing he could have done when the Old King had ordered him to choose the punishment for her.
As Myraa shut the windows in Parth’s bedchamber and crouched down to mop up the rain that had pooled on the floor over the course of the day—another dim, stormy day; Adgar would drown before a single Heir was born if it didn’t stop raining so heavily and so frequently—she felt the man’s eyes on her back. She refused to shiver from the chill that ran up her spine and focused on her task, wringing out the bundle of wet cloth over a bucket before soaking up some more water with it.
Why his servants always forgot to close the windows on a rainy day, she didn’t know. Unless, it was Parth that opened the windows so he could make Myraa tend to the resulting flood?
At first, she’d attributed his cruelty towards her as his way of punishing her for her loyalty to the banished Princess. Hadn’t Leesha appointed her as a lady-in-waiting to exact her own revenge? Indeed, whenever Parth ordered Myraa to see to chores in his private quarters—“Once you’ve fulfilled your duties to your Queen, of course,”—a sardonic look always passed between him and Leesha. The Queen clearly approved of her husband forcing Myraa to tend to his chambers.
Myraa had taken to acting oblivious around Parth and Leesha, not letting on that she was aware of what they were doing to her, and why. And that was how she held herself as she approached him, standing in the doorway—in her way. He did that every time—forced her to acknowledge his presence by blocking the exit when she was done working.
“The floor is now dry, Your Highness,” she told him with a bow, stopping an arm’s length away. “Is there anything else that I can do for you?”
Her face was forever numb from the blank expression she wore at Court these days, but it was the only way to ensure her safety. She couldn’t betray emotion of any kind around the new rulers of Adgar.
The Queen’s husband stared at her unabashedly. It was a Tuesday, when he liked to dress in his fanciest tunics and pants, and he looked as handsome as ever. He also looked as slippery as ever.
“There is one thing you can do for me, Lady Myraa.”
“Yes, Your Highness?”
She thanked the forgotten Maker that she was able to swallow her gasp of surprise. He had never said anything other than, “No, that is all. You may go, Lady Myraa.”
What would Parth have her do? What would he do if she refused his request? She waited, motionless, as his cold gaze roamed her body.
Finally, he said, “Perhaps not tonight. The hour is late, and your Queen waits for me.” Your Queen. He always used that phrase. Never ‘my Queen’. As though Leesha wasn’t the monarch he bowed to.
As though he bowed to no one at all.
Myraa curtsied and he stepped aside to let her pass. She didn’t hear a sound, but she was sure that Parth had twisted around to watch her leave. She waited until she was in the hallway outside his quarters before launching into a run.
Yes, she was quite certain now that the suspicions that had gnawed at her these past few weeks were correct. Parth wasn’t luring her to his rooms to punish her, but actually to… Myraa didn’t have a name for what it was that he felt for her. What he wanted from her.
But it didn’t bode well for her.
Wyett raged. He raged and he argued and then he raged some more, but there was no changing his father’s mind. He had to follow the King’s orders. Join forces with the Adgari to smoke out the traitors at Court.
“Why her, of all people?” Wyett had asked that day in the King’s office once the girl had been dismissed.
“I don’t trust anyone else but the two of you,” his father said with a sigh.
Appalled, Wyett asked, “Not even Seth? You don’t trust your own son?” You trust a foreigner over your own flesh and blood?
His father shook his and made a frustrated noise. “I trust Seth, of course, I do. But he always sees the good in people. It blinds him to the bad. Quin is too young, and Erisa is too close to this business. Who would you pick from the rest of my Court to investigate this?”
No one, Wyett thought. But he didn’t say it. Any of his Council members could be betraying him to the rebels. The only person he had faith in was Rozlene and she was in no fit state to be looking into her abduction.
“How can you trust her, though?” Wyett moaned, throwing up his arms. “You haven’t known her for long enough.”
“And that speaks volumes of how I feel about her.” The King rose to his feet. “You told me last night about how she handled Micah, how she put your safety above her own.”
Those had not been Wyett’s exact words; he’d merely given his father and Seth a blow-by-blow commentary of what had happened at the cottage without providing any interpretation of his own. But of course, his father and brother had seen the Adgari as the selfless hero of the situation. It had irked him to the point that he’d left nail marks on his palms from clenching his fists so tight.
Or was that because the girl had done a good job? He must have believed it wholeheartedly, otherwise he wouldn’t have told her as much. He had instantly regretted giving her the compliment, but it would have been petty to not acknowledge her achievement.
“Look beyond whatever is clouding your judgment, Wyett,” the King had gone on to say, “and you will see that Aaryana is a gift to our Kingdom.”
“More like a curse,” Wyett hissed.
“She is now your partner,” the King insisted, leaning his hands on his oak desk and giving Wyett a fierce look. A King’s look. “And you will respect her. That is an order.”
Amongst his father’s other orders was the removal of the Adgari from guard duty until further instructions.
“She can’t stand guard outside your room all night and investigate the kidnapping during the day. She’d be exhausted. She won’t be much good to me exhausted.
“She will join my Court. I will officially give her the title of Lady Aaryana, as a reward for rescuing Rozlene from the rebels.”
That would be the cover under which she’d get close to the female Courtiers and try to whittle information out of them.
“So, she is to stay away from the men?” Wyett had asked.
His father nodded. Apparently, the King didn’t want the girl to “unwittingly” break his Courtiers’ hearts, “because I’m pretty sure she loves someone back in Adgar.” What Seth had suspected.
His brother, however, was the insightful type; his father was not. Yet, the King had read the girl’s heart quite quickly. If that was indeed what was in her heart. If she had a heart at all. Wyett hadn’t seen anything in her to suggest that she was pining after a man back home. What did the others see that Wyett didn’t? Well, he supposed that he hadn’t really looked at her since the night they’d met.
“Before you go,” his father had said. “I want the two of you to report back to me with your findings every night, here in my office. You will tell Aaryana about this plan at your earliest convenience, so that we don’t have to involve anyone else in this.”
It was imperative that they kept this mission between the three of them, so no messenger could be utilised, no letter could be sent.
“And if I may suggest something?” his father added thoughtfully. “I think, because the two of you will be spending a lot of time together in the coming days or weeks, it will be wise for you to act as though you like her. That there is a growing friendship between the two of you. Otherwise, everyone will become suspicious of why you’re always whispering or sneaking off together.”
Wyett had gritted his teeth. “I suppose it will be even better if I pretended to be courting her?” he said sarcastically.
“That,” the King said, “is an excellent plan. After all, everyone can see that she is e
xactly your type.”
Wyett was too stunned by that remark to be angry at his father for wanting him to play the part of the Adgari’s lover.
“When have I ever shown an interest in anyone with two colours in their hair and nothing genuine coming out of their mouths?” He shook his head at the absurdity.
“I was thinking more along the lines of what she is underneath all that,” the King explained. “A warrior. You always wanted to marry a woman that could fight wars beside you, take down as many enemies as you. She is that, Wyett. She is that and more.”
“She is not my type in the slightest,” Wyett seethed. “She is a liar and a manipulator. In fact, has she even explained where she was over the weekend? No, she did not. She didn’t even apologise to the Head—”
“My Head of Guards has no authority over her now. From today, she answers to me only. Besides, all that matters is that she came back.”
That wasn’t all that mattered, and as Wyett had made his way to the Adgari’s chambers to fill her in on their plan, he vowed to ask about her unauthorised absence before everything else.
“Your Highness,” the girl had said when the guards outside her door let him into her lounge.
She was sprawled on her chaise, staring at a piece of parchment, a quill in her hand. His guards kept the front door open but, and as per his instructions, didn’t enter the room.
“What can I do for you?” She emptied her hands onto the table and stood up.
Wyett eyed the blank parchment before flicking his gaze to her briefly. “I was wondering if you’d like to go for a walk,” he said in a casual tone.
He tried to convey everything else with his eyes: So, we can talk in private about our mission.
“I like going for walks,” she mused. “When I need to go somewhere that a horse can’t go.”
She tied her curls into a ponytail, bunched her hair in two, and pulled it tight.
He ground his teeth, but said as pleasantly as he could, “I meant now, with me.”
She smiled; she’d known what he’d meant all along. “Oh, I see. Alright.” She sounded awkward, nervous. Was it an act for the guards or anyone else—the maid, perhaps—that might be within earshot?
“Let’s go, shall we?” Wyett said, offering her his arm.
She blinked. This did surprise her. “Yes, let’s—wait. Sorry, Your Highness, I should dress in something more appropriate.”
Before Wyett could say that her current attire wasn’t inappropriate for what they were going to do, she turned towards the bedroom and yelled, “Oh, Jeena? Could you find a dress for me to go out in, please?” Then, she faced him and said, “Your Highness, I can meet you downstairs in half an hour.”
And she opened the bedroom door and rushed inside.
She came dressed in a simple gown, in the colour of sand—almost the colour of the top half of her hair—making the red-brown curls stand out. She had let her hair free of the ponytail and it hugged her cheeks and bounced on her shoulders. Wyett thought it rude, the sides of her face being hidden like that. It’s like talking to the King with your body angled away from him.
The girl smiled coyly at him and bowed low. Oh, she knew exactly what his father had planned, judging by the flirtatious look she gave him after straightening up. He offered her his arm and she took it eagerly, playing this game so perfectly without knowing the rules.
He led her to the gardens to tell her the plan. Only a handful of Courtiers were around. One look at his guards—a look he hadn’t utilised for a couple of years—told the men to follow at good a distance. He wanted privacy. In this case, to scheme and plot not to flirt and woo.
First, however… “Where were you on Saturday?” he asked, barely moving his lips.
“Would Your Highness believe me if I said I got lost while exploring the Island?” Her voice was low but she shrugged and laughed afterwards.
He hissed in her ear, “You’re overdoing it. Seth’s the one that likes bubbly people, not me.”
“I see.” Nodding, she asked in a less cheery voice, “And what do you like, Your Highness?”
“That’s not up for discussion,” he snapped, glaring at her.
“Then, we ought to talk about what is.”
Wyett didn’t need to be asked twice. He wanted to relay his father’s message and get as far from this insufferable girl as possible. She listened and nodded as he laid out the plan, smiling serenely and tilting her head this way and that. To anyone watching, it looked like she was flirting with him without being too obvious. Wyett hadn’t found it so easy to play the part.
“You know, Your Highness,” she said at one point, “you’re going to have to smile every now and then. Smile at me. Otherwise, it’s going to be obvious that you’re simply tolerating me. And tolerating me for what? People will wonder. Become suspicious.” She lifted an eyebrow at him accusingly.
“I’m not much of a smiler,” he’d admitted reluctantly. “And when I do, everyone can tell if it’s genuine or forced.”
“Well, I guess I’ll have to find ways to make you laugh, Your Highness.”
“What you said earlier about your sisters getting kidnapped? That was funny.” Wyett found himself chuckling under his breath for a second, recalling what she’d said.
“It was the truth,” she insisted, tone so serious that he was pretty sure she was trying to be funny. “The twins are obsessed with fashion, with how they look, their image. I’d have them abducted just for being so superficial!” She shook her head.
Wyett’s lips twitched, but he didn’t laugh or grin. “Better luck next time,” he said.
She nodded, accepting the challenge.
“Right,” he said, relieved that he’d be able to get away from her in a couple of minutes, “the first task is for me to officially interview everyone at Court to see if they know anything about Rozlene’s kidnapping. I’ll spend today arranging things and speak to everyone tomorrow. Then, we will unofficially try to get them to talk. Clear?”
The Adgari nodded. “So, the savage becomes the savaged,” she murmured. He frowned, not understanding what she meant. “I was never interested in Court life and politics. I loathed being around the gossiping ladies and having to smile at the men’s unoriginal compliments.”
Wyett was the same but he didn’t say it.
“I’ll do my best, of course,” she promised, “but I can’t say that I will take to this undercover task like ink to paper.”
Ink to paper. What an unusual metaphor. She seemed to have letters and writing on her mind. Had she not been staring at a blank piece of parchment earlier, holding a quill? Perhaps she was meaning to write to someone? Seth? She better not be.
The girl didn’t notice the rise of his temper and asked, “Will we need to convene tonight?”
“No,” he replied. “We wouldn’t have made any progress, so it’s not necessary.”
“Well, then. Until next time, Your Highness.” And she bowed and walked back towards the castle.
The interviews the following day unearthed nothing of note, and Wyett didn’t manage to learn anything interesting in the days after that. In the briefings with his father in the evenings, the Adgari informed them that she’d been just as unsuccessful as Wyett.
He didn’t approach the girl at all during the day, but was civil to her whenever he found himself walking past her. She made a point of smiling warmly at him, bowing deep, but she saw enough in his forced polite expression to refrain from engaging with him more than that.
This hadn’t escaped his father’s attention, though. “Wyett, could you stay behind a moment?” his father said at the end of their meeting on Thursday night.
The girl had already slipped out of the office. The Prince sighed before closing the door and facing the King.
“I wanted to ask you how you feel about Aaryana now, after getting to know her a little better.”
His father’s tone was casual, so Wyett mimicked it as he said, “I still don’t trust her.”
“But you’ve seen that she’s a nice girl?”
“I have not.” He locked his jaws to keep from saying anything else.
“That’s because you haven’t seen enough of her all week!” the King snapped. “Have you forgotten the plan? What will my Court think when they see the two of you sneaking into this tower every night? I’ll tell you what they won’t see. They won’t see two young lovers sneaking off to a quiet room in the empty eastern tower!” Yes, his father had been watching him. “I swear, Wyett, if anyone suspects that the two of you come to meet with me—”
“They won’t,” Wyett assured him. “You take the secret passage from your chambers to get here, so no one knows you’re in your office every night.”
When his father didn’t use his office, this tower stood empty. Most of the Court had been sent home, so the rooms here weren’t needed. When the King came here through the secret passage from his bedroom, through the concealed door that opened to this office, even his personal bodyguards didn’t know, didn’t follow.
“I order my guards to not follow us into the tower,” Wyett continued, “and they clearly assume it’s so that two young lovers can have an entire tower to themselves.” He rolled his eyes.
“But it’s not the guards that need to believe—”
“The Court will believe what they want, regardless of how I behave towards her. Besides, I don’t avoid her completely. Everyone will deduce that we’re trying to keep it a secret. Pretending to be strangers under the sun, while we dance under the moonlight.” He had to roll his eyes again.
“I’m glad you brought up the topic of dancing,” the King said with a smug smile. “I expect you to dance with her at Saturday’s ball. Dance with her like you want to dance with her forever. And you better make it convincing.”