In the winding streets of the Persian Empire, a poor girl is chosen to become the third prince's concubine.
Aliya Farhad has no interest in the lofty ideas of the palace, the staff, or her lover. Prince Cairo has all the interest in his blue-eyed A...
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I ASKED MARIA IF IT WAS possible for me to take breakfast in my room.
Immediately after, her face scrunched up in slight protest. "In your room? But Miss, we've already gotten you dressed and ready."
"Yes," I said. "I don't think I'm in the mood to go down to the dining hall today."
Maria's face paled, before she reached out a hand to feel my forehead. "Why? Miss, are you sick? Is it the measles? A cold? A fever? The weather is getting chillier lately; I should have found you thicker clothes to wear. Miss, are you uncomfortable anywhere?"
I resisted the urge to swat her hand away. "No. It's probably just the changing of the weather; it's nothing serious. I probably just need some rest."
"Are you sure, Miss? It's not the measles? Sudden case of small pox?"
"No, I'm sure of it. I just didn't get that good of a sleep last night."
Maria bit her lip, her eyes still carefully sliding over my face, as if trying to see through a carefully built lie.
She wouldn't find it, because it wouldn't be the type she was expecting.
"Well, alright, Miss. Would you like me to get you some medicine?" she asked, before her eyes suddenly brightened. "Oh, should I tell Prince Cairo of your situation? Ask him to come visit?"
"Don't," I said, and something in my tone or voice or panicked, clenched fists must have come out too fast, because Maria's eyes quickly turned wary once again.
Instantly, I regretted it. "Don't call Prince Cairo. It's not a big deal anyway. Don't make him worry for nothing. What if he's busy?"
"Oh," Maria said. "I suppose you're right, Miss, but... what a waste of an opportunity."
More like a chance at gold.
"It's alright. There are always other opportunities. Just tell the kitchens to bring my food up, and try to avoid any questions."
"Yes, Miss."
Maria was light on her feet, and after one quick, bobbed curtesy, the door shut smoothly behind her, not a single squeak or groan out of place.
Briefly, I wondered when who had the arduous task of cleaning my room, and how I'd never seen them once before. It seemed that I spent almost my whole time in the Palace just lounging around my bedroom, but not once had I seen a slick of a cleaning maid.
Maybe they were invisible, trained to slip in the shadows, finish their work in a matter of moments, and shift back into the darkness for fear of ruining the royals' eyes.
The thought made me smile.
Quite likely, quite likely. Come to think of it, other than the occasional kitchen staff, I don't think I've ever seen anyone working in the palace that was not a chambermaid, butler, or gardener.
