The Archer

Part 5

Aslin didn't see much of Ero over the next string of days, as the palace staff prepared for the arrival of the royal party. The Tirian King himself would not be attendance, but instead the young heir, Prince Philip. In his youth the Prince had been sallow and gaunt from a lingering blood illness, but they said he grew into strength in his young adulthood. He was the Tirian King's only male heir, Aslin knew, and thus would be heavily guarded. Yet from what she could tell, the Almanian preparations were more for a large festival than for a dangerous meeting of enemies. Even if both sides were confident a treaty would be signed, Aslin wondered at how little security was on Ero's mind.

When she saw him, it seemed the only thing on his mind was her. They were sometimes together briefly in the late morning, if Ero could get away, and at supper, when the family ate together. Aslin, it seems, was invited to dine with the royal family at every meal. It was never a formal discussion, Bitta simply came to bring her to the dining room so often that eventually Aslin went there herself. And during these hours Ero's gaze never strayed from her, he listened deeply and wanted to be close.

But they were only ever truly alone at night. Ero had slept in her bed every night since they landed. Aslin left her door unlocked these days and would wake to find him stretched out atop her, his mouth pressed over every surface of her body, ravenous. He would take her over and over, till she persuaded him to sleep, and when he did, it was like a log had fallen atop her, trapping her till morning. They never spoke again about the lily root mixture from Silta, and Aslin put it away.

In between hurried kisses they would exchange the doings of their days. Ero's hours were filled with endless preparations, and strategy talks with his father and representatives from the different regions of the vast island. They seemed to have a kind of governmental system in which the King believed himself bound in part to the desires of the other regions, and thus was developing a treaty that would satisfy one corner's need for exclusive fishing rights and another's for imported farming equipment, and so on. Disagreements regarding priorities meant for some long nights with Ero's head seemingly swirling with the endless conversation.

She woke every morning to an empty bed, though Ero would, as was his custom from before, choose for her a gown and a pair of clasps. The clasps were different now, heavier and of finer metal, and often embellished with small gems. The act of wearing them had held little interest for Aslin in the beginning, but now she looked forward to donning them, and felt more beautiful with their shine.

Her days were much more pleasant than Ero's, if blander. The palace complex was huge, and she relished finally having the freedom to roam that she had been denied in the embassy keep. Its vastness meant a network of servants and high born people coexisted there, living and working together. It seemed always a flurry of activity, and Aslin couldn't tell if it was mostly in preparation for the Prince or if she had been very wrong in her conception of the royal women lying about eating grapes and being fanned.

No one ever seemed to mention Aslin's future once the Prince's party had departed, and though the question of what would become of her tugged at her mind often, she let the matter lie for now.

At least one matter had been lifted from her consciousness: the worry of her parents. Only the third day she had been there the King had called for her, and the two of them sat over a desk as he carefully crafted a letter. They both knew that Almanian mail was opened and read by the Tirians no matter the sender, and it was the King's idea to weave in the news of her safety and current location through metaphor. He asked her if her mother had called her by any nicknames or pet names, and Aslin, somewhat abashed, had told him that her mother had often called Aslin "my daisy," for her paleness.

He had then proceeded to write a rather strange but endearing letter to her mother, inquiring after her health and family, and reporting he wrote to tell her after their long separation that a new kind of daisy had begun to grow in Almanian soil that reminded him of her. Any gardener reading the letter would doubt the sanity of its author, at the letter's far fetched idea that a type of daisy had suddenly vanished from the Tirian countryside, only to be found growing amongst the encampments of enlisted soldiers on the coast, and was now remarkably thriving in the balmy island weather of Almania, but Aslin knew that the soldier likely opening mail would give it only the most cursory of glances.