"My lady, you may be overthinking this. Every tale has its share of good and bad; one cannot be without the other. True, there are talks about you, with some praising the changes at the palace, and others dissenting, wary of the king's disfavor. Yet, do not worry, for Manta has resolved them to stay quiet and observe the miracle as it reveals itself." What miracle? I muse, I finish mending the library, biding time until their slumber so I can probe about the perpetually sealed dark corridors that seem to watch me each time I pass by. I can't venture there alone without someone by my side to assure me it doesn't whisper in my absence. Was it decreed by the king? After Bluebell's earnest pleas not to abandon the books, we make our way back to the palace. This place, whose walls I dare not scrutinize for too long, evokes a melancholy in me, yet it also bestows fortitude. It's a strange dichotomy that both overawes and dispirits me. To consider that the king lived his whole life here, without the company of a sibling—unlike me, who had a brother to comprehend and protect me. He was solitary; his existence was engulfed by conflict and victories. The stories of his father's eminence, as recounted by Manta, imply he does not inherit his disposition—a marked difference, indeed.
"What are your next plans, my lady?" Bluebell's inquiry draws me out of my daydream. I look at her, bewildered. What plans do I have? "You've repaired and tidied the library, which implies you've faced something quite unpleasant that necessitated its cleaning. I'm sure there are other matters you intend to address," she adds. How is it that she knows I was considering further restorations? We've been companions for three years, yet I'm unaware of her parents' names, and still, she appears to discern my thoughts.
"I was reflecting on the eerie hallway; it's said to be part of the King's Quarter, but each time I pass through it, whether leaving or entering the palace, it unsettles me," I recounted. "It seems as if whispers echo with every step I take and as though someone is always lurking behind me." She looked at me briefly, her face twisting as though in pain, and then, abruptly, she erupted into laughter, her hand muffling her chuckle. All the while, I remained motionless, perplexed by her response to my sincere apprehension.
"Is my lady scared of ghosts?" she inquires, barely containing her laughter, and her remark leads me to an epiphany.
"No, I am not," I declare, fully aware that ghosts are a figment of the imagination—a concept even a child grasps. My grievance pertains solely to the hallways and their state of disrepair.
"Yes, my lady, you often mention feeling as though there are whispers each time you pass by, particularly in places that unsettle you. And while ghosts may be unseen when you hear those whispers" it doesn't imply that I am frightened.
"I am not Bluebell; I was merely suggesting that it needs painting, and those windows ought to be open during daylight. That area is the only part of the palace that doesn't get any light," I tried to reason with her, but she seemed determined to think I am afraid of ghosts—not that I am not, but who would admit to such a thing? We resumed our walk to the dining room, yet I still can't grasp how time seems to pass more quickly here than in the mansion.
"Welcome, Your Highness," the guards greet as they open the doors. Guards are stationed throughout the palace, yet curiously absent from the king's and my own quarters. It's puzzling, considering an invasion would likely begin with the royal family. Why then is there no safeguard in these critical areas?
"I thought you intended to devour that book, Saltanat," Manta remarks, and I can still discern the surprise on the others' faces whenever she calls me by my name. Since I asked her to address me without honorifics, she has complied, but it appears they still find it hard to accept.
"I was merely attempting to finish the book," I respond, settling into a chair. They habitually set the table as though I were ten individuals combined. I can never consume the entire portion she provides, and whenever I invite them to join me, they uniformly refuse, claiming it's not respectful.
"The significance is not in completing the book, but in comprehending it. How can one read a book and then have nothing to say when questioned about it?" she laments, handing me a bowl of rice as another maid presents me with juice. Eating under the watchful eyes of others always feels so uncomfortable. In the duchy, I could retreat to my chambers to dine, as no one wished to see me, but here, their eagerness to serve is such that remaining in my room during mealtime would be seen as disrespectful even if they wouldn't mind.
"I understand, but it's quite challenging and disheartening. Every time I turn a page, it feels as though the language transforms and bears no relation to what came before," I explain to her, and she offers a smile as though pleased with this unfortunate update. I've just shared how difficult it is, and yet there she stands, grinning at me as if I've accomplished something remarkable.
"Saltanat, it's uncommon to find someone so devoted to a newly discovered subject, which certainly adds to the challenge. Comprehension demands time and patience—much like a baby who takes eight months to realize the need to stand, and then some more time to achieve it. Therefore, don't hurry. Engage in research; the answers won't be found in a single book. When you hit a roadblock, consider exploring another book that might illuminate the topic. When understanding proves elusive, there's invariably an alternative resource that can facilitate your learning," was the extensive reply to my grievances, yet she was right. In every workbook I possessed, there were always references available to enhance my grasp of the questions.
"I will make more of an effort and explore different books to see if they offer any help," I whisper, mainly to myself, and it appears to please her. I consume my meal quietly, as is my custom, in utter silence and with a hint of discomfort. This time, I attempt to eat more quickly so I can retreat to my room for some rest. Having been awake since the early hours, it is now time for reconciliation.
"Does my lady require assistance with anything else?" inquired Bluebell, who had chosen to accompany me to my chamber post-dinner, despite my assurances that I was quite capable on my own and her rest was due. Yet, she persisted in offering one last task before her departure. I responded with a shake of my head, signaling that all was well. She surveyed the room, eyes darting for any sign of peril, before securing the door shut. The sound of her footsteps receded into silence as she moved further away.
"Now what should I do?" I wonder, gazing at the ceiling. Six days have passed, and still, there's no word about the king. Manta says he sends no messages, which implies that even his former wife never received a survival signal each time he left for a mission. Didn't that concern her, or did she ever confront him about it? All I desire is to know if he's safe, if he requires assistance, or anything from the palace. "I can't fathom why I'm so worried about him, especially when he clearly shuns me, but I couldn't bear it if he were to perish and leave my mother to suspect that I am responsible for my husband's death," I try to reassure myself as I shift to a more comfortable position, seeking sleep.
...
"Are you sleeping?" I hear someone inquire, though not to me, it appears; she's merely speaking out loud. "Oh," the voice persists, now caressing my face—or rather, my hair. "You are awake." Who might this be? I usually sleep alone. Could it be the king? But why would he touch me without rousing me? "No, your husband remains amidst nature," a woman's voice declares, and she seems to perceive my thoughts as well. I had suspected that the corridor concealed unseen spirits, and it likely detected my awareness of its presence. "No, it wasn't you I was watching, but rather you observe me," she counters. How could that be? I'm unable to walk unaided, much less pursue someone. And why can't I open my eyes? "Sleep," that was the final word I discerned before sinking back into slumber.
"My lady? My lady, please wake up; it is late, and you have missed breakfast," Bluebell says with exasperation, but I am too weary to reply. Having studied all day, I desire only to rest and recuperate from the exhaustion.
"May I please stay a bit longer? I'm so exhausted," I murmured, but she responded with a grumble, indicating her disapproval of my wish to sleep more.
"No, you've already skipped breakfast; you cannot afford to skip lunch too. Everyone is concerned about you downstairs; you need to make an appearance, my lady." That's alright, I wasn't particularly hungry anyway. I can eat downstairs; I just wish to sleep a little longer, please. However, before I could utter a reasonable argument, she snatched the warm blanket from my body and pulled me out of bed. "Your bath is ready, so rise and shine. You cannot linger in bed all day." I eventually rose and shuffled to the bathtub; my eyes heavy with sleep. I had retired at a decent hour the night before, yet it seemed as if I had barely shut my eyes. The water was pleasantly warm, its sunflower fragrance gently blending with a rich earthy scent. I involuntarily closed my eyes, surrendering to the sweet, tender embrace. Whether it was the flower or the water casting this spell, I couldn't tell, but one thing was clear—it was divine.
...
"She's regaining consciousness." why is the light too bright? Where am I, and why are there so many voices? "Give her some rest; her body looks exhausted, and she needs some time to regain her strength."
"What has she done to become so exhausted? Perhaps she's overdoing it with her studies," Manta laments. I haven't studied nearly enough to warrant such fatigue. I'll need to justify myself, but for now, let's take that much-needed rest. "Let her sleep for now; we can return later..."
...
"My lady, you are finally awake," Bluebell exclaims, hurrying to my side as I try to rise. She helps me stand and presses her hand to my forehead, checking for signs of fever or sickness. I was only exhausted, not at death's door, and I let out a quiet laugh. "It appears your fever has passed, my lady," she notes. Fever? I had one. When? And why? I can't even recall feeling unwell.
"Was I sick?" I ask, bewildered by the sudden news. Why would I fall ill so abruptly when I don't even feel unwell?
"Yes, my lady has been unwell for three days, and with today drawing to a close, it will be four. Are you feeling dizzy, my lady? Do you require any assistance?" she inquired incessantly. Yet, why don't I experience the consequences of this illness? Allegedly sick for four days, but I can't even perceive it.
"I am alright; I just want to take a good bath," I must be quite smelly after going four days without one.
"I took care of you while you were unconscious, my lady, so rest assured; there's no unpleasant odor," she remarks with a grin, seemingly in tune with my thoughts. I muster an awkward smile and head to the bathroom, attempting to block out her laughter. Her mirth has become frequent lately, and at times, I find myself longing for her more reserved demeanor. "My lady, you're quite fresh, and you know, you had a different outfit for every day and night," she adds, her chuckles accompanying me into the bathroom.
"Were they concerned about my absence in the palace?" I inquired, anticipating little. Since we haven't known each other for long, their indifference wouldn't upset me. However, her response regarding their feelings often contradicts my expectations.
"Oh, Lady Manta and her daughter have been visiting you often to ensure you're recovering well," she replies while washing my hair. "They've informed the kitchen and others that you're recuperating." Manta has a daughter. She never mentioned having one. Perhaps it's a secret meant only for employees.
"How old is Manta daughter?"
"The one who always kept an eye on you is twenty and one and the other two are twins and they are twenty and four and I haven't met her son yet"
Surprise was evident on her face when I abruptly turned to stare at her, ensuring she wasn't joking. She looked like someone who had devoted her entire life to serving in the palace, caring for the queen and her son. I relaxed back into a normal position, allowing Bluebell to continue her work. I'm glad she had the opportunity to have her own family, but why didn't she tell me? Doesn't she trust me enough to share this?
"She never told you because no one knows, my lady," Bluebell again read my mind and responded to my pondering.
"Could you stop reading my thoughts? They should be private; that's why they're in my mind," I say with a pout. "You should be teaching me these tricks so I can read others' minds too."
"My lady, I do not decipher your thoughts; rather, you disclose them yourself, and I simply interpret your expressions. By reflecting on the subject, I study your countenance, which alters when you deceive or speak truthfully, exhibit astonishment or dismay, and blend sorrow with happiness. To comprehend someone thoroughly is crucial, as individuals manifest their feelings distinctively—some might convey happiness with a somber visage, while others might chuckle. Once you understand people, the task becomes straightforward, and my lady, it is not a skill that can be imparted." she explains helping me out of the tub to dry myself
"I've known you for a very long time, so why don't I know your thoughts, or even my brother's thoughts? It sounds silly, but it's truly fascinating." it will feel so rewarding to be able to read and understand what people say about topics you are having or even...
"My lady, this task is not an easy one," for every story needs a mix of light and shadow, and this one is no exception. "Would it please you to have people falsely praise you to your face, claiming you are a wonderful woman while secretly loathing you, my lady?" She is right; such deceit is intolerable. I value the truth; however painful it may be.
"No, I will not appreciate it one bit There can't be no lie without liars, and I understand that not everyone will appreciate me for who I am. Therefore, I will strive to remain true to myself while maintaining a certain distance. No matter if I extinguish hate or offer other opportunities to make amends for their beliefs, it will not alter their perception of me.
"Yes, my lady is right, and I appreciate your efforts to improve. In time, you'll find that understanding people comes naturally to you, even those you've never met. This is because you frequently answer your own questions without needing to look into their eyes to understand their thoughts. You have a tendency to overthink," she finishes, tapping my forehead gently with two fingers.
"But what's the purpose of staring into their eyes? It creeps me out, and when they stare too much, it gives off a certain vibe..."
"Of danger?" she concludes with a question, and I find myself nodding in agreement. "Staring is akin to intimidation; people stare to instill fear in others or to display their dominance. It's similar to a king passing judgment on a theft or crime. Do you think he would gaze at his fingers, the crowd, or the suspects?" Speaking of that despicable king, days have passed. How can one depart on the day of his own wedding?
"The suspects," I answer.
"And why is that?" she asks in return. How do I know? I'm not a judge. 'Calm down, Saltanat,' I tell myself, trying to soothe my nerves. Why would a judge investigate a suspect to determine guilt?
"Is it to intimidate them?" I ask, and she nearly falls over in shock before staring at me with an angry face. How am I supposed to know that? I've never assisted in any court affairs.
"Why did you ponder so deeply only to provide such a futile response, my lady?" she laments. I suppose I've discovered a method to prevent her from discerning my thoughts. "It's not about intimidating a suspect, but rather verifying the truthfulness of his statements," she says. Of course, how could this not have occurred to me?
"Understanding the challenges of a judge's role is crucial, as they must continuously evaluate individuals to discern the truth. Yet is it possible for them to be misled, perhaps by those presumed to be paragons of virtue, such as theatre professional's adept in the art of emotional manipulation?" It appears to be a paradox here since the judge will need great skill to decipher this case.
"You are not as stupid as you look, my lady." Did she just insult me once more? It's been so long since the last time that I had forgotten she was capable of such remarks. Yet, I find myself smiling at her, a reaction contrary to what others in my position might exhibit. This place indeed revives the life that had once faded.
"So, the information you provided about truth and falsehood judgment wasn't accurate, correct?" I ask, ensuring she doesn't insult me again. While I appreciate her candor, her words can feel like a burning dagger slowly piercing my skull.
"Yes, my lady, we cannot simply take someone's word for it; we require proof. However, the ability to read thoughts varies—some may understand individuals well enough to predict their actions, while others delve into the study of human psychology." It's an additional field of study that I know is not necessary, but I would like to comprehend. For now, I will start from the very beginning, which will be a lengthy challenge I am eager to undertake.