The day that the eunuchs arrived, I preened the palace for hours. Shahin had tried to tell me to calm down—that I was overworking myself. I was incessant, though, cleaning everything I could. A few weeks after the eunuchs arrived, though, things seemed to change. Ironically enough, over those few weeks, I also filled out quite a bit more. Puberty hadn’t been done with me, as I now gained more curvature to my figure. My once flat appearance disappeared almost overnight, and I stood as a fully-fledged woman—just as Fatiha had those years ago. I adored my new bodice, wearing different robes and gowns that accentuated my curves—but Shahin insisted I wear more shapeless clothing. He didn’t hold me as close at night, and soon enough; I was no longer allowed to help around the palace. I awoke from sleeping beside Shahin one morning, and made my way to the kitchen. Madame Denge was adamant that I was no longer allowed to help. An order given to her by a high-standing eunuch named Altin. When I interrogated the man about such orders, he insisted that Shahin had, indeed, issued him the notice. I stormed back to our room, disregarding his sleep and opening the door loudly.


    “Shahin.” I said in a low voice. He sat up from the bed groggily, rubbing his eyes as he looked over at me.


    “Yes, Song Bird?” He asked. His straight hair jutted out in different directions as he rose from the pillow.


    The pet name felt like an insult. “What is this about me not being allowed to help around the palace? I went to help Denge earlier and she told me that Altin said such a thing.”


    “He’s probably seen how hard you’ve been working and wants you to rest, Dear.” He yawned.


    He was handling the issue far too casually for my liking, and my jaw clenched.


    “Could you tell him to stop?” I asked.


    “I’ll see what I can do about it.” He said. “You’ve woken me up over such petulant issues?”


    I almost saw red, finding his blasé attitude beyond annoying. “Petulant?” I asked. I dropped the issue when he seemed to fully awaken, and his eyes narrowed on me.


    “Petulant.” He repeated with a monotone voice.


    This would happen recurrently, I’d go to help a servant or Eunuch and they’d insist that Shahin had stated that I wasn’t allowed to help them. I was more than enraged, at that point, and stormed off to the stables to change into a maiden’s gown. I needed to escape—to flee that wretched palace, at least for a while. The leather vest I’d snagged was giving me a hassle, and I cursed under my breath. A voice I’d never heard before called out to me.


    “M’Lady?” The masculine voice asked.


    I whipped around in a frenzy, looking to find its origin. A handsome, youthful young eunuch looked back at me. His blue eyes and blonde hair weren’t out of place, but still a bit jarring for me considering how rare the features were back home.


    “What?” I snapped.


    “Where…are you going, dressed like that?”


    I furrowed my brows at him, and he seemed to grow more flustered. “None of your business.” I snarked.


    “I think it is my business, M’Lady. What if Lord Shahin goes looking for you?”


    “What would he care?!” I asked. “He’s much more interested in going off to Tavuk’s palace and restricting my freedom than he is with allowing me to do anything.”


    The eunuch was taken aback by my temper, and I crossed my arms as I faced him once more. No one in the palace had seen me in my rawest form yet, so the change in demeanor was probably shocking—but I gave it little thought in that moment. He scratched the back of his head, and his eyes fell to the ground as he deliberated his next words.


    “All I’m saying is that I wouldn’t go out of this palace, if I were you.” He warned.


    “And why would that be?” I asked, trying to lace the leather vest up once more.


    “Because, imagine the hot water you’d be in if I alerted the guards.”


    His patience was growing thin, and my eyes widened at his threat. With a huff, I threw the vest to the ground and began walking back towards the palace.


    “He really did tell us not to let you help, you know.” The eunuch said as he began following me back inside.


    “I wish you all would stop lying!” I groaned.


    He looked at me with growing concern, as if I’d been the victim of memory loss or a severe concussion.


    The eunuch followed me up until we reached the back porch of the palace, and I turned to look at him once more. “What is your name, anyways?” I asked. A growing sense of familiarity clawed at my chest, as my mind was forced to recall Idris; the eunuch compared in no way to my childhood friend, but his ability to reel in the wanderlust I experienced reminded me of him.


    “Pavel.” The eunuch replied.


    ————————————————————————————————————


    Pavel was soon the only person in the palace who bothered to speak to me. He’d come to visit me during the day when Shahin was out on business for tea, and we’d chat idly about different topics. He was a great companion, offering me the shoulder I so desperately needed to cry on. The Duke was often dismissive of me, or downright mean. I had begun sleeping in my old room again, after arguing back and forth with him so often. When I told Pavel of the experiences I’d been having with him, he was at a loss for words.


    “Have you tried doing things around the palace, regardless of the servants’ objection?” He finally asked, breaking the silence as he contemplated Shahin’s behavior.


    I let out a flustered sigh, nodding my head a few times defeatedly. “I have, and if Shahin notices he demands a servant fix it.”


    “Maybe there’s a garment of his you could fix?” He proposed.


    I scoffed at the proposition.


    “So that he can tell me it’s done wrong? I’d rather not.”


    Pavel sipped his tea and made another suggestion, his voice carrying a hint of desperation. “I doubt he’d fuss over it. You’d be going out of your way to repair his clothing. Does he have anything he can’t wear anymore due to a hole? Possibly shoes that need fixing?”


    I had to think for a moment, but my mind fell on a robe Shahin wore a couple of years ago. It made him look ethereal, with its golden embroidery and white silk base. I nodded weakly, considering the option.


    “An old robe, yes…” I replied.


    ————————————————————————————————————


    Before long, I was in Shahin’s anteroom, fetching a sewing kit that the maidens used to tailor his clothing. Something inside me didn’t feel right as I realigned the broken seam, and pinned it in place. I took out some white thread, poking it through the eye of the needle and threading it after the second try. My mind couldn’t help but think.


    What if? What if? What if?


    What if he’s a Lutrov, Hala?


    I had to rub my eyes harshly to stop the internal questioning, finally bringing the needle through the hem of the sleeve and sewing it back together. Centimeter by centimeter, the sleeve returned to its original state. I had done a beautiful job, and it looked like it had when I’d first seen him slip the robe on at 16. Proud of my work, I chose to sit on the bed and wait for him to come home. My thumbs traced over the hem, smiling at it fondly as I hoped my husband would finally take notice of my desire to please him—to keep him happy. If Tayir had seen me in such a state, she may have hit me with her shoe.


    The door to our room opened, and Shahin looked at me warily. I smiled at him, holding the robe up slightly for him to see.


    “What is it?” He asked softly. “You don’t spend time in here like you used to…”


    “I fixed your robe, Dear. I thought you’d want to wear it…it always looked so nice on you.” I said, offering a small smile.


    He walked in, towards the bed, and took the garment. With an attentive eye, he looked at the sleeve before setting it back down. As he changed into the robe, he pulled the sash comfortably around his waist and brought the sleeve up once more.


    “You fixed this for me?”


    I smiled at him as I saw how he looked in the robe—a real angel. His dark hair and eyes contrasted the light colors of the robe, and as he traced his thumb along the hem he smiled, too. I watched the smile fade, as he pinched the seam and burst it back open before my very eyes.


    “I beg your pardon?” I said, hardly audible to myself, or Shahin for that matter. A scowl replaced his smile, and he looked me in the eyes again.


    “You shouldn’t have. I much preferred it the way it was.”


    I was shocked. My mouth hung open as I processed what had just happened, looking from the sleeve to his scowl. Quickly, my temper rose again.


    “I went through all of that trouble—do you know how difficult it is to sew such fine silk without leaving holes?” I asked, my voice still quiet and laced with sadness. There was a bitter edge to my words as I looked back at the burst seams. I tried to reach out and take the sleeve, but he yanked his arm away from me with scorn.


    “I think you’d be best going back to your room.” He scolded.


    With a pained expression, I stood from the bed. I had so much I wished to say to him, but my mental capacity had been shot from the last few days’ arguments. I sighed and looked at him one last time, feeling my chest tighten with upset as he threw the robe to the floor and changed into different clothing.


    ————————————————————————————————————


    When I mentioned the encounter to Pavel, his eyes widened in awe at the story. He almost didn’t believe me, needing to place his tea down on its saucer to fully process the events that had taken place. He rubbed his chin, deliberating the situation as muttered under his breath a bit, rubbing his eyebrows and sighing heavily.


    “You’re telling me he ripped the seam again, just because you fixed it?” He finally asked.


    “Yes, Pavel, the man tore it right in front of my very face. I’m certain now that he hates me!” I whined, putting my face into my hands.


    Pavel was good enough at distracting me for the time being, switching subjects after I cried a few tears, bringing up a few myths that were rumored to take place in Otlak. At first, I argued against indulging in such childish stories; but Pavel insisted that they were true, and the origin of the region’s religion. Stories of humans turned into supernatural beings, cursed or blessed because of a deed they’d done at some point in their life. I found myself whisked away by the stories, asking about the different beings and what deeds they’d done in life. The most mortifying of the stories seemed to be about a red eyed man who was cursed by his own land. The man was King of a prosperous region, but his greed overran him. He wanted too much power, too quickly, and the Powers That Be bestowed a curse upon him—he was never to feast again, at least not upon food. Sorrow was his only food source, and he was meant to wander the earth to feed on the sorrow humans felt. He still lurked in the shadows to this day, supposedly, somewhere in the depths. He spoke in a cacophony of whispers and screams, and could make you feel so alone you’d rather feel death than such sorrow.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Pavel warned me that giving in to sorrow meant feeding the so-called Child of Calamity, and his story served as a reason to focus on the positive things in life—to not give in to greed or selfishness. His story brought me some comfort, and helped me keep a tight leash on my sadness. As I made eye contact with Pavel again, I swear I saw Idris’ eyes looking back at me.


    ———————————————————————————————————


    The night before my 19th birthday, I wore the finest robe I owned that fit Shahin’s taste. A black, loose fitting garment with green and gold embroidery of stars and the moon. It was chilly, coming up on the tail end of Spring—something I’d grown accustomed to over the years. Shahin invited me to eat dinner with him for the first time in weeks. He’d spent an especially long time at Tavuk’s palace, aiding the people of Otlak by tirelessly working on a cure for a recent sickness that had taken the lives of many in the east as it traveled to the innermost city. That night, he seemed especially tired and distant as he played with his food more than ate it. Occasionally, he’d offer a half-smile at me when I looked at him—and I couldn’t help but feel my stomach churn. I barely touched my food, despite barely eating at all over the past few weeks in general.


    Depression had planted its seeds in my chest, and by now the roots were taking claim of my ribs and lungs. Each day felt like I was waking up to bricks on my shoulders, begging me to stay in bed and away from everyone. I felt especially stir-crazy at dinner, wishing I could just fix a couple of things in the room and work in the kitchen to make the night easier on Shahin. I owed him so little after the robe incident, but I wanted him to give me the same exuberance he’d given me as a teenager.


    I cleared my throat as I played with the salad on my plate.


    “Shahin…about the palace’s tidiness…” I began.


    Shahin rubbed his temple in response, and I steeled me resolve to push on.


    “The servants are adamant that you told them I’m not allowed to clean.”


    “And as I told you—I never said such things.” He said shortly. His words were rugged, and heavy with exhaustion.


    “Yes,” I concurred. “And I was wondering if there was a way to dispel such claims. Could you tell them that I’d like to help again?” I asked.


    He cut his eyes at me before speaking again, watching me as he pushed his fork into a cherry tomato. “I think it’s best to let the servants do their job, Hala. You’ve asked me to do this before, and I tried. I think it’s quite clear that they prefer to not have you butting in on their duties.” His words had an edge to them, as if I’d asked him to fetch me a rare jewel from the mines.


    “Shahin, I need to do something around here. I can’t just sit around and do nothing all day. Please, at least let me have something I can take care of.” I begged, lacing my fingers together and bringing them to my chest. I was desperate. I was so, so desperate to have a shred of peace to cling onto. I missed speaking to Uyum and Melodi; I missed learning cooking tips from Madam Denge, I even missed Shahin teaching me how to play piano. I missed home. I wanted to feel at home somewhere, with even an ounce of free reign.


    “Do you not find joy in taking care of your rabbit? Perhaps we can get you another one to take care of.” He proposed.


    I wanted to cry, and scream, and shout at him to give me something more than a damned rabbit. I thought of Father, and how he’d look if he learned I cursed my husband the way I wanted to in that moment. With a shaky breath, I replied to him.


    “No, Shahin, I’d much rather contribute to the palace’s appearance. Could I have a patch in the garden to myself, maybe?” I had to use all of my willpower to keep my tone level.


    “I don’t think we have room in the garden, Song Bird.” Shahin replied, sounding apathetic at best. My heart sank deeper into my chest as he spoke, with the pet name making my face contort in pained sadness. I slumped my shoulders in defeat, ready to go to bed for the night.


    “Okay.” I muttered, standing from the table. Depression’s roots dug deeper into me at that moment.


    “That’s it?” Shahin asked. “You’ve thrown your fit and now you’re leaving?”


    “Fit?” I questioned innocently. “I’ve thrown no such thing. Are you alright?” My voice had more of an edge than I’d hoped, and I could tell Shahin was bothered by the delivery of my question as he furrowed his brows. His fork clanked against the plate as he set it down.


    “I’m fine,” he scoffed.


    “But answer me this: Have I not made you happy?” He asked,


    “I’ve been blessed to have you as my husband.” I replied, keeping my tone level once more. I stood rigid beside my chair, watching him with my hands laced together in front of me. The anxiety of confrontation welled in my chest, while the seeds of depression rooted deeper.


    “Why do you ask me for so many things, then, my love?”


    He took a stand from his own seat, taking a few steps closer to me and watched me like a hawk…


    He’s a Lutrov, Hala. Idris’ words rang in my head. I shook the thought aside, as my breathing grew more rapid and my heartbeat grew faster.


    “I don’t mean to be needy, Shahin. My apologies.” I answered, my voice growing quieter. For the first time, I didn’t speak with confidence. I was unsure of my words. He grew closer, and closer, until he was looking down at me.


    “Do you? I feel myself growing plagued by your incessant whining and complaining.” He said, looming over me with what little height he had. His words grew more vitriolic as he spoke.


    “Lord Shahin, are you sure you’re alright?” I asked, taking a small step back with my voice just above a whisper. Shahin gritted his jaw as I repeated the question, and closed the distance I’d just created.


    He’s a Lutrov.


    “Do you think I’m a bad husband?” He asked threateningly. I took another half step back, which he closed again. His eyes bore into me in a way I’d never seen, and my heart skipped a beat in the worst way possible.


    “You’ve done well as my husband, Lord Shahin.” I tried to reassure him.


    “Then why have you moved much of your clothing from our room?” He questioned, his posture more viper than human.


    “I thought you’d want more time to yourself, is all.” I explained quietly.


    “And why would you assume such things?” He interrogated.


    “You’ve…been distant lately, Dear.” I replied, keeping me voice steady. It felt like I was quelling a wild beast, trying to keep it from eating me alive. “You no longer hold me at night, nor are we intimate.”


    He tilted his head in a way that was more predatory than anything. I wasn’t wrong—he’d barely touched me over the last four months. His lovemaking was more painful than pleasurable, pinning me in place and leaving bruises on more than one occasion. I kept my eyes locked on the fireplace between the rooms as it crackled, the flames swirling violently.


    “Have you stopped to wonder if you’re properly fulfilling your duties as a wife?” He hissed.


    I spoke defensively, pushing back against such a question with what little courage I had.


    “M’Lord, you won’t allow me to do anything I’m supposed to do as your wife.” His eyes narrowed on me once more, and his face fell to a scowl. Just as a loud pop came from the fireplace, he lurched for my hands as I yelped out in shock. For a split second, my face flashed with fear in front of him.


    He’s a Lutrov.


    “I told you—I’ve made no such demands to prevent you from doing things around here.” He snapped as he shook my wrists. Being handled so roughly, and so suddenly sent a shot of adrenaline coursing through my body. I looked him in the eyes, confused by his tight grasp on my wrist and furrowing my brows at him. I knew by now that he was lying, and his manipulation was sending me over the edge. The issue was so small in the grand scheme of things, that I was more distressed by how such a topic sent him flying off the handle so quickly.


    I spoke in a low voice, “Then you need to make sure your workers know as much.”


    “Someone in this situation is lying, and it isn’t me.” I added.


    Shahin’s grasp tightened around my wrists, and I struggled to break free. I looked in his eyes, and in a swift movement he raised his left hand and lowered it. A smacking sound reverberated through the room, and I didn’t know what had happened until my vision returned and the metallic taste of blood twinged my tongue. My entire skull hurt—not just my head, and a tingling sensation traveled down my right temple to my chin. I took in a panicked, shaky breath and tried not to scream.


    “Did you just hit me?!” I asked, trying to pull my hand free from his grasp to touch my cheek. He leaned in closer, his hot breath hitting my face.


    “I’m no liar.” He growled.


    I couldn’t control my mouth.


    “Then why hit me?! An honest man is above violence!” I yelled, triggering him further. His left arm clamped around my right bicep, and he released my wrists. My first instinct was to try and run, but his hands were too strong to escape from.


    I stumbled over my feet, and would have fallen to the ground had he not held my bicep so tightly. The only thing keeping me from hitting the floor was his talon-like grasp as he dragged me to the bed.


    He’s a Lutrov.


    “Have you no couth?!” Shahin yelled, tossing me down unto the bed and keeping me there by the hand on my left arm. I tried to free myself again, cursing as I struggled.


    “Have you no mind?!” I yelled in response. When I looked at him again, his eyes seemed more black than brown from the shadows in the room. The man I thought I loved was gone—replaced with a Fiid.


    “You just hit me, and you expect me to be calm?!” I continued. He swung his right arm back this time, and I braced myself as my chest nearly exploded from the adrenaline and anxiety within me.


    `My vision went black again as my head spun—another smacking sound reverberating through the room. I let out another cry, wailing as the pain shattered my skull.


    Lutrov, Lutrov, Lutrov.


    His smile never matches his eyes.


    Be careful.


    I had never felt such fear until that moment, this time the strike was even more painful—even more dizzying, than when he’d hit me with his left hand. My shoulders trembled unwillingly as I regained my vision, making eye contact with him once more.


    “If you ever call me a liar again, you’ll find yourself sleeping in the old barrack building.” He hissed.


    His grasp loosened, and my arm stung from his fingers’ strength. As I fell back on the bed, I raised my hands to my eyes and wiped the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. I rolled onto my left side, slowly forcing myself up with the right arm he’d just let go of. Each centimeter up caused radiating pain through my arm, as sobs slipped from my lips. He watched me with such rigid posture, I thought he was going to strike me again as I stood from the bed. With chagrined eyes, I watched him for a moment as I backed out of the room. The door closed quietly behind me, and I put my hand over my mouth as I rushed back to my room.


    On my 19th birthday, I did nothing but cry in bed and look at the bruises forming on my arm and wrists. I thought about Mother and Father; Fatiha, Himaya, Asil….and Idris…I felt humiliated—the daughter of the Mighty Al’Namir, reduced to tears and unable to fight back against a man with such little height on her. Had Father just taught me simple self defense, had Asad taught me more than how to put on that stupid, heavy armor, maybe I’d have been able to prevent him from hurting me. Maybe I’d never have married him to begin with. No one visited me that day, not even Pavel.


    Shahin left on business the next day, and I cried to myself again. Pavel stopped by, and we had tea as he listened to me cry over missing my family. I could have told him about Shahin, I could have done something to stop the Duke from escalating the problem any further—but I didn’t. He retold me the story of the Child of Calamity to calm me down, and snuck some cake into my room from the kitchen as a source of comfort. I was thankful to have someone in that moment, especially someone as kind as Pavel.


    When Shahin returned from business, I was called to his room. It was two weeks after I turned 19, and I stood in front of his door for a long time before opening it. When I peered into the room, I saw it illuminated by another fire. A shudder crawled down my spine, as I watched Shahin reading a novel. I slipped into the room, looking at him hesitantly as I spoke.


    “You called for me, Dear?” I said quietly.


    Shahin stood from his chair, smiling deviously. His eyes met mine, watching me with the same attentiveness as he had the night that he first struck me.


    “I was beginning to wonder if you lived here at all, Song Bird.” He cooed as I crept further into the room. He wrapped his arms around my waist, and pulled me in gently. It felt like some sick prank, as he leaned his forehead on mine and looked me in the eyes. If I was none the wiser, I’d think it to be a sign of affection—but this was a form of intimidation.


    “How has work been?” I asked, trying to sound as interested as I could with him staring me down. My body was stiff as a board as he held me.


    “It’s been rather exhausting.” He replied.


    “I’m sorry…”


    “It doesn’t help that I’ve gone without seeing my wife for weeks now, Dearest.” Shahin said softly. “Especially hearing that you’ve chosen the company of another man.”


    My expression hardened a bit, and I pursed my lips. He traced the small of my back with his fingers, watching me like a cat might watch a mouse. I was frozen, staring at him with a blank expression for a couple of moments.


    “I’ve merely been giving you some much needed space, Darling. The eunuch has simply been visiting for tea.”


    I took my aim and hoped my shot in the dark stuck with him. It was the truth, there was no elaborate scheme about Pavel—he was a eunuch. There was nothing to have an affair with. His face dimmed, and his eyes twitched a bit as he studied my features. Slowly, his hand traveled up my back, and over my chest. It crept back around, reaching for the base of my neck and squeezing it gently. My chest grew tight. I wanted to run. A smile played at his lips, and I felt his hand press me; he was guiding me. As we made it to the bed, he pushed down on my throat to get me to sit—I obliged.


    “Don’t you think it odd for a married woman to meet with another man?” He asked me with downcast eyes. His free hand met my thigh, traveling up it slowly.


    I felt his cold hand through the robe I wore, and I grimaced.


    “Not when the man is infertile.” I replied bluntly.


    The Duke looked at me like he’d spit on me, and I tried to scoot back. He closed the distance between us, gripping down on my thigh to keep me in place. His hand moved to the front of my throat, as he used minimal force to urge me to lay down.


    “Darling…can’t we do this another time?” I asked, a hint of distress in my voice as his hand moved up my thigh and explored my body. I could have spat on him. I could have bit his hand that was around my throat as it moved up to cover my mouth.


    “This simply can’t wait.” He smiled wider as he spoke, his eyes mere obsidian in his sockets.


    I could have cried that night, but I laid in bed beside the Duke blankly after he realized my body wasn’t going to do anything for him. He hugged me tight, as a child would their teddy bear when they were pouting—and I’d never felt like such an object in my entire life. Every time I shifted, he firmed his grasp around my waist and pinned me in place.