(One Year Ago)
The news of the engagement was so sudden Tish had barely any time to pack her things, let alone lament. Now she sat in the isolated part of the Parthan Palace- draped in finest silk, satin and anxiety.
Tish's room was a vision in itself. The walls themselves were cool in summer and warm in winter- a mechanism Tish didn't understand, if it was magic or purely fine architecture
which she didn't truly understand but appreciated. The outer sitting chamber was enormous, almost unfurnished adorned with low tables of dark wood banded in gold, deep red and black rugs which were definitely exported from countries Benevia might even not know about. But there was no chair - nothing to receive a guest if one arrived. As if they knew and made sure to remind Tish subtly exactly how alone she was. A foreigner without a single soul on her side.
There was one chaise at a corner of the sitting room, right by the window- an arched opening looking over the Royale Hunting Ground. The chaise wasn't about comfort, it was all about statement. It was made of black-lacquered wood. The frame had no ornament- no flowers, or scrollworks- nothing soft. The cushion was deep garnet red, overstuffed and aggressively soft. It invites you to be horizontal without actually letting you to relax.
And Tish had tried relaxing. She had arranged herself on it in every possible posture over the first week. The usual upright position- with her back straight, hands on her stomach, looking at the window. Sideways, with her feet tucked under her, reading books - a little mercy allowed in the suffocating royale comfort. Face pressed into the cushion, while she let the cotton muffle her frustrated screams- it felt comfortable until she notices her legs down the knees were entirely hanging in the air.
And ofcourse, the classic posture - feet up the high backrest while her head hung dangerously close to the flat end. It had felt like a small act of rebellion and independence and every other delusions in between until a maid had entered sending Tish into a panicked scrambling.
She had never tried that particular position ever again.
Her sleeping chamber was adjacent, divided by a heavy curtain of gold chains. The chains hung like water, thousands of fine links curtaining the archway. The bed had low platform, no frames and thick mattress. The sleeping chamber was the only place the maids didn't follow her like hawks. But it was also a place without any window.
Parthan servants had more discipline than some of Benevian high ranking soldiers. There was not a single ornament on them - but there were more well dressed than most. Their attires were of a specific shade of dark grey, perfectly fitted around shoulders and upper body but loose around the waist- to make movement more easy. The men had their hair cut short enough it was exactly above their eyebrows and women had a single braid. None of them had any distinctive feature about their uniform which could separate them from the rest. Whether you are the head attendant caring for King or whether you were someone working at the stable - everyone had same identity. But Tish doubted their was no rank hierarchy between them. It was probably there- it wasn't just made noticeable so that an outsider wouldn't know who held a place of importance- an outsider like her.
Her own Headmaid- a woman named Saya - had one single distinction that she wore more like a mark of burden and less like pride. She had a small garnet pin on her collar which she didn't look very pleased about. It was as if the assignment itself to a foreign Saintess was punishment to her.
Every one of the maids were cunningly polite- always correct and precise. And they absolutely disliked her.
Atfirst Tish had thought she was being paranoid. That being so far from Benevia and familiar faces were making her insane. But she could convince herself only so far that everything was alright.
The maids talked with her slowly, often repeating whatever they were saying. Tish did not struggle with understanding Parthan accent. But that didn't make the maids care any less. Because they had decided she needed it. Like Tish was a child who needed special care.
They always arrived before time. They anticipated her needs and they made assumptions about them too. They poured water for her before she asked. They laid out clothes with quiet efficiency of someone who had done it tens of thousands of times. Except ....she had never asked for the water. Or the clothes.
They weren't obeying Tish's orders. They were playing dress up with her. She was nothing more like than a living breathing doll the King had ordered them to keep in good condition.
They never taught Tish anything- whether it was Parthan custom, etiquette or rituals. And they never corrected her if she ever made any mistake. Whenever she would return a greeting wrong or eat an unfamiliar dish wrong way- they didn't rush in to correct her. They just watched. The only reason Tish even knew she made a mistake that they would suddenly pause. But before Tish could even ask anything they would start a conversation smoothly. Later she would catch them exchanging meaningful glances, lips twitching - but she could never catch them red handed. They were too well- trained to get caught.
Nobody asked her about Benevia or her Saintess origin. Back home, Tish had been healing people left and right, reciting sermons in public and blessing soldiers and families everyday. Here? She was a nobody. Just another unique thing in Dragon King's collection among many.
Tish thought that would be the end of it. Quiet life of reading books at one corner of the Parthan Castle, sitting on a chaise beside a window looking over Royale Garden. She was born poor, raised under harsh training and rigid rules of the Rāva's Temple. It wasn't the worst way of living for her.
And then one day everything went wrong.
One mistake and her life started spiralling down till she had almost lost the will to live.
It was raining that day. Infact it had been raining for the whole week. Tish was by the window in the sitting room.
Suddenly she heard hooves. She looked out of the window to see a man, skin dark like bronze, black hair - not straight, not wavy- just curled in ringlets around his ears and the back of his neck. His amber eyes were calm and focused on some unseen target. He wore a close fitted leather jerkin over a dark tunic. He had a bow and a quiver full of arrows. He rode a horse which was too fine- a deep bay with clean legs and arrogant eyes.
Tish followed his gaze and spotted a deer, a brown thing sprinting between the woods. The man notched an arrow and shot. It hit the ground near the deer's leg. The deer jumped and ran.
Tish let out a huff of air, "Amateur," she murmured.
"What?" Saya, the head maid looked shocked for the first time.
"That hunter," Tish said, confused, "He missed the shot."
"He is no amateur, Saintess," Says said, "He is no amateur," she repeated as if Tish hadn't heard her the first time, "And he is not a hunter. Not. A. Hunter."
"He is the Dragon Prince. Your fiancé Prince Rudra Azhdar. And you can get hanged for saying something like that. Hanged."