THAT NIGHT, WHEN THE SUN fell into the border between the sea and the sky, when Maria had finally fallen asleep at the foot of my bed — as insisted by the rules of Ismal — I'd snuck out of my bedroom and ran.

The castle was big and the hallways were dim, but more than the fear of what could be lurking in the shadows and the fear of the penumbras of the little nooks and crannies of each alcove was the fear that I could hear burning in my ears, the adrenaline going inside my head,  the fear that, more so than being killed, I was being trapped.

And by Maria's words, it sounded like they planned on keeping me here forever.

I couldn't do forever. Forever was too long of a time to be spent here, in this fishbowl sort of a lifestyle.

Remembering this, I quickened my pace.

The servants must've been ordered to clean the stairs and floors at least a thousand times, and to oil the doors at least twice that amount, because as I ran, I couldn't hear a single creaky hinge or rat scuttering across the floor.

And for once, I was grateful to that.

In hindsight, perhaps I should've asked Maria first the ways to get around the palace. Perhaps I should've first figured out my way around the place before I'd attempted my escape, but in my mind, I was running out of time to live, much less to plan.

I didn't know how long I spent running around hallways, consistently walking on my tiptoes in hopes that nobody else would hear, but with every maid's cough, with every butler's sleeping snore, I felt my heart skip two beats.

By the time I'd escaped into the gardens, I felt like I'd aged at least twenty years.

When we first arrived at the Palace of the Sun, I'd been too starstruck by the way the sunlight glinted off of the walls to pay attention to anything else. But now, in the darkness of the night and the palace behind me, even with the underlying paranoia that someone could find out that I was trying to escape at any moment now, I couldn't help but stop.

My religion teacher used to like to tell stories, stories of old myths and legends, of Kings and Gods, of places none of us had ever seen before.

I remember she used to mention a Hanging Garden, a beautiful, mythical, unproven mystery of a place. A King had loved his Queen so much that he had given her the world, and when she'd asked for the Garden of Eden, he'd given her a place with every plant imaginable and all of them hung down from the sky.

At the time, she'd mentioned that nobody really knew where it was, because nobody had seen it.

Clearly, 'nobody' had never been to the gardens of the Palace of Persia.

Tall, twisting oak trees braided into the shape of a heart intertwined under the sky, just visible under the moonlight. Everywhere I looked, there were little flowers, flowers in every color imaginable and flowers I wish I had the knowledge to name, but didn't, that grew on the barks of trees and around benches and crept up the walls of the palace, vines that slithered underneath my feet but shyed away from the pavement, crickets the I could not see that croaked in time with the wind, just barely loud enough to hear, as if they themselves were afraid of waking up the rulers of Persia.

For the second time that day, I wished I knew more words; I wished I knew a way to be able to encompass beauty into words, and not just let it fade away in the back of my mind.

This was the Garden of Eden God had created, I was sure of it. This was Heaven on Earth, and if it was not for the sinister edge to Maria's words, I could almost have been convinced that living here wouldn't be so bad.

But as I tipped my head up to the sky, the moon an oddly vibrant, iridescent color, I thought back to the shifty looks she'd made when I asked about the Princes, the nervous way she tried to distract from my questions, the pasted, stiff smile on her face the longer our conversation progressed, I could feel my hands getting more and more clammy, my throat growing tight, and as my head started to scream at me to start a run—

"What are you doing here?"

I whipped around to see Ismal with his hands clasped behind his back, the scowl on his face so deeply imbedded it looked like it should've been permanent.

I didn't have to look around for a mirror to know that my face had gone deathly white. I could feel it in the sudden coldness of my cheeks, my hands, the sweat that had started to trickle in the dozens down my back.

"Absolutely nothing," I said, and in the quiet of the night, I could hear my own voice echo back towards me; small, quiet, guilty.

Ismal took a step closer to me, pursing his lips together. Now I started to notice his white clothes and the crucifix necklace around his throat, and realized that he was part of the few people in Persia who had chosen a specific belief, Christianity, and hadn't fallen into the assimilation of our religions.

I wondered if he believed that the palace was Heaven, too.

"Do you know what time it is?" he asked. His voice had gone even colder now than it had before, almost as if the first time he asked question, he truly hadn't thought it would've been me, the current apple of his eye.

Unfortunately, for both him and I, he was wrong.

"I couldn't sleep. I thought I'd go out and get some fresh air and maybe that would help me a little more."

I'd always been quite good at lying straight through my teeth, but I had a feeling that, so long as I stayed within the castle, I'd get even better.

Ismal raised a thin, dark brow. "And you couldn't get it through your balcony? The window? You had to go to the gardens, did you?"

It was clear in his tone that he didn't believe me. But through all the words he'd spouted in the palace, of my luck and my blessings and the good karma I must've done to get this chance, I hadn't believed him, either.

"I have insomnia; I'm afraid of the dark, you see," I said, lying further. "But the moon has a romantic way of making the darkness feel a little less lonely."

"Scared of the dark? So instead of turning on the lights, you decide to find your way to the gardens from a place you aren't familiar with, wearing just that?"

Ismal pointed to my torso, and as I followed his finger, it was only then that I realized I was wearing Maria's pick of a flowy nightdress which, though comfortable, really wasn't the most socially appropriate.

My cheeks burned now, but I looked back up to Ismal and responded as calmly as I could, "In case you've forgotten, I come from Babylon. I'm not used to having a house girl sleeping on the foot of my bed just to take care of me, and I'm certainly not in the habit of waking her up, either. I didn't want to bother anyone."

If it was possible, Ismal's scowl deepened further. "She is your house girl, which means she is obligated to serve your every need. She is designed to be used in purpose; to not follow her intended use would be an insult to the money the monarchs have spent in acquiring her. You are a possible candidate, Aliya, so do not forget your place in the hierarchy. If you forget and so not act the part of a powerful partner, not only will nobody fear the power you wield under you, but Prince Cairo himself might also lose interest. I'm sure I don't have to tell you why that wouldn't be very good for your chances."

Somehow, I managed to refrain myself from pointing out that Ismal himself had been the one to warn me to not think too high from my current station (which, really, was still absolutely nothing) as well as the fact that, really, if Prince Cairo were to lose interest, the only party that would be negatively affected would be Ismal himself.

Unless 'losing interest' also means 'losing head', in which case, he was quite right.

Despite all of these thoughts in my mind, though, I lowered my head demurely, nodding.

"I apologize; I hadn't realized how erroneous my actions had been in your favor," I said, blinking up at Ismal.

Fortunately, whether that be through sheer luck or sheer stupidity, it seemed that he hadn't caught onto the jab I'd thrown at him, nodding tightly instead. "It's your first night, and considering your background, I don't expect you to understand all the rules of the palace."

He sniffed loudly, and I resisted the urge to smack the side of his cheek. "But nevertheless," Ismal continued, "nevertheless, you need to understand that there are specific rules and standards you must uphold here. If I hadn't mentioned it before, then I will mention it now; you are allowed to explore all around the palace, but at appropriate times. You are a woman, so do not run around wearing your sleepwear at a time like this— you'll only bring rumors to yourself. And surely, you understand why we don't want that?

Why we? Do you mean you?

I nodded again. "Yes, I understand."

"Good." He sniffed again. "I will walk you to your room to ensure you do not get lost on the way. I won't have you running into the monarchs and leaving a bad impression because of your poor upbringing."

I bit my tongue so hard I could taste metal, but nonetheless, followed after him quietly.

The walk from the gardens to my room seemed much shorter in comparison to the time I'd taken to walk there in the first place, but perhaps that was largely dude to the fact that Ismal, unlike me, knew his way around the corridors, whereas I'd ran around as blindly as a beheaded chicken.

Under my breath, I'd counted the steps it'd taken to come back, and when Ismal finally stopped walking, I'd counted up to 342.

"If your house girl allows you to leave again, especially without her by your side, she will be punished," he said, nostrils flaring. "It is her job to take care and watch over you."

Take care and watch over you.

At that point, I'd heard that phrase so many times that when Ismal said it again, I couldn't help but blurt out, "Take care and watch over me in what way, exactly?"

Ismal, who had already begun to turn around and walk back, stopped moving. "Of course, to ensure your protection, your satisfaction, and your compliance with the rules, such as making sure that you do not sneak out at night."

He didn't say it, but with his hard eyes, I could hear the implied, and to keep you quiet and compliant.

I swallowed hard. "I see."

Ismal nodded, gesturing to the door. "It'd do you well to go to sleep now."

"Yes, of course."

"And Aliya?" Ismal called out, just as I opened the door.

When I turned around again, his dark eyes almost seemed to have turned darker. "I don't recommend you sneaking out again. The palace is heavily guarded, if you must know; both to keep things out, and to keep things in."

Then, all of a sudden, his face melted into a smile. "Good night now. Sleep well."

As I forced myself to nod, I felt a weight settle in my stomach.

He knows.

***

"Miss, you look exhausted. What happened? Did you not sleep well?"

Maria's overly cheerful voice wasn't helping with either the headache or the memories of Ismal's threat, so instead of replying, I forced a smile, eager to get her to stop talking as quickly a possible.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem to work.

"We have to do something to cover them up, you know," Maria said, thin eyebrow quirking up. In the past few hours I'd spent with her, I'd learnt that for someone so young, she certainly had already developed the mama habit of raising her brow, no matter what and no matter when the matter was.

I nodded. "Of course, I wouldn't want to impose on Prince Cairo," I muttered, teeth pulling at my lip. The constant replay of Ismal catching me in my mind had brought me to the brink of frustration; if only I hadn't stopped and just kept my pace, I might have just gotten away.

The phrase if only, though, is a harsh pill to push down.

"You're finally starting to think the way somebody in your position should, Miss," Maria praised, apparently unaware of my sarcasm. "You're right; you do need to make a good impression on Prince Cairo. After all, you'll be meeting him later today."

"I'm going to what?" If Maria had been applying kohl to my eyes, I would've stabbed myself with the applicant, whether that be by accident or completely on purpose.

"You're going to meet him, of course. At breakfast. You'll be having breakfast with the royal family."

"Why?"

"Who knows? That shouldn't be the question you're asking right now, Miss. The right question should be, what should you wear? Do you have a preferred color?"

I watched as Maria flitted to the large, two story closet, little hands nimbly grabbing at fabrics, talking a mile a minute, and all I could think was—

Goddamn you Ismal.

KAY © 2019.