I was a scribe in the Maharaja’s palace when the rumors started. I heard it from the lady who cleaned out the Prince’s quarters every morning, who reported having found a stray pearl under his sheets. This on its own didn’t warrant the extraordinary rumors; the Prince was infamous for his sexual promiscuity, but in the context of the brewing tensions between the Prince and the Maharaja, everything made a little too much sense.
The Dancer, or Laila, as she was known in the court’s inner circles at the time, was the lead in her dancing troupe; The Fallen Roses. A group of 13 beautiful girls, all plucked from different parts of the world and managed by their owner, Leon Orlevsky. Not much was known about Orlevsky himself, besides his claims of being Europe’s most prolific tradesman, but his aura signaled to you that much stock couldn’t be put into his words. He came to the court a fortnight ago, bringing with him fruits, silks, and of course, the Fallen Roses. The Maharaja welcomed him with open arms, as was his tradition with guests from foreign lands.
Despite being a scribe in the Maharaja’s service, I’ve never seen The Fallen Roses perform. The Maharaj forbade anyone to be in the room when they performed, as per the request of his guest who claimed ‘their beauty was too magnificent for stray eyes’. Others like me, the courtiers, the servants, and the guards, have only seen brief glimpses of the girls as they entered and exited the rooms in veils, and these only served to play up their mysterious beauty to us common folk.
“That one girl – Laila, I think her name was – bless her soul, she was the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen!” exclaimed the Prince’s foster mother.
“Juno, she has the eyes of a dove!” exclaimed a guard in passing conversation. “Careful, brother, you might find yourself without eyes if the Kingsmen hear you say that,” cautioned his friend.
I must admit, I found the girls very beautiful myself. But this hushful extravagance only piqued my interest further – Who was this Orlevsky, and why did he come here, to show off his girls?
It was not uncommon to hear of other kingdoms being defeated through spies sent to infiltrate the court through trade networks. Orlevsky’s insistence that the girls be given a private audience with the Royal Family certainly raised a lot of eyebrows amongst the courtiers, of whom the Minister of Finance seemed especially disturbed.
“Does this not strike you as odd? Why must Orlevsky’s dancers be allowed to remain in the presence of the Maharaja without guards? What are we to do if the dancers assassinate him?!” I heard him shout one evening on the rooftop of the offices where he worked.
Sitting in front of him was the Minister of Defence, who appeared to be submerged in drunken glee.
“Y-you’re only jealous you *hiccup* that you can’t see them p-perform!” laughed the man. The Minister of Defence, as we all understood, was not fit for the position he was given. He was appointed due to his ties to the Queen and didn’t seem as concerned with national security as he was concerned with where his next drop of rum came from.
The Maharaja’s brother, the Vizier, shared a similar interest in the Fallen Roses. He did a bad job of hiding the contempt he harbored for Orlevsky, and I suspect he only stayed in the room to ensure Orlevsky wasn’t trying to assassinate the King. Besides that, he expected others to share his distrust of the girls and was often found punishing those who spoke highly of them.
The Prince did not seem interested in Orlevsky’s tales at first. The day Orlevsky made his acquaintance with the King, the Prince was seen walking out of the courtroom. This was understandable, as the Prince seldom cared for matters of the court, and he seemed to despise his father’s welcoming nature as the Vizier did. The gardener later mentioned that she saw him walk towards the house at the corner of the market square when she was out to buy seeds and fertilizer. News travels fast in the kingdom, and it was almost an open secret by then that the Prince’s latest lover was the Bazaar-owner’s daughter.
But the Prince never walked out again after that. He must have caught a glimpse of the Fallen Roses on his way back from the Market Square, for he never missed a single one of their performances following that day. His growing attention towards Orlevsky’s dancing troupe seemed to irk the Maharaja. The Maharaja had long berated the Prince for his frivolous pursuits, and the latter’s deepening promiscuity only angered his father further. The Maharaja was a big believer in public opinion and honor, and he feared his son’s actions would cost him his legacy.
The Fallen Roses were initially given accommodation in the Royal Guesthouse, but a break-in on the third day of their stay prompted the Maharaja to move them to his chambers. This action only further exacerbated the Vizier’s paranoia, and he feared the break-in may have been staged to achieve proximity with the Royal Chambers.
Being one of the Maharaja’s scribes, I was woken up by the guards and taken down to the local guardhouse to write a report of the incident based on the witnesses who saw the shadowy figure infiltrate the Royal Guesthouse.
“It was a man! I make no mistake when it comes to these things; It was a man” said the local crier.
“I didn’t see much of him; by the time I looked over, I only saw his back as he jumped over the wall. He had a red sash tied around his hips” said the guard on duty.
“Nothing was stolen.”
I paused.
“Nothing was stolen, you say?” I raised an eyebrow at the servant.
“Yes! I was very confused too. I don’t think his motive was to cause harm–”
“Hey, hey! We don’t pay you to give your opinions! Just tell us what you saw and get lost!” bellowed the guard beside me.
“Brother, let me do my work, please don’t interrupt the writing process.” I turned to him, with a blank expression.
“Okay, okay, do it quick.” Part of the quirk of being in the Maharaja’s service is that local guards don’t have the authority to boss you around like they do others.
When the report was filed, I was escorted back to my quarters, and back to the arms of my wife, who by this point had gotten fairly worried at the nightly proceedings.
“Oh thank God you’re alright!” she exclaimed. “Where did they take you? Are you allowed to tell me?”
I smiled at my wife’s remark. Being a scribe for the Maharaja, I was sworn to secrecy, and I would be facing execution if it ever came to light that I was speaking about my work to unauthorized individuals. But I know my wife’s inquisitive nature wouldn’t let her sleep easy until she was sure of my safety, and to satiate her, I narrated the incident.
“Strangely, nothing was stolen, and no one was murdered,” she mused.
“Indeed – but it is improper for us to be discussing matters of the court. Come on, let’s go back to bed.” She nodded, and that was the end of that.
The following morning, as I walked into the room to assume my position at the feet of the throne, I appeared to be joining the denizens of the court amid a heated discussion. The Maharaja had not arrived yet, and so they theorized and debated on what the last night’s events meant.
“Nothing stolen, and no one hurt – pretty lousy break-in if you ask me” laughed the Minister of Defense.
The Vizier seemed to grimace at the Minister’s remark, but with the Vizier, it’s hard to tell with his perfectly calculated facial expressions.
“What is wrong with you man? You are the Minister of Defense, how can you speak like this?” the Minister of Finance seemed rather perturbed.
“Hey! Quiet down! If you speak like that again, I will have you deposed!” responded the Minister of Defense. He seemed less jovial when not drunk.
All of a sudden, the trumpets were blown, as they’ve blown countless times before. The Maharaja walked in, with his usual companions, the Queen, and the Prince, and they all took their seats beside the throne.
The Maharaja paused in front of a guard at the door, whispered something in his ear, and resumed his walk to the throne. After he was seated, he looked at me expectantly.
“Were you the one to file last night’s incident report?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“I thank you for your service. If you seek any compensation for your midnight disturbance, speak to my servants after today’s work.”
“I’m honored, your highness.”
The Maharaja then looked at his courtiers and made an announcement. “Starting today, our esteemed guests will be living in the guest bedrooms at the Royal Chambers, to prevent further incidents like those last night.”
As it had become my habit in these things, I looked at the Vizier’s face to gauge his reaction. It seemed even the Vizier’s cold veneer of a face could not mask his disappointment at the Maharaja’s words.
“But your Highness, is it necessary to do this? The report doesn’t mention anything being stolen or anyone being–”
“Do you want it to come to that, Amar?” the Maharaja looked accusingly at his brother.
“No, Your Highness; I merely wish to re-evaluate our course of action here. I only ask that you consider the matters of security when it comes to this decision.”
“Leon Orlevsky is a good friend of mine. I have never met a man so well-intentioned and well-traveled as he. If I trust him, I expect all of you to do as well. Have I made myself clear?” The Maharaja’s words seemed to be accompanied by an inaudible boom effect, as is common for royalty of his status.
After that point, it became quite clear to the Vizier that any further attempts to reason with the Maharaja would only jeopardize his position in the court, and he must have resolved to handle the matter through different channels, for we never heard him speak about Orlevsky after that.
The Prince seemed ecstatic. He was never one to employ diplomacy, but his face told the story of a thousand wants. Everyone in the room took notice of it, especially the Maharaja.
The Maharaja, to maintain his royal prestige, made it a habit to never speak ill of his kin in public settings. If he had to berate someone, he would do it behind closed doors. The denizens of the court were not preoccupied with the Maharaja’s intentions, so they saw nothing wrong with the gossip they indulged in at his expense. I’m pretty sure a lot of the servants in the court thrived off royal gossip.
The next few days at court were quite ordinary. The Maharaja seemed to cool off on his enthusiasm for his guest’s companionship and didn’t invite Orlevsky back to the court quite as frequently as he did before.
The next time the Fallen Roses would perform, they were ordered by the Prince. They were given a private audience with the Prince and his friends in his private chambers, and this became quite scandalous for the people at the time. After all, a couple of young men, seeking the performance of a couple of young women, behind closed doors is quite something to talk about at tea-time. Added to this was the Prince’s existing sexual history, and it didn’t take much for rumors to start milling around the populace. Everyone knew the Prince had his eye on one of the Fallen Roses, and people began to speculate on who it was.
“I bet it’s Juno, she’s exactly the Prince’s type!” said a guard during his nightly patrol in the Market Square. His friend, walking alongside him, seemed amused. “How would you know the Prince’s type, dimwit?”
“He’s interested in the same girls I am, so I just know.” This flawless logic didn’t convince his friend, who only broke into laughter at this comment.
“Oh, so you DID like that Bazaari girl! You told me you thought she was ugly!” He took great joy in laughing at his friend’s expense.
As much as I wanted to listen to the rest of this conversation, I reasoned it was in my favor to not be seen eavesdropping on guards at the unholy time of night, lest I be confused or worse, framed, as a spy.
Many more private dances were scheduled from then on, with most of them for the Prince. Peculiarly, the Vizier himself ordered a private dance from the Fallen Roses, and rumors started to circulate about him as well. It seemed less likely to me that the Vizier would fall prey to his lust, and I wondered if he had decided to schedule a private dance to observe the Fallen Roses for any signs of treachery.
Leon Orlevsky stopped accompanying the Fallen Roses to their dances shortly after this meeting. His duties instead fell upon Laila, who seemed just as equanimous as him in her interactions with the court staff. I never saw much of Orlevsky after this point, and I heard he left the capital city for a short trade expedition to the villages up north, but I was never able to verify this claim.
One evening, as I was returning from the Office of the Treasury with my scrolls in hand, I happened upon 12 members of the Fallen Roses dawdling around in the Royal Gardens. I observed them from a distance: all the girls seemed to be in their late teens or early 20s, exquisitely adorned with pearls lining their hands, necks, and hips. They were draped in shimmering silks, each with a distinct color of their own: blue, cyan, pink, green, yellow, magenta, black, white, and so on. They spoke excitedly and laughed at each other’s comments, pausing to point at the things around them.
I wished to speak to them, but being seen speaking to guests as esteemed as they would put me in trouble with the Maharaja, and I did not wish to kill the goose that laid the golden eggs. I returned home, and my wife took notice of the smile on my face.
“Why are you smiling?” she asked, playfully.
“Am I not allowed to smile now?” I replied, matching her tone.
“No, you only smile when I give you permission.”
“So, do you give me permission to smile now?”
“That’ll depend on what you’ll do for me.”
I learned later through the gardener, who had the fortune to speak to the Fallen Roses, that the reason they were missing a member was that the Prince had ushered them out after they had been called for a private dance, leaving only Laila in the room.
The gardener, who was an old woman in her 50s, narrated that the Fallen Roses were quite excited at the prospect of the Prince linking up with Laila, as this meant they would get to stay in the Royal Chambers for quite a while longer.
“Lovely girls…” the gardener remarked, “I hope they get what they want.” I nodded along, but I was confused.
It seemed odd to me that Orlevsky would allow for his dance troupe to be attached to any place, and I wondered if the girls had even relayed this little tidbit back to him.
It seemed all but confirmed by now that the Prince’s newfound obsession with the dance troupe may have been a ploy to get closer to Laila, but why now? The Prince did not fear the rumors like the Maharaja did. If all he wanted was Laila, why not just get her to come to his private chambers as he had done with countless other women before? I didn’t hold the answers to any of these questions, and I hoped the following events would shed some light on them.
The Maharaja heard nothing of this. This was all information passed around as gossip, and no one dared to gossip with the Maharaja about his own family. Besides, he was off on a diplomatic expedition to a nearby kingdom, and would not be back for the next few months. In his place, the Vizier took care of court affairs, and he must have taken notice of this sentiment in the commonfolk, but he seemed less active in his efforts to investigate the Fallen Roses after he met with them. The Vizier didn’t care for the Prince’s exploits and was only investigating the dance troupe regarding the safety of the Royal family. Maybe they were a regular dance troupe after all.
As the days went on, and more and more people caught a glimpse of the 12 Fallen Roses roaming on court grounds, they were made aware of the Prince’s ongoing relationship with Laila. The sentiments of the public on this matter seemed to vary from disgust to romanticization. Many asserted that the Prince brought shame to his family name through his actions, while others saw a dreamy story of forbidden love, the Prince and the Dancer.
I felt indifferent to the rumors. It seemed futile to dwell on matters of the Royal Chambers with such predilection, and I resigned myself to maintain objective curiosity in the matter.
By now, my wife had heard the rumors too, and she fell in with the crowd of dreamers.
“It’s so exciting! How can you not see it? It’s like Romeo and Juliet!” she squealed.
“You do realize Romeo and Juliet die at the end of that story, right?” I replied.
“That’s not the point. It’s forbidden love! She’s a dancer, and he’s a prince!”
“What makes this different from his previous lovers, Rashmeen? He’s always been a prince, and his lovers have always not been of royal standing” I asked.
To this, my wife had no reply. I felt a little sad that I had broken her illusion, but I justified it to myself based on delivering objectivity into the discourse.
I had also lost much of my interest in the matter after this conversation, and I didn’t give it much thought for the next few days. But something would happen that would bring me back into the fold of the story soon after.
I was covering some work for a fellow scribe; a friend of mine who had fallen sick that day. I sent a message out to my wife, telling her I was going to be late, and asking her to have food and sleep soon. Knowing my wife, these words would not affect her, and I was likely going to come home to her waiting to have food with me, so I made it a point to finish my work as quickly as possible.
As I was transcribing some import documents in the Office of Foreign Affairs, I heard a noise come from the Royal Chambers above. Someone stormed out onto a balcony, and I heard a door close behind a second person who walked through it.
“I’m sorry Laila, I didn’t mean that!” It was the Prince.
“Sorry about what? Sorry that you thought I would lay with you, or sorry that you COULDN’T lay with me?” It was Laila’s voice, though I did not recognize this degree of tone from any of her previous conversations I had heard.
“No, that’s not wha–” It was the Prince again.
“Look Sheraz, I’m a dancer, not a prostitute. I’m not going to lay with you just because you pay me to dance for you.”
“No, I understand tha–”
“Do you? Isn’t this what you do with all girls?”
There was silence.
“I’m going back. Don’t expect any private dances anymore.” Footsteps began.
“Laila, wait!”
There was a pause.
“I want to be with you.” The Prince seemed sincere.
“Then marry me.”
“You know I can’t do that. My father will not approve–”
“Good. I have no intention of getting married to a boy afraid of his father either. We can both relegate this to a bad dream and move on.” The footsteps started again.
Nothing happened after this, and I assumed Laila had left. It was only after a muffled chuckle that I understood there had been an embrace.
“I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.” The Prince again.
“Never mind, I don’t want to be with an indecisive man either.” This remark seemed less accusatory and more cheeky.
“What will a man need to do to satiate a woman like you?” More muffled laughter, followed by another embrace.
It was only when the footsteps started again did I realize I had completely stopped my work and gotten invested in the romance unfolding above me. I looked around to make sure no one had seen me overhear the conversation above. I almost dropped dead when the Prince peered over the balcony to look at me.
“Oh hey!” The Prince exclaimed.
I was mortified. “I’m s-sorry sahib, I was just completing some scribe work” I explained.
“No problem, friend! I hope I have your loyalty regarding whatever you may or may not have overheard now?” His words and tone implied friendly confidence, but his demeanor held sinister undertones.
“Y-yes sahib, absolutely!” I replied, trying to sound as sincere as possible.
“Good, see you around!” The Prince waved, as his head disappeared behind the shadow of the balcony.
As I was starting to write again, I was stopped by another remark.
“Actually, you know what? Take this, for your troubles.” The Prince tossed a small bag of coins my way. “Go home to your wife man, stop listening to the stuff happening in other people’s bedrooms!”
I looked up at the Prince. “No, sahib, I wasn’t–”.
“Yeah, I know.” He winked, before he disappeared again, this time for good.
I picked up my stuff and hurried out of the court. The walk back seemed more dire this time, and I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t being followed by anyone. I reached home, and my wife was sitting at the table, a book in hand. She seemed surprised to see me.
“Wow, you’re back home early!” she exclaimed.
“Within an inch of my life too!” I replied. I narrated the story of what just happened.
“See, I told you! This is true love! He wants to marry her!” my wife squealed in delight.
This time, it was my turn to have no words. I was too shaken up by the experience to reason out any rebuttal, and I ate my food and went to bed without saying another word.
The next morning, as I was scarfing down my bread, my wife shot me a questioning look.
“What?” I was confused.
“So? Are you going to report last night’s incident?”
“Are you crazy? Do you want to become a widow?”
This question shocked my wife, and it dawned on me that she may not have been completely aware of how strict the Royal proceedings were, being an outsider as she was.
“Look, I think it’s great that the Prince and Laila are in love. I don’t have anything to do with that, and I think it’s best if I stay out of their blossoming romance” I told her.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been too invested in this. It’s hard to not get swept up in the gossip.”
“Hey, don’t worry about that. I just think it’s best if we maintain an outsider’s perspective on these things.”
“Yeah, I understand.” She did.
Still, I wondered where this was heading. The Prince had a string of other lovers, and I was beginning to wonder if any of those had been as serious as the one with Laila.
For her part, Laila still maintained her status as the lead dancer of the Fallen Roses. Not many people ordered dances anymore, so the girls were free to roam court spaces and fill their days with a variety of other activities. I heard from the shopowner who sells me paper and ink that the girls had been making a habit of terrorizing the local Bazaaris.
“The other day, Kamal woke up to find his chicken coop unlocked, and all his chickens roaming willy-nilly!” he told me, with wide eyes.
“Uh-huh.”
“The day before that, Juarez found his clothes strung up on the scarecrows in Jamal’s fields. It took them a total of two hours to collect them all!”
“That’s…funny?”
“It’s disrespectful is what it is. I hope the Maharaja sends these dancers back to Europe.”
Something told me that wasn’t going to happen, especially in light of recent developments.
It took another month for the Maharaja to return from his expedition. In that one month, the only person who ordered a dance from the Fallen Roses was the wealthy moneylender who lived at the edge of the city. A quite repugnant man, who had a history of being vulgar with his female guests. He mysteriously left the city soon after that meeting and was never seen again.
The Maharaja’s return was met with much fanfare, and everyone was out on the streets to celebrate his return. Even the Prince, who thought ill of such processions, was out on the street chanting ‘Long live the Maharaja!’ But the Prince was not as skilled in hiding his intentions as his uncle was.
The Maharaja looked at his son in the crowd and beckoned him closer. He whispered something in his ear, after which the Prince’s smile immediately dropped from his face. I did not see the Prince in any of the proceedings after that, so I assume he may have retreated to court grounds after this mysterious incident.
His lover, Laila, led her dance troupe in welcoming the Maharaja, but he seemed less amused with their performance now. Laila no doubt noticed this, and her internal panic was very evident from her mistakes and missed steps. Once she retreated to the sidelines, her eyes kept searching for the Prince, but he was nowhere to be found.
I must admit, despite the advice I gave to my wife, I had become a little attached to their romance, and I feared it may not survive the Maharaja’s wrath. How did the Maharaja find out?
The rest of the court denizens must have noticed this too, because rumors of the Maharaja having spies in his court were set ablaze. Everyone was panicking, because this meant there was a good chance a spy amongst them was reporting all the gossip back to the King. I was panicking myself, and I thought back to all the people I spoke to regarding this matter. Was the gardener a spy? Or maybe one of the guards was? Had anyone seen me accept money from the Prince? I couldn’t think straight with the fear building up within.
What would become of Rashmeen if I were sentenced to prison? Could I be sent to prison for gossip? I wouldn’t put it past the Maharaja; he valued his reputation too much. I debated going home to my wife, but I figured it would be more fruitful if I were to find out what exactly was happening before I ran back home.
The rest of the day saw the Maharaja retreat to his private chambers. The court’s servants were given a day off in celebration of the King’s return, and they all chose to convene in a central room in their quarters. I decided to join them because I sensed their hushed tones signaled a greater discussion was about to take place within.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness of my surroundings, but I was able to count at least a hundred servants all packed into that room. An old man was standing in the middle of the room, with his arms outstretched. He attempted to calm down the people around him.
“Calm down people! Calm down!” His attempts were futile.
“Does the Maharaja have spies in the court?!” shouted a young girl from the side.
“Are there spies in here?!” wailed a man on the other side.
That was all it took for the crowd to descend into more chaos, with a growing cacophony drowning out any of the old man’s subsequent attempts.
While I was trying to make out the old man’s words, I caught a hushed conversation happening to the side. I looked over and noticed a man talking to a woman in the corner.
“Have you seen him? I haven’t seen him all day!” The woman seemed worried.
“Hassan said the Prince had called him an hour ago. He’s probably at the Royal Chambers.” The man was more composed, but a hint of paranoia tinged his voice as well.
“Why is he there at this hour? I thought we were given the day off?”
“I don’t know, Hassan wouldn’t tell me much. All he said is that the Prince wanted a message to be passed to Laila–”
“That wretched girl! She’s going to be the end of us all!”
Suddenly, the doors were flung open, and a group of guards walked in.
“Hey! What is going on here?!” screamed the guard up front.
“You are not allowed to convene in this manner! Return to your rooms now!” commanded his friend next to him.
One by one, all the servants slipped out of the room, and I followed them, moving in and out of the crowd of people.
The face of my wife called to me, now that I was out on court grounds. All I wanted to do was to run back home to her and hope I would be spared of whatever the Maharaja was planning.
But…I also wanted to find out why Laila was sent a message. What was the Prince doing?
Against my best interests, I re-entered the court. The guards were more lax now, and I was able to walk past them into the office of foreign affairs. I sat down at a desk and pretended to do work.
“Hey did you hear what Jabir found today?”
I froze. I looked around. The question was not addressed to me.
“What?”
“He found some lowly servant at the docks, trying to set up a ferry. I think he was trying to escape or something. Fortunately, the harbor master caught and reported him to Jabir, who was on duty there.”
“Stupid servants, why would they try to escape at a time like this? He must’ve stolen something.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. Jabir was ecstatic though. He thinks this will increase his chance of being promoted.”
A peculiar snort was heard, which I reasoned must have been a particularly ugly-sounding chuckle.
“Fat chance of that! I’ve been here in this position for 12 years, and the General doesn’t even know my name.” A bitter sentiment.
“I don’t want to be promoted, I just want to be taken off night duty. I haven’t been with my wife in three months, and it’s driving me insane.”
A laugh was heard. This time, less ugly-sounding.
“Just be with her in the day, is this such a big problem?”
“At least I’ve got a wife to be with.”
The other man was not pleased with this remark. “You’re disrespecting a senior officer, you know that? I could have you removed from this position!”
“Doing that won’t make any lady like you more.”
Even in my current predicament, I could tell this was a poor choice of words.
The older man stormed off, with the younger officer following him. I didn’t hear the rest of that conversation.
It was quite a while before anything else was heard in that space. I had started doing actual scribe work and it was only when Laila whispered again, on the balcony above me, that I realized why I had come there in the first place.
“Sheraz, what do we do?!”
“It’s okay, I have a plan.” The Prince’s voice was surprisingly composed. “I have sent a servant of mine to set up a ferry in the docks up north. We leave tonight–”
“We’re LEAVING?” Laila seemed shocked. “What about the Maharaja?”
“As of today, I have been stripped of my claim to the throne. I’m no longer the prince. I have nothing left here anymore. I’ll miss my father and mother, but I hope, in due time, they will accept you and our union.”
There was a pause in the conversation. All I could see was a red sash move back and forth across the edge of the balcony as the Prince paced around, and not having access to the visual aspect of this conversation rendered me unable to confirm what was happening. My best guess was that Laila had broken down in tears; her voice was noticeably strained when she spoke next.
“Sheraz, I don’t know–”
“It’s okay. I never cared much for my title. I’ve spent my life trying to chase vices, hoping something would fulfill the lack of purpose I feel, but I see now that purpose comes from within. I have to do this on my own; I cannot expect my father to instill his love for the kingdom in me.”
“Couldn’t we talk to–”
“Laila. Look.” A pause. “You will likely be tried for treason tomorrow, and I don’t see Orlevksy sticking up for you. We leave tonight, or we both die tomorrow. I don’t know about you, but I would rather live a life with you than die.”
I was starting to understand my wife’s investment in this romance.
“Send word to the rest of the Fallen Roses. Ask them to leave the kingdom as soon as possible. No doubt my father will come after them when he realizes we have fled.”
I rolled up the scroll I was hovering my quill over and closed the bottle of ink next to me. It was time to head home.
“Where have you been? I was beginning to think something happened!” My wife was almost in tears.
I held her and didn’t say a word.
“Do you trust me?”
“What?”
I repeated my question.
“Yes, of course. Why else would I still be here?”
“Then, let’s go to bed. I will explain everything tomorrow.”
In the morning, I emerged from my house, a bag in hand. I walked to the Market Square, where I stationed myself in front of the grocer. The citizens in line before me were engaging in a riveting conversation.
“Did you hear? The Prince and Laila have fled the kingdom!”
“What? The Prince is gone?”
“Yes, they left last night from the docks up north. My brother-in-law works at the docks, and he says he saw a guard leave with Juno the dancer too.”
“A guard as well? What has become of this kingdom? What about the other 11 dancers?”
“No one knows. I haven’t heard anything about them in a while.”
I bought my goods and walked back home. My wife was packing her things, as I had requested her to do. “You still haven’t told me where we are going; how much should I pack?”
“Pack, as if we are to never return.”
My wife stopped. “What?”
“Yes, Rashmeen, we are likely to never return.”
A question brewed in her mind. I saw her swallow it, and continue packing her bags.
As I sit here, on the deck of a trading ship, I see her sleeping on the bed beside mine. I hope she will forgive me for upending our lives like this. But she must understand. She must.
Sheraz and Laila were greeted by the harbor master that night, instead of Hassan. But instead of being caught and sent back to the court, they were warmly welcomed onto the royal cargo ship, filled to the brim with food and water. The harbor master will be questioned for this, but for all he knew, he received a scroll from the Maharaja himself commanding him to make those arrangements. It bore the royal insignia and was penned by a treacherous scribe.