16. Jasmine

As we pass through villages and countryside, I gaze out the carriage window, captivated by my first glimpses of the world outside my gilded cage for as long as I can remember. My spirits sink, however, as I take in the poverty, degradation, and suffering of the humans under dark elf rule. Was it always this bad?

"These poor souls," I murmur sadly to Karul. "Their lives seem so wretched and bleak."

He glances out with a detached air. "Pay them no mind. Their fates are of their own making."

I shake my head. "Surely there is more we could do to aid them?"

"Na?ve child," he scoffs. "Your looks spared you such a life, so why waste pity on those who will never elevate to your station."

I fall silent, stung by his callous words. But they remind me how easily I could have shared the same fate, one of the ragged souls who stare after our passing carriage with hollow, hopeless eyes. As we leave the poverty-stricken villages behind, I feel relief but also sadness at the plight of those people. I try to distract myself from gloomy thoughts by chattering about my hazy childhood memories. "I think I recall our house having a red door," I muse. "And there was an enormous oak tree in the yard that my brother and I used to climb."

Karul just gives a noncommittal "hmm" without looking at me.

"Oh, and my Mother"s bahru!" I continue, undaunted. "I hope I can taste it again someday. It was my favorite."

I glance at him hopefully, but his eyes remain fixed on the passing scenery. "I wish I could remember more," I sigh. "Everything seems to blend and fade..." My voice trails off. As I continue to ramble, his jaw ticks in subtle annoyance, though his gaze remains fixed straight ahead. When I finally come up for air, he drawls lazily, "How utterly fascinating, my dear. You must regale me with every mundane detail of your bucolic upbringing next." He punctuates this by draining his wineglass in one long swallow.

I flush, chastened. "Forgive me, I did not mean to prattle on so."

"No matter. I"m sure you must be quiet... nervous about this trip down memory lane."

His tone hovers between condescension and forced politeness. I clasp my hands in my lap. "I appreciate your indulgence, my lord."

He gives a careless shrug. "Yes, well, I live to serve." He meets my eyes then, his own glinting with subtle mockery.

"Tell me about your own childhood," I say, leaning towards him.

His expression shutters. He looks away. "There is nothing worth telling."

"Oh, come now," I cajole. "Surely, you have some fond memories to share?"

When he remains silent, I reach over and touch his arm. "I wish to know you better, my lord."

"Do not presume to share such familiarities," he snaps. "You overstep."

"Forgive me, I did not mean to offend."

He folds his arms and stares broodingly out the window. When I open my mouth, thinking of breaking the tense silence, he silences me with a sharp look. After several tense moments, he lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Come now, don"t look so glum," he says lightly. "It is not your fault you have the energy of an overeager iypinnit."

I blink, taken aback by this sudden teasing. He gives me a wry half-smile. "All this prattling is simply in your nature, I suppose. I shall have to endure it with saintly patience." Despite the mocking words, his tone softens into grudging amusement.

Unsure how to respond at first, I tentatively return his smile. "I confess I do tend to... enthuse. I will try to restrain my, ah, iypinnit-like qualities."

Karul snorts, shaking his head. "My dear, I would not dream of denying your youthful excitement. Merely pace yourself, lest you wear out this old man's ears."

His gentle ribbing seems to break the tension. We pass the rest of the journey in a more companionable silence. There are still walls between us, but perhaps doors as well, waiting to be opened.

I cling to that fragile hope.

After a period of comfortable silence, He clears his throat. "We will be stopping for the night shortly," he informs me. "There is an inn just up ahead that will suffice for our accommodation."

The carriage rolls towards a tree-lined lane towards a sizable roadside establishment. Made of weathered stone and timbers, the building exudes a warm ambiance with its softly lit windows. "It looks quite homely and welcoming," I remark brightly, relieved at the prospect of a comfortable bed after the long day of travel.

Karul gives a noncommittal grunt, his eyes scanning the surroundings critically as we pull into the courtyard. "I suppose it is adequate enough," he allows as a stable hand comes to take the horses. "At least the standards of cleanliness appear passable."

The inn looks perfectly charming, with its quaint architecture and inviting atmosphere. I"m aware that Karul probably views these rustic trappings as beneath him, given his elevated standards. But to me, after years sequestered away, even simple comforts feel like luxuries.

"Welcome to the Silver Orchid," a hurried serving girl says with a dimpled smile, dropping us a curtsy before sending for our bags. "Please, follow me, and I"ll show you inside." She leads us inside the cozy inn, warm light from a great stone hearth illuminating wood-beamed walls lined with paintings of pastoral landscapes. "You must be famished, and from where are you traveling?"

"That is to be none of your concern, wench," he says briskly and annoyed. "But it will, in fact, serve us well to remain unknown. And with that, he tucks a gold coin into her hand, a warm smile blooming across her face.

"Of course, my lord!"

He tosses another coin her way. "And we will certainly have none of that lord talk."

"None at all, sir!"

Despite the late hour, the common room buzzes with patrons smoking pipes and playing cards around tables. Smelling meat pies makes my mouth water. I take in all the rustic details with fascination as we ascend a creaking staircase behind the still-nattering serving girl.

She opens a sturdy oak door to reveal a comfortably appointed room holding a canopy bed piled with quilts, a washstand, a wardrobe, and a writing desk. "Will this suit your needs?" the girl asks hopefully as she lights the bedside lamps.

Karul scans the humble room with a critical eye, taking in the simple furnishings, worn rug, and creaky floorboards. "It is... quaint," Karul remarks, glancing around with a critical eye. Turning to the girl with a thin smile, he adds, "But I suppose beggars can"t be choosers."

The girl"s smile falters slightly.

"Very well then. Send for fresh linens, of course. I will not be sleeping in those sheep"s rags draped over the bed," Karul continues dismissively.

The serving girl"s face flushes in embarrassment. "Of course, sir, right away," she stammers, clearly taken aback by his haughty rudeness.

"And stoke up the fire I"d rather not freeze to death."

"Yes sir, my apologies," the mortified girl murmurs, bobbing a hasty curtsy before rushing off.

I give Karul a reproachful look once she has gone. "Was that necessary? She"s only doing her job."

He just sniffs disdainfully. "I simply refuse to lower my standards, no matter how rustic the accommodations are."

At dinner in the cramped common room, Karul eyes the hearty bahru and bread placed before us with disdain. "Is this meant to be edible?" he remarks, poking at a piece of meat distastefully. "I"ve had prison food with more appeal."

He proceeds to complain about the lack of variety, the poor seasoning, and the texture of the meat, finding fault with every detail as I shrink down in embarrassment. The Innkeeper"s face grows stormier by the minute.

"Baths as well," Karul declares imperiously after picking at his food. "Draw two at once - I refuse to soak in already used water. And mind, they are piping hot."

The Innkeeper stalks off, grumbling under his breath. I wonder sadly if Karul finds me as distasteful as he seems to find everything here. Perhaps I no longer hold his interest, and that is why he insists upon separate bathing quarters.

But I remind myself our relationship is one of pretense and convenience. I cannot expect genuine affection; as the gulf between us widens, I must accept that whatever we once had is likely gone for good.

The baths are but a symptom of that hard truth.

Before bed, when I disrobe in front of him, he seems to no longer even enjoy the sight of my body, a thing he seemed to very much enjoy possessing only hours before. "Is there something wrong, my lord?"

"I told you never to call me that here."

"I know something is really bothering you. Please, talk to me. I want to help."

"There is nothing to talk about. Go to sleep."

He ruefully peels open the covers, and I slip beside him in the nude. I try to curl against him, but he refuses me even simple comfort.

I toss and turn for hours before I jolt awake to the sound of him crying out. He thrashes around violently, trapped in the throes of a nightmare. I grab his shoulder and shake him. "Karul, wake up!"

His eyes fly open, but they look right through me, glazed over with terror. Beads of sweat drip down his temples. I call his name again and again until, finally, he seems to register my presence. "What"s wrong?" I ask gently.

He recoils from my touch, his lips curling in a snarl. "It"s none of your business," he spits at me before storming out of the room.

Sitting there in stunned silence, I feel as though I have been struck. The harshness in his voice and eyes feels like a physical blow.

For a moment, I had allowed myself to believe we were growing close, that he was opening up to me. But his biting words are a harsh reminder that I am still nothing but a slave to him.

No matter how kind he can be, no matter the passion we"ve shared, there is an impenetrable wall around his heart that I cannot breach.

Tears burn my eyes as I curl up alone, realizing that I foolishly let myself fall for someone who will never love me back.