Good thing I was used to sleeping reclined against Jun’s torso at times because I wouldn’t have gotten any sleep on this bed, or whatever it was supposed to be. It was reminiscent of laying your body on a hillside. Only this hillside was sheer and sideways. Additionally, it seemed as if I was attempting to rest amidst a saw-mill: an army of woodworms constructed an entire city within the bedframe throughout the night. On top of that, both wardrobe doors were shut when I woke up at daybreak.

  Splendid.

  My bones cracked when I rose to my feet and stretched, and breathed in the moldy air, only to cough it back out immediately. Can’t believe I had two more days of this torture. Wasn’t there a way to kill me sooner? I didn’t dare ask, lest they forced me to do manual labor or peel potatoes again. I shuddered. Certainly, providence didn’t save me from that fate just to fall back into it. No, sir. It was better to keep quiet and move on.

  First things first, I approached the wardrobe, knocked thrice—to check if a maniac lurked within—then opened its double doors. I didn’t know what I expected, but it was not this. A single dress hung on a wooden hook. The inside of this wardrobe appeared just as ramshackle as the exterior. It made the dress stand out as extraordinary.

  It was rich velvet red, the open shoulder line traveling down to the clavicle and descending into a thin slit down to the navel, the fabric delicately held together by five small encrusted brooches, one under the other at even intervals. With how sheer and thin the velvet was, I could see the boning of the corset too: long and narrow sticks of something hard and white, likely ivory or whalestone. Beneath the corset was a skirt of lush crimson folds.

  Misty morning light made the color oddly alluring and vivid, without a single speck or crease on it. Like it was just put inside the wardrobe and had spent a couple of hours there only. I tipped my head as my fingers ran over the shimmering velvet. This was a dress magnificently made, of a noblewoman. Did any noblewoman live here before? Or was that merely clothing from the prior eleven visitors?

  Footsteps approached my room, and I closed the wardrobe. Discovering me motionless in front of it, Darsan gave me a fleeting look of suspicion before placing a tray of food for me. On a—a stool that wasn’t there last night. For a moment, I stared at it intensely. Alright. Same room, different furniture. I like daily variety.

  “Thank you, darlin—I mean Darsan,” I said, smiling at him warmly. “How sweet of you to bring me breakfast. What an exemplary man.”

  “Just doing my duty, madam,” he said, now eyeing the strange angle of the bed and the fallen canopy.

  “Madam is your mother,” I told him, hand on my hip. “I prefer Sarai.” The pause extended as he stood still and silent, stiff with hesitation.

  “I trust you slept well,” he said, in the end. More pleasantries. Who would’ve thought?

  I gave him a pointed look. “What, on that raft? I’m quite sure I dreamed a thousand rough lumbermen were building a bed with four sturdy legs for me. That or it was your empire of furniture beetles.”

  Darsan said nothing.

  “Who was the loon who came in just to close that wardrobe door last night? It was half-open last time I checked?” I asked, attempting to get this straight while he was still present.

  His brows came together. “Nobody has come inside your chambers since yesterday, my lady.”

  “Oh, quel dommage,” I nodded to myself. Could’ve really used some company. “Le ciel fait grise mine.”

  Darsan took a deep breath, “Why are you talking in French now?”

  “Isn’t this France?”

  He was having none of it, unfortunately. If he’s ever had a sense of humor, it had lived a short unhappy life, died alone and rotten away to the bones already. “Anything else you need before I turn the key again?”

  “A bed, monsieur,” I said, and then put my hand up in a gesture of apology. “Sorry. Wishful thinking.” Then I sighed. “No chance you’ll let me outside? Show me some of the castle?”

  Darsan shook his head. I squinted at him.

  “Are you bound by his magic?”

  The question surprised him. “No, my lady. I told you, those of us who remained behind chose to serve him willingly. We are here by choice.”

  He couldn’t have explained it more cryptically even if he tried. “Remained behind? After what, the blight?” I stepped up to him slowly.

  “After what happened in this court during the blight, yes,” he said, detecting my motions sharply.

  “Why did you stay?” …at such a desolate place, with such a terrible master, I didn’t add.

  “Because much like the other men at the table last night,” he paused, eyes dim with nostalgic reminiscence, “the Prince and I used to be on brotherly terms.”

  Used to be? Not anymore, I see. It didn’t surprise me, with how cold and distant he was at that dinner, only interested in what information I could provide for him. My slow approach must have snapped Darsan out of his thoughts; his body flinched back and, with a low nod, he said, “I must go. You will receive lunch, but then I will come retrieve you for dinner in the late afternoon.”

  “Wait…” I raised my hand to stop him, but he swished out the door and locked it again, and I gradually dropped my hand by my side. There were so many things I wanted to ask. “Strange,” I murmured to myself.

  When I had asked questions a week ago, Eina mentioned to me the Prince already ruled the kingdom during the blight. His rule remained unchanged despite the devastating three-year plague. He had succeeded the throne from his father, nearly two decades ago. Following the blight, ruin and decay befell the kingdom, and the Prince began taking sacrifices each year. He had explicitly forbidden joy and laughter. That was all the villagers told me.

  And it puzzled them as much as it did me. If you demanded sacrifices, wasn’t it supposed to give your kingdom prosperity in return—or save it from ruin? Or shouldn’t it at least benefit you? It made no sense that it had turned from bad to worse. And it sounded wrong.

  Something had happened between the walls of this castle eleven years ago. Something foul, I was sure, if strong and destructive magic was involved. It sapped the life of an entire kingdom. With a flinging motion, I plopped down next to the tray and ate in thoughtful silence.

  Darsan went lifelessly still with shock when he found me wearing the stunning gown later in the afternoon.

  “The wardrobe gave it to me,” I cleared up, with a wave toward the said piece of furniture. Luckily, the second time I opened those double doors, the same dress was there, still hanging in immaculate splendor.

  Darsan said nothing about it, his brows clutched together with disapproval. Perhaps he had a good reason for unease. Despite that it appeared as if someone had just sewed it up, I had a hunch that someone had worn this dress before and Darsan had seen her. There was a faint scent of a perfume that the fabric carried, and I sensed I left a trail of it as I moved down the corridors and staircases, and through the vacant halls, after my glum escort.

  Soon I recognized the large wooden door to the dining hall, and Darsan opened it for me with a gallant nod. With a nod of my own, I thanked him and strode into the somewhat dimly lit space. It seemed to me darker than last night. The heavy, iron-chain chandelier above had none of its candles alight, and most of the light emanated from the candelabras on the very table, and only several of those along the walls.

  Darsan closed the door, and the sound reverberated emptily around me. Upon examining the table more closely, I discovered the Prince already seated at his usual place, dining alone. And he was hardly interested in my company. At least that was my impression until I walked closer and seized his attention fully. His expression changed radically.

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  “What’s that?” he asked, a little out of breath, with pale alarm on his face. Even the soft red glow the candlelit tablecloth gave him couldn’t erase his blatant shock. It alarmed me too, so I paused mid-way to the table.

  “Why, it’s the funniest woman in the kingdom, Your Highness,” I smiled humbly. “This should give you a good idea of how fallen the state of your kingdom is, since I’m not even funny. People just laugh at my jokes because they’re embarrassingly bad.”

  He gave me a cold look. “The finery in vengeful scarlet you’re currently wearing. Where did you get that?”

  My lips parted open and then closed. “The dress was the single piece of clothing hanging inside the wardrobe in my room. The room that four of your handsome lackeys kindly shoved me into last night.” After a beat of silence, I added, “Isn’t it your magic?”

  “This is not my doing,” he snapped aggressively, like my suggestion had been an upfront attack.

  Odd. I didn’t expect he would be defensive about something like this. And odder. Then whose doing was it? Was the castle giving me clothes now? Someone else’s clothes? Whatever it was doing, I was glad it seemed to have taken a liking to me, if it’s been a day since I came here and it already adorned me with finery.

  The Prince was pointedly staring at the dress, like he expected it to speak out with a human voice any second, before he tore away from it, a sweep of rage twisting his features. It made me blink down at it again. Oh, he had seen it before too.

  “Sit,” he ordered, the rage still simmering in his voice.

  I raised a brow. What was I, a dog? “Should I put on a leash for His Majesty’s convenience too, tomorrow evening? Libertine tastes don’t bother me.”

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose a little, elbow leaning against the armrest. If he kept me imprisoned for days like a lamb to the slaughter, surely the sound of my voice was a torture he could endure in return, for a couple more hours. And if I couldn’t uncover the secrets of his rotten kingdom, then the least I could do was have some fun and a good last laugh, despite his uptight prohibitions and rules.

  Smiling at the thought, I slithered to the table and took my place across from him, crossing one leg over the other.

  “Eat,” he said brusquely, “if you’re hungry at all.”

  “I’m always hungry,” I told him and dug into the food at will.

  For a long while, he watched me with intense focus, relaxed back in his chair. His gaze followed the movements of my hands, the twisting of my wrist, the way I held the utensils, the way I gripped my cup of wine by the stem and then released it, placing it gently back on the tablecloth. It was… disturbing, to say the least. Was he memorizing my mannerisms?

  To end this ritual, I suddenly announced, “I have a confession to make, Your Highness.”

  This worked; he broke his observation to meet my eyes. “I’m listening,” he said, in a stunted voice that sounded like he was preparing for physical pain. Was I that unpleasant to listen to?

  “I grew up not with a sister, but with a brother. Last night I was frightened, and did not wish to tell you of him.”

  “That’s alright,” the Prince said condescendingly, and I had to take a sip from my goblet to stifle down my laughter. Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh. He believed me. Again. The Dark Prince, with his dark magic and dark knights, didn’t notice I was hoaxing him. What an absolute dunce.

  “Is his appearance similar to what you described to me yesterday about your sister?”

  I slowly put down the goblet, swallowing the bitter wine. This strange obsession with the appearance of my relatives was starting to get slightly unsettling. “Yes, but… may I ask why you’re so concerned with that?”

  “You can’t.”

  Right. Good talk.

  “Why are all the paintings in this castle overturned?” I shot out my next question and then jumped a little at the crashing sounds, two consecutive this time, that resounded from a far distance. The castle was falling apart as we spoke, I pondered with curiosity.

  That question… it was different. It hurt him. He became mournful—or shameful. I wasn’t sure, he looked down to his plate with a rare defeat on his features. The questions about the dress angered him, but the paintings brought an entirely new dimension of darkness. Alright. Sore subject.

  “You seem miserable, sire,” I said nonchalantly, tilting my head at him. The color had completely left his face, now ashen and haggard. “Utterly so.” And then I added, “Is there nothing I could do to alleviate your misery as your jester before I become your sacrifice?”

  “Aren’t you a sweetheart?” he said in a listless voice. “And what do you imagine doing to put me out of my misery?”

  “I’m glad you asked. But first of all, I do hope sweetheart was a figure of speech,” I said.

  “I do not eat hearts,” he assured me, his voice raising with vexation. “Yet.”

  Oh. Not a cannibal, then. Yet. That was funny. It depended on me, is what I got from this. I waited for his sudden coughs to pass. “And… blood? Are you one of those perverts obsessed with impurity and monthly flow?”

  The Prince was petrified at the words coming out of my mouth, pausing to regard me with astonishment. His shoulders rolled back a little, in a motion of shaking off something extremely unpleasant while also doing his best to retain his dignity.

  “I said first of all. Second of all,” I babbled on, and he blinked at me, shocked anew that I dared to keep going. “Was there ever a time when you were not miserable? That would help me immensely.”

  The words resounded in the large space around us, and his eyes lingered on me. Then they strayed away, over the table, to the windows, absent and wistful.

  “Once upon a time,” he said, “…in a dream.”

  If that wasn’t the most unhelpful answer. The fashion here—that is, being dark and mysterious for no particular reason at all—seemed designed to specifically annoy me. “Perhaps you could tell me about that dream. What was it like?”

  “There was…”

  More silence. Good grief, he promised three nights, but it felt like three centuries. “Music, wine, and women?” I raised my cup in a festive motion.

  “Yes,” he said, impressed with my spot-on guess.

  I rolled my eyes and heaved a sigh. What else would it be? There were about three to five things that make a man happy, I’ve established. “And you were also young and rich in that dream, I assume.”

  “Yes.”

  My lips curled into a polite, tight-lipped smile. “Well, Your Majesty, I’m afraid you’ve only got the rich part left. And some wine.”

  “The wine is awful,” he noted, staring down at his goblet with genuine disappointment.

  “I concur.” This flat honesty was beginning to give me an idea. “Now, I could perform a song for you, but I do not recommend it. Once, they banished me from a tavern because of how atrocious my singing voice was.” The recollection made me stare into a point in the air. “That night, I had no choice but to sleep on the street. There was a terrible blizzard.”

  Again, he looked like he might cry in my stead. “Weren’t you supposed to cheer me up, why are you telling me of your tragedies?”

  “Patience, my lord,” I warned. “I could also dance, which I don’t recommend either. It takes tremendous effort on my side, and I need to consume copious amounts of wine beforehand. Good wine, not this one.” A pause. “And I’m not that easy on the eyes as well.” I made a hesitating motion with my hand. In conclusion, I said, “It’s your responsibility, should you ask for a dance.”

  “You’re the most good-for-nothing jester I have ever seen,” the Prince admitted.

  “I must be the only jester you have ever seen,” I parried. “Since you’ve fallen so low as to terrorize people for laughing.”

  “I…” he stopped himself abruptly, and then the fiery emotion dissipated, and he averted from me, looking like something tightened around his throat. Then he glared at me with burning hatred. As if I was at fault for all of his misfortune.

  “Have you?” I prodded. My eyes flicked to the large arched windows and their stained glass panes. Was it my imagination or did I hear a cracking sound just now? “Met another jester before?”

  “Of course I have,” he snapped, vilely. “Much more sweet-tongued and lovelier to behold than you, for sure.”

  My head was shaking slowly as he kept glaring at me. One thing about jesters: I could always tell if someone was lying to me. If jesters had visited this court, it would have been many, many, many years ago. After his unfamiliarity with the word before, when I first arrived in the throne room, I suspected he was lying now. It was my impression that he had forgotten about jesters altogether.

  That was much worse than I thought. Maybe I had been wrong to separate him from his people in my mind. He seemed just as joyless as any other of his subjects in this land. I’ve seen other kingdoms, and even though they suffered with the blight, there had been moments of peace and jest among the people. More so, among the nobility. Here, it was as if joy had never existed.

  “I could tell you stories to ease your mind,” I spoke again, quieter. “Of distant lands and exotic cultures.”

  “Stories?” he scoffed, sour. “I don’t need stories from a useless old tramp. How about you keep that mouth shut for a moment, have you ever considered doing that?”

  “Apologies. No can do,” I smiled defiantly, despite that the insults stung a bit.

  He suddenly stood up, wired with rage, the endless layers of his clothes shifting and hissing with a living sound. And that wild stare again, sinking into me like a snakebite. It was the dress, I realized. The sight of that dress brought venom to his tongue. “Wipe that heinous smile off your face right now. It’s making me sick.”

  There was a distinct crack-crack sonance in the room; I didn’t dare look away. The words stuck in my throat. He wasn’t as vicious or haughty yesterday. Provoking him would get me nowhere and, despite the several retorts that popped into my mind, I nodded apprehensively and proceeded with my dinner in apparent obedience. Strenuous silence settled once he sat back into his chair.

  Eina could recognize and understand my jest as such, yes. That was what made her actively avoid it, in fear of bad consequences. But I wondered if the Prince could. Even conversing on the subject turned him bitter as bile.

  I said nothing further that night. In my remaining time in the dining hall, I managed to have a look at the arched windows to my left. The stained glass had splintered into hundreds of pieces but had miraculously remained still whole. It seemed like a single breath of air would shatter it.