Hours later, Abrial lay on her belly on the floor of her room, polishing her daggers diligently the way she did after every time she practiced with them.

Someone knocked on the door gently. Abrial didn’t look up.

“Come in, Finley.”

The door opened and Finley stepped inside.

“Instructor Wei has just left.”

Abrial’s heart sank slightly, as it did every time Finley told her he was gone from the house. She glanced over her shoulder, a sad smile flitting across her face.

“His acupuncture’s finished already?”

Finley nodded. “Just now. He looked very relaxed on his departure.”

“Yeah…makes sense. Acupuncture seems to be very relaxing. I’m pretty sure my mother gives all my tutors free acupuncture needlework appointments because they get stressed out after trying to teach me, heh. But it’s not my fault they’re all boring and stiff!” Abrial scrubbed the side of one of her daggers fiercely, getting rid of a fingerprint. “There. Finley, don’t you think it’s weird that my mother never allows me to get acupuncture? She brings in tutors to teach me about healthiness in the mind and spirit and body and stuff, but she never sends me to get acupuncture. But then she sends all of my tutors to get acupuncture in the east wing after our lessons! Why is that? If it’s really so calming for the mind, why have I never gotten it?”

“...I do not know the exact reason. Perhaps…there is a reason.”

Abrial’s lip curled in loathing. “Her and her stupid reasons. Not that I want it that badly. It’s just…”

“You think it would ease your panic attacks?”

Abrial froze. She scowled, polishing furiously.

“I don’t have panic attacks! I can handle my emotions perfectly fine on my own.”

There was a silence for a moment, with the only sound being Abrial’s cloth shuffling at she polished the same spot on her dagger over and over again. Finley’s honey eyebrows knit together, revealing concern. At last, she spoke:

“I believe you. But if your attacks are causing you great suffering, please do not hesitate to ask me for help. I will help you in any way I can. In addition…I have come to tell you that your mother wants you to know that your birthday dinner will commence in one hour. She asked that you ready yourself to attend.”

Abrial groaned. She dropped her dagger and cloth and rolled onto her back, her expression pleading as she caught Finley’s hazel eyes.

“Please, please, please, Finley — can you tell them I suddenly got disgustingly sick, just this once? I’ll drink water with bloodroot and vomit so you won’t have to worry about it being a lie. And I’ll really play it up too, rolling all over the ground and moaning.” She started rolling all over the place, gagging and retching and looking very sick indeed. Finley sighed, closing her eyes.

“No, Abrial. I cannot allow you to use medicine to harm yourself. You are already injured.”

“But — all right, fine. Something milder, then! I can — ”

“Abrial, you know that whatever you do, your mother will be suspicious.”

Abrial stopped rolling around and went limp with exasperation. She scowled, her dark hair fanned messily around her face. “...Yeah. She’s the worst. She’ll probably come up here and drag me down there anyways.”

“If I can, I will prompt the chef to serve courses more quickly, so that the dinner will shorter. But I will not allow you to make yourself sick — ,” Abrial opened her mouth, and Finley continued, “ — or to break a limb, or anything else to harm your body.” Abrial closed her mouth, sulking. She thought of something, and it made her sit up and frown.

“Do you think my mother will talk about what happened today? About me finding that birth certificate? And the Year of the Lotus, and everything?”

Finley studied Abrial’s brooding face. Her hazel eyes were unreadable, though a clouded film of worry peered through.

“I do not know. Is there something you wish to hear from her?”

“Not really, heh. It’s just…I mean, do you think she’ll explain herself?” Abrial’s obsidian eyes had a tentative, hopeful gleam to them. It dissipated in an instant, replaced with a dark scowl. She picked up a pillow and tossed it across the room grumpily. “Ah, who am I kidding? My parents have never explained themselves. They’ll never give me a reason if I don’t pry for it myself.”

Finley’s expression contorted with something conflicted, though Abrial didn’t see it.

“...Are you going to pry?”

Abrial leaned back, throwing her hands behind her head idly and staring up at the ceiling. “Eh…not today, at least. I’ll be too exhausted after eating dinner with those two.”

----------------------------------------

The feast was utterly, horrible, painfully awkward.

Nothing out of the ordinary there.

There were only three attendees, as was customary: Abrial, her mother, and her father.

What a lively bunch they were! About as lively as a gathering of rocks, that is.

They all sat within the enormous, soaring-ceilinged dining hall, in the three closest-together seats at one end of the seemingly endless dining table. The only noise that could be heard for the first half an hour was the tapping of chopsticks on plates, the occasional clinking of forks and knives, and the click of cups being set back on the table.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Abrial was doing everything she could not to squirm in nauseous discomfort. She wanted to be anywhere, anywhere, but here.

In an outhouse.

In a graveyard.

In a mind-numbingly boring arithmetic lesson.

Anywhere but here!

Unfortunately, it wasn’t like she could just up and walk out. Her mother would start roaring like a tsunami and glaring like a sea of knives if she dared to do something that out-there. So, she sat there and continued to diligently slurp mouthfuls of hot noodles and swallow bite-size pieces of roast chicken. The soup was Abrial’s favorite: soft, thin white noodles in steaming chili oil broth, mixed with scallions and crunchy bean sprouts. Finley had stood over the shoulder of the chef for hours that afternoon to make sure it was made just the way Abrial liked.

The absence of conversation was deafening. It was nauseating.

Abrial tried to concentrate on the slipperiness of the noodles in her mouth, the crunch of the bean sprouts, the tingling spice of the soup. But it was difficult, because her eyes kept darting almost involuntarily to her mother’s face, which had been so twisted with fury earlier today.

Strangely, her mother now had no expression at all. Her face was passive, like a wall of stone. She did not make eye contact with Abrial even once. She simply ate, slowly and courteously, as she always did — like a queen sculpted from rock.

“So,” said Abrial’s father hesitantly, at last breaking the silence. “I have not seen you in some days because of my government work, Abrial. How have you been?”

Abrial swallowed a mouthful of noodles. “Fine.”

He nodded and opened his mouth as though to ask a question. But he closed it awkwardly instead and returned to dipping his bread in oil.

The silence returned.

Quickly, Abrial wolfed down the rest of her noodles and drained her bowl of soup, smacking her lips. She gulped the remainder of her tea and stood, finished.

“Thanks for this birthday dinner.” The words felt distasteful in her mouth, but she forced them out anyway. “I’ll be going now.”

“Stop. You may not leave yet.”

Abrial froze.

Her mother’s voice was cold as ice. When she spoke again, it was even sharper.

“There is something we must inform you about. Chuanli, why don’t you tell her about it?”

Abrial turned halfway around apprehensively.

“Ah, yes,” her father said, a somewhat nervous smile crossing his face. He clumsily drew a handkerchief out of his red robe pocket and began wiping his forehead, which had already begun to sweat profusely. At last, he cleared his throat and announced timidly, as if it was something they’d talked about hundreds of times:

“In regards to your future marriage, you are to join the cohort of prospective wives for the Prince of Rotia.”

“What?” The word spat itself from Abrial’s lips. “I’m not going to do that!”

Her father placed his fork and knife down. He looked at Abrial’s mother nervously, but was given no encouragement; so, his voice meek, he smiled at Abrial and said:

“It is what is best for you. You have the opportunity to become a Roatian queen with your beauty. Though the Roatians are of a different race from most Gongkuans, many more Gongkuans live in Roatia now. You will not be discriminated against. And…if you become queen, or even a consort, you will move to a position of power and comfort. It is the very best we can do for you, our daughter.”

Abrial’s vision flashed red. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her bandaged palms. Scarlet spots seeped into the cloth.

“I don’t care about power and comfort,” she spat, enraged. “I’m not marrying anyone. I’m not going.”

“You will marry, and you will go,” interjected her mother glacially. Finally, she was looking at Abrial. Her eyes were dark and stormy as the depths of the sea. “You will leave tomorrow at first light. Do you not want to get away from this house? We are giving you an opportunity to leave, as you so long to do. You had better take it.”

Abrial’s fists clenched tighter. The bandages grew wet. There was a burning, boiling ball of rage in her stomach, rising up to her chest like the roar of a dragon.

“You know I never want to marry someone. You know that’s not what I want. And if you don’t…it’s because you don’t know me.” Her fingers glistened red. “And you’re not hearing me. I said I’m not going.”

“You are going,” her mother repeated, this time with the force of a crashing wave, eyes glittering with shadows. “It is not your choice.”

“I’M NOT GOING!” Abrial shouted. Her heart began to drum in her ears, distorting her furious voice. “I won’t let you send me!”

“Han Abrial Chae-young.” Her mother stood, placing her hands fiercely down on the table so hard that it shook. Dishes and utensils rattled. “You are going, and you are going tomorrow. That is the end of this argument!”

“I WILL NOT!” Abrial screamed. Blood rushed in her ears like a murderous wind. “YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!”

“Friedrick!” Her mother bellowed, voice echoing deafeningly in the hall. “Escort Abrial to her room. She is overexcited.”

In an instant, the head inner house guard, a large Roatian man, was there, his arms wrapping around Abrial’s shoulders and hauling her forcefully away. She might have still been screaming, but everything seemed to blur into flashes of light and disorienting bursts of sound and movement, and she was biting and scratching at the arms dragging her away, and her mother’s face was a mask of fury getting smaller, and her heart was beating, drumming out of her chest and spattering blood on her insides, and everything was too loud and too painful and when she came to herself again she was lying on the ground in her room like a furious rag doll with the door locked from the outside.

She screamed. She screamed, and screamed. She pulled at the door for a long time, kicking and punching it. When it wouldn’t open, she screamed in fury again and punched at the walls so hard that her hand burst straight through the straw-based surface, spurting blood on the paper.

She was so furious that she thought she could feel her heart burning inside of her chest like a molten fire, pulsating and sending fiery rage coursing through her veins. The more she thought about what her parents had said, the more angry she became, and the more intense the hot, burning sensation became. It got to the point that her vision was constantly tainted with redness, and her head began to feel light.

After pacing, kicking, and punching, Abrial sat down on the ground, exhausted.

What was she going to do? She would have to run. She hadn’t planned to run away so soon or so suddenly, but it looked like she didn’t have a choice if she didn’t want to end up trapped in a disgusting situation her mother had decided for her.

She would have to figure something out before morning. But until then…

Abrial’s eyelids were heavy. The burning sensation seemed to have seeped all of the energy out of her. It had even made her begin to sense things that weren’t there — she thought she smelled a faint wisp of smoke as her consciousness faded more, and more.

Before morning, she would come up with a plan. A plan to get out of here, and take Finley with her.

But right now, she needed sleep. Just…a little sleep…and then, she could wake up in time to escape…

Abrial fell asleep sitting against the wall, burning hot tears dripping down her cheeks.