A thick, woeful air filled the palace over the coming weeks, with Hala’s fits becoming more volatile and explosive. On multiple occasions, eunuchs who had entered her room to clean or bring her food would walk in to find the Princess sobbing quietly. In an attempt to help, they’d try to comfort her. While their words were difficult to fully make sense of, Hala had begun to pick Mahsulah up again at a novice level. The eunuchs would try to quell her upset, only to be snapped at in Otlank that she couldn’t fully reply to them. The harshness of Otlank as a language was off-putting to the non-speakers, causing them to feel like they’d done something wrong; thus, they’d go fetch Abyad or Bròn from somewhere in the palace to calm her.

Hala’s volatility most always stemmed from her inability to communicate, and she had grown tired of only having men to talk to. Bròn would let Hala cry, but he’d almost always tell her to stop eventually, and that she had to grow past her trauma. Abyad, on the other hand, would remain quiet unless he had words of wisdom or kindness to offer the Princess. He’d mutter under his breath in Mahsulah, a bad habit that frustrated the Princess—but was also part of what helped her begin to re-learn her mother tongue. There were times that, during her more explosive fits of grief, she was only able to be calmed down by Haya. Namir, on the other hand, seemed to be a trigger for her. Any time he visited, he’d be forced to leave immediately, lest Hala start screaming at the top of her lungs in Otlank.

Haya was Hala’s only true peace. Being held by her mother in her bed brought her back to a calmed baseline. Haya would lay there in silence with her until she calmed down, and then she’d sing her daughter Mahsullian lullabies. She’d sometimes teach her how to count, or point to random things in Hala’s room and tell her what the object was in Mahsulah. Her heart always grew heavy when she was asked to enter Hala’s room, more so than when she’d visited her room before Hala’s return home. The sight of her daughter, still sickly thin and bandaged, made her stomach tie up in knots. She wanted so desperately to heal her, praying every night for her to find peace and get back to good health.

Namir would come into their bedroom some nights to find Haya prostrated in prayer, reciting holy texts in a plea for her daughter’s health to the God/s above. The King would feel his chest tighten, hearing his wife’s tear-filled prayers. He’d occasionally purify himself with a bath to join her, reciting the same verses. Partially, in an act of support of his wife’s piety, but partially in an attempt to find control over their situation, and trying to find a way to stop his daughter’s resentment towards him. He’d pray alone, sometimes, begging the God/s above to forgive him for his mistake. He’d never show his wife his tear-filled eyes, nor Abyad or Asad. He’d keep his emotions bottled until he thought he was entirely alone, only to let out a few tears before gritting his jaw and forcing them to stop flowing.

Every night, the sound of Hala’s shrill voice would echo through the palace, shrieking out the same phrase in a blood-curdling cry:

“Chrivask, blisovnyiy! Strinze vretula!”

Abyad would awaken by her cries, as he slept just a few chambers down, knowing he and Bròn were the only ones to understand what she’d scream: a formal plea for her husband to stop hurting her. His chest would tighten at how her voice broke, knowing she was reliving the same nights over and over again in her sleep. One night, the scream had been particularly disturbing to him. Her voice grated, sounding more distressed than usual, and the cadence jarred his very soul. He jumped out of his bed, and slid into the nearest robe he had, tying it loosely. He took long strides down the hall, getting to her room promptly before opening the door with no announcement.

“Hala.” He said firmly.

Hala stayed in her dream, laying on her stomach in agony. Abyad crept closer, noticing an abnormal spot on the white sheet. Upon closer examination, he noticed she’d opened a wound while tossing and turning. His blood ran cold as he removed the sheet, taking in how much she’d bled through her bandaging.

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“Hala.” He repeated, still firm but louder than before.

He jostled her, forcing her to wake from her nightmare in a cold sweat. Upon seeing his icy eyes reflected in the moonlight, she gasped and pushed herself up from the bed. She let out a high pitched whine, her face twisted in pain. Abyad quickly placed his arm around her waist to help her sit, moving her so that her back faced the moonlight.

“You’re bleeding, Themaz.” He said groggily. “How did this happen?” He asked.

“I don’t know.” Hala replied quietly, still shaken from her nightmare.

Abyad sighed internally, getting a new roll of bandages from her bedside drawer and setting it on the table. He placed his hand at the collar of her robe, tugging on it.

“Take your robe off.” He told her.

Hala untied her robe, unable to do much more than that. Abyad, though still partially-asleep, noticed her inability to move and lowered the robe himself.

“Please don’t hurt me…” she pleaded.

Abyad felt both heartbroken and angry at her request as he loosened the gauze tied poorly around her back, noticing that whichever maiden or servant had been tasked with her bandaging had done a shoddy job and leaving them much too loose to keep the healing wound taught in place. His frustration grew stronger as he untucked the end of the gauze.

“I’d never, Themaz.” He said, unraveling her bandaging.

Hala kept quiet as Abyad finished gathering the supplies needed to tend to her wounds, lightly washing them and applying pressure to the reopened carving in her back. Her head grew light, as if a warm halo had surrounded her skull. She felt a shaking deep in her diaphragm that she’d never felt before, even when faced with prior flashbacks, making her entire body tremble. Abyad thought she was trembling in pain, but he was sorely mistaken. The feeling of blood trickling down her back as a wet cloth made its way across her spine did something to her—awakening sensations and emotions she’d hoped to forget. The window to her right began to shrink, resembling the windows of Shahin’s palace in Otlak. The walls turned from a pure, true white, to a pale yellow as the sound of a fireplace crackling filled her ears, and Shahin’s haunting voice antagonized her from behind.

“What is it, Song Bird? Does it hurt?”

Hala’s shoulders trembled uncontrollably, and Abyad pulled the cloth from her back. The amount of blood coming from her wound seemed improbable as the cause of her trembling, thus, he spoke up:

“Hala, are you okay? Am I hurting you?” Abyad repeated his question.

Her shoulders shook even more, making him grow more concerned. He peeked over her shoulder, looking at her face. It had grown distant, and blank in expression, save for the tears streaming down her face. Her next words woke him up from his half-tired state entirely.

“Blisovnyiy, atierne vretula na?”

Abyad didn’t know what to say. He returned to tending to her back, keeping quiet and opening the healing salve. She clearly thought he was Shahin, asking him why he’d hurt her so badly. Abyad began to smear the salve along her wounds, and she quietly cried and whimpered at his touch.

“I’ll be good, dear, I swear…please…don’t make me go back tomorrow night…” she begged, barely above a whisper.

Abyad thought it best to keep from feeding into whatever she was experiencing, keeping his mouth shut for the time being. He finished applying the salve, letting it set for a moment before picking up the bandages. As he began to wrap her, she spoke once more; bringing him to a new discovery.

“Why did you rape me?” she cried quietly, bringing her hands to her face to wipe her tears.