"Ugh… again. You do this every time," Arthur says, pointing a sharp finger at Richard."You either cook so little that it's not even enough for the afternoon, or you make so much that we're forced to eat the same thing at night… and sometimes even the next morning."
"What? Every time? No… that happens rarely," Richard snaps back, lifting the spoon and pointing it at Arthur. "And you—you've done it too. Many times."
"When?" Arthur challenges. "When have I ever done that? Whenever I cook, the food is always precise. Not more. Not less."
"Oh really? Precise, huh?" Richard asks, lifting his eyebrows in mock disbelief. "Then why did we end up eating the same dish for two days straight last week?"
"Th-that… that—" Arthur stutters, clearly searching for words.
"That… that was your mistake," Richard cuts in calmly, crossing his arms. "And sometimes, yes, I make mistakes too."
I find myself strangely absorbed in their childish argument. Thank God they don't look suspicious. I release a slow breath of relief.
"Sometimes?" Arthur scoffs. "Most of the time. It's most of the time when you make these mistakes. I do them rarely… rarely."
They argue and blame each other like stubborn children—and honestly, it works perfectly in my favor.
"Even if the pottage is less, it's still enough for you, Your Majesty," Richard says slowly—not lowering his voice, but stretching each word in a teasing drawl.
Arthur lifts his hand in the air and lets it fall again with an exaggerated ugh, rolling his eyes toward the roof as if silently saying, Oh, so now you talk like this. His jaw tightens, and he exhales sharply through his nose.
Richard grabs Arthur's plate and begins filling it with pottage using a ladle. One heavy scoop… then another. After that, he tilts the pot and starts scraping the bottom, dragging the metal ladle along the clay surface.
A sharp, screeching sound slices through the room.
The noise makes my teeth ache, sending a shiver down my spine—but Richard doesn't stop. He keeps scraping, circling the pot again and again, determined to gather every last drop of the thin, steaming paste. The ladle grinds against the pot with slow, stubborn strokes, as if he's fighting the empty space itself.
Arthur watches him with a tired glare.
And I sit there, stiff and silent, my heart beating too fast, praying they don't realize why there is so little left.
"Here. Enjoy your meal," Richard says in a slow, overly polite serving tone—like a servant following royal etiquette. But the respect is fake, layered with mockery and teasing. He places the plate in front of Arthur, one hand supporting his elbow as if performing for an invisible court.
"I'm sure it will be enough for you, your majesty" he adds stretching each word with tease.
"You have it," Arthur replies calmly, sliding the plate back toward Richard.
Richard stops the plate with his fingers and looks at Arthur with wide eyes. He pauses for a second, clearly caught off guard, then says,
"No… you eat it. I'm not that hungry."
His voice sounds lighter and calmer.
Arthur nudges the plate back toward him. "You just said you were starving when you entered the room."
Richard slides the plate away again and replies calmly, "I only said it like that. You eat it. I'll have some..... fruit instead."
This time, there is no teasing in his voice—only quiet concern.
"No. You trained harder today. You should eat it," Arthur says, pushing the plate toward him again. "I'll take the fruit."
"You trained even harder," Richard replies, refusing to accept it and pushing the plate back once more. "You deserve it."
The plate rests between them, untouched—caught in a silent battle of pride and care.
The teasing argument slowly turns into something softer, almost caring. The plate is trapped between their hands, both of them pushing it toward the other, neither willing to give in.
I chuckle and stare at them in disbelief.
I get kidnapped by these two children? And now they are having a staring contest over a plate of food.
At this rate, they will spill even the last bit of pottage.
"It's my order, Richard. Eat it," Arthur says, his voice turning sharp and commanding.
Richard stiffens for a moment. Then he lifts his chin and answers sarcastically,"Oh? And when was the last time I followed your order about something like this?"
He pushes the plate back again, harder this time, and says in an even more commanding tone,
"Have it."
"You— you can't order me. I said you eat it."
Arthur shoves the plate toward Richard again.
"Just split the damn pottage and eat the fruits after," I snap suddenly.
The words leave my mouth before I even realize I'm speaking. I'm done watching them wrestle over a single plate like it's a battlefield prize.
My words make them both look at me at the same time.
"I… I mean, you can… share it instead of fighting like this," I add slowly.
They glance at each other, wearing the same expression—why didn't we think of that?—and finally stop pushing the plate back and forth. Arthur clears his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment.
"I'll divide it," Arthur says, taking Richard's plate and scooping pottage onto it.
"Here." He hands it to Richard, the portion on Richard's plate slightly larger.
"Why did you take less for yourself?" Richard says, placing his hand in front of the plate to stop Arthur.
"You take this one and give me that," he adds, stretching his arm toward the plate with the smaller portion.
Arthur pulls his hand back , keeping the plate out of Richard's reach, and tries to pass him the one with the larger share instead.
The sight is so absurd that I burst into laughter. A sharp ha—ha escapes me before I can stop myself. The sound fills the small room, bouncing off the clay walls and wooden beams, echoing again and again.
It feels too loud, too sudden—like a crack in the heavy silence .
Arthur and Richard both look at me as they have never seen me laugh like this before. Honestly, even I haven't laughed like this in a long time. I am still laughing, trying—and failing—to control it.
They glance at each other.
Arthur finally hands Richard the plate with the bigger portion and whispers, "Just eat it."
Richard takes it and mutters, "You turned us into a joke. She's laughing at us ,because of you."
"Me?" Arthur says, his eyes widening. "This is all because of you."
That does it.
I lose all control.
Laughter bursts out of me again, louder this time. My chest hurts. My stomach tightens. I can barely breathe. Tears blur my vision as they gather in the corners of my eyes, but I keep laughing—helplessly .
They both fall quiet, embarrassed, and begin eating with their heads bent down.
"Nothing was that funny…" Richard mutters under his breath, his voice low and childish, as if he is sulking while chewing.
That only makes me laugh harder.
I don't even know why I am laughing like this. It isn't that amusing. But once it starts, I can't stop. The sound keeps spilling out of me, uncontrollable, as if something inside me has finally cracked open and refuses to close again.
Suddenly, my thoughts drift to my family. How different they are from this… from us — my so-called family. My laughter stops. I can't even remember the last time we laughed together like this.
At our table, meals are either wrapped in heavy silence or filled with Father and my brothers' endless political debates.
I watch them quietly as Richard takes an apple, slices it in half, and hands one piece to Arthur.
A small smile forms on my lips. I wish I had someone like that. Someone to have childish fights with , someone who care about me, laughs with me. I sighed with a heavy chest
Maybe… maybe they are not as bad as I thought.
"Do you want some apple?" Richard asks. Both of them look at me.
I smile and say, "No, I'm full."
My eyes widen the moment the words leave my mouth.
What did I just say? Amira, are you insane?
I clear my throat and add sharply, "I… I don't want to eat your food."
They must think I've lost my mind — first laughing than smiling, and now suddenly turning cold.
"Let her be," Arthur says, turning to Richard. Then he adds, "We have to go to the market afterward."
Richard nods. "Yeah. I've sent word to our man to come."
They are going to the market !
That means I could have a chance to run.
They finish their food. Arthur gathers the plates.
"Richard, take her to the washroom before we leave," he says, then turns toward that washing area.
Richard picks up an apple and walks over to me. He kneels to my level, sets the apple beside me, and begins untying the rope around my ankles.
As his fingers work on the knot, he glances toward Arthur, who is busy washing the plates. Then Richard looks back at me.
"Don't starve yourself," he says quietly, placing the apple closer to my hand. "Eat this."
His voice is soft .
"Don't worry. We will let you go… Okay!"
Richard seems like a good person.
He unties my ankles first, then my wrists. I try to stand, but Arthur's cold voice cuts through the air behind me.
"Don't, even think about ,running again."
I glare at him in anger.
Richard leads me outside and stops a few meters away from the toilet. As I walk toward it, my eyes search desperately for any possible path between the trees—any sign of escape.
I finish quickly and come back. Richard is still waiting where he stood before.
My gaze keeps scanning the surroundings, but there is nothing.
Only dark , dense forest in every direction.
As I was walking back toward the room, I felt like I heard my name.
I froze and quickly turned around.
For a second, I wasn't sure if I had really heard my name or if it was just my imagination. My heart thumped as I waited, hoping the voice would come again, trying to confirm is it my imagination or not. But there was only silence.
"What happened?" Richard asked worriedly, his brows knitting together.
Am I hearing things now? I turned towards Richard and said quietly, "Nothing," and started walking back to the room.
When I reached my mattress, Richard came over and tied me. He did it carefully — not too tight, not rough like Arthur. His hands were gentle , as if he was afraid of hurting me.
I feel like someone is calling my name. This time, I dont hear anything, but the sensation is there — as if the sound is brushing against my mind instead of my ears.
"Let's go to the market," Arthur says from the doorway. He is carrying two bags over his shoulder.
Richard looks at him. "Hmm." Then he turns back to me. "Eat that apple, okay?"
He stands up.
Just then, a man comes running toward Arthur. His movements are hurried and sharp. A sword hangs at his side, and his face is covered.
He bows before Arthur and says, "There are soldiers all over the jungle. They are—"
Arthur lifts his hand sharply, signaling him to lower his voice.
Soldiers.
The word crashes into my mind like thunder.
My heart leaps. My breath catches. Father's army ?… it has to be them. That is why I heard my name earlier. That was not my imagination.
They are looking for me.
Hope surges through my veins. I straighten without realizing it. My eyes widen, burning with sudden light.
They came for me.
They didn't forget me.
I'm not alone.
For the first time since I was taken, the jungle no longer feels endless.
It feels like a path home.
The man whispers something to Arthur. Arthur's expression hardens instantly. His jaw tightens, his eyes sharpening with alertness.
I strain to hear them, but their voices are too low. The words dissolve into the air before they reach me.
"Richard," Arthur calls.
Within seconds, Richard appears at his side. All three of them move closer together, forming a tight circle. Their voices drop even further, urgent and serious.
What are they saying?
My pulse begins to race. I lean forward, stretching my neck toward the door, trying to catch even a single word.
Arthur suddenly glances in my direction.
His eyes meet mine.
Then he lifts his hand and signals the others to lower their voices.
My stomach tightens.
That confirms it.
It is my father's army.
They are here.
My chance is here.
My fingers curl into the rope as my heart starts pounding wildly against my ribs. Every breath feels too loud. Every second feels borrowed.
This is my moment.
If I don't run now, I may never run again.
I hear my name again.
This time, clearly.
My heart leaps into my throat. I shoot up from the mattress and start jumping toward the small window in the wall with my tied legs, moving so fast I nearly trip over myself.
I scream with every breath I have.
"HELP! I'M HERE! HEL—"
A hand slams over my mouth and other hand wrapped around my waist yanks me backward, dragging me away from the window. My feet scrape against the floor as I struggle, but it is useless.
It's Arthur.
His grip is iron. One arm locks around me while his hand seals my mouth shut.
"RICHARD," he commands sharply.
I shake my body to get out of his grip. I push my tied hands with all my strength to force his hand away from my face and bend my torso backward to escape the arm wrapped around my waist.
My mouth tries to shout, but because his hand covers my face, it comes out only as helpless humming that cannot even leave the room. I turn my head to the side, but his strong grip still covers my mouth, not letting even a single sound escape.
I try again with all my strength, this time pushing through my feet and trying to jump backward in an attempt to make him fall or lose balance so he will loosen his hand from my mouth and I can shout again and my men will hear me.
But it does not happen. He stands there straight, and all my efforts—my pushing, my strength—are wasted.
I lower my tied hands, which were resisting his hand on my mouth, and hit my elbow hard against his stomach with all my power.
"Agh—". he hissed and loosens his grip from my mouth.
"HELP. HE—"
His hand covers my face again, this time harder. My face starts hurting badly. We are both drenched in sweat now.
He wraps his arm around my waist again, restraining both my arms. He lifts me up, and starts dragging me away from the window. I keep kicking the air and shaking my body with all my strength.
"Mhhmmm… mhmm…"My voice tries to find a way out. I start kicking him backward with my feet, but because they are tied, the impact is weak.
Richard comes running toward us. "Here," he says while handing a wet, oily cloth to Arthur.
As Arthur removes his hand to grab the cloth, I shout again with all my strength, "HELP—"
He presses the cloth over my face and nose. It has a strong herbal odor.
I push my head backward, then turn my face away from the cloth and bite Arthur's arm just above his wrist with all my power.
The pain of the bite makes him jerk his hand back. My teeth marks stamp onto his skin.
"Stay still or you'll die," he says in a cold tone.
I push his other hand away from my waist, but he grabbed me again. He covers my face again. I try shaking my head, but his grip is so tight that I cannot move. My head get stuck between his strong hand ahead and his strong wall like chest behind.
I stop breathing so I won't inhale the herbal smell from the cloth. But how long can I hold my breath? I am already burned out, every muscle aching, my heart pounding so loudly it feels like it will burst from my chest. My effort to hold my breath does not last long. I end up breathing and inhaling the herbal essence.
My head starts feeling heavy. No Amira , Wake up . You cant loose now. Get a grip .
I should pretend to faint so they will remove the cloth. I close my eyes, which are already growing heavy, and make my body go limp, as if I have collapsed without strength.
But his grip does not loosen. He is still holding the cloth over my face.
Ugh , It is not easy to fool him. So I try again to push my head back, but there is no space.
I try pushing my wrists against him, but it is no use. With each passing second, my body grows weaker and weaker.
I resist letting my eyes close, but it is very hard. My eyelids feel so heavy that I can barely keep them open.
And I… I am really about to faint. My body starts turning lifeless, as if it has no strength left.
My eyes close, my body goes limp, but I am still breathing. I can feel my heart pounding like a wildly, and I can still… hear them. But my conscious, my strength is fading more and more.
I feel him lift me into his arms, one arm sliding under my knees and the other supporting my back. My body hangs limp against his chest as he carries me across the room.
He lowers me onto the mattress, carefully placing my weight down and letting his arms withdraw from beneath me.
"Richard, we have to sort out these soldiers who are searching for her. And you keep an eye on her," Arthur commands.
And that is the last thing I hear before I lose consciousness completely.