Zaliyah stepped into Sylaris's bedchambers. Finding the windows propped open to the chilly night air, he raised his hand, pointing his fingers toward the wooden shutters. With a subtle flick of his wrist, as if turning an invisible key, the windows obeyed his silent command, swinging shut and sealing tight against the frame.
A gentle smile touched Zaliyah's lips as he crossed the floor and sat on the edge of his daughter's bed. He reached out to gently clasp her chubby little fingers, lifting them to his lips to press a soft kiss against her knuckles. "I'm sorry I couldn't accompany you to the square," he whispered softly into the quiet room. "I will make it up to you tomorrow."
He caressed the child's soft hair, smoothing back a few stray lock. Sylaris stirred lightly, her little chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm as she muttered softly in her sleep: "Carmilla..."
Zaliyah froze, A second later, a smile spread across Sylaris's sleeping face.
"Carmilla…" Zaliyah repeated under his breath, tasting the syllables as they rolled off his tongue. His eyes drifted downward, following the curve of her arm until they landed on the dark wooden object Sylaris was clutching tightly against her chest.
Zaliyah nearly jumped back. The object was a carved gargoyle wooden mask—its features twisted into a terrifying, grotesque visage with exaggerated hollow eyes and jagged teeth.
"What is this...?" He murmured.
Reaching down, he attempted to pull the mask gently from Sylaris's grasp, but the moment his fingers touched the wood, the little girl's grip tightened instinctively, tugging it closer to her ribs.
"Huh? Why wouldn't she let it go?" Zaliyah asked the empty room, exasperated yet fond. He tried pulling it one more time, using a fraction more force, but Sylaris let out a small, defiant grunt and held fast.
Zaliyah finally relented, letting go of the carved edge. "It must be a gift from Thalassa," he reasoned with a small sigh.
He brushed her white hair one last time, leaning down to plant a warm kiss on her soft cheek, followed by another tender press of his lips against her forehead. "I'm sorry once more, my baby," he muttered, carefully pulling the wool blanket up over her small frame.
As he adjusted the fabric, his eyes caught on a flash of pale green resting against Sylaris's tiny wrist—the very hand holding the mask so fiercely. It was a slender jade bracelet.
She wasn't wearing this when she left, Zaliyah thought, his brows knitting together.
Curious, he leaned closer and caressed the smooth stone. As his thumb traced the circumference, he felt small, shallow grooves carved into the surface. He carefully turned her wrist, tracing the rough little letters etched into the jade with his fingernail, spelling out the name mentally: C-A-R-M-I-L-L-A.
"Dad... I want Carmilla…" Sylaris whispered in a muffled voice, her nose digging deeper into her pillow. A moment later, she let out a surprisingly loud snore, settling back into a deep, untroubled slumber.
Zaliyah let giggled. He continued to trace the delicate green stone, his mind turning over the clue. "Did Harun buy her this at the fair? Who is Carmilla?"
He asked the question aloud to the stillness, not expecting an answer. But a voice spoke up from the darkened threshold behind him. "She is a little girl Sylaris seems to be quite fond of."
Zaliyah turned around, his brows furrowing as he looked at the silhouette standing in the doorway. "What little girl?"
Harun stepped into the warm glow of the chamber's floating lamps, his boots making no sound on the floor. "While at the square, Sylaris met a group of local children. Amongst those kids, Carmilla was her favourite."
Zaliyah turned back to look down at his rosy-cheeked daughter, his gaze drifting once more to the hideous carving tucked beneath her arm. "I presume this scary wood is from the kids as well?"
Harun smiled gently. "You mean the mask?"
Zaliyah nodded, grimace touching his lips as he looked at the wooden face in disgust, not even wanting to touch it again. "She has quite peculiar taste."
Harun bowed his head, his blue eyes fixed on the floor as he contemplated whether to speak his mind. Zaliyah, ever attuned to those around him, instantly sensed the sudden shift in the atmosphere.
"What is it, Harun?" Zaliyah asked softly. He did not withdraw his gaze from his daughter, his hand continuing its rhythmic, comforting stroke through her hair.
"I was thinking... it would be nice if Sylaris played with the kids again tomorrow," Harun said slowly, choosing his words with extreme care.
Zaliyah's hand paused mid-air, hovering just above Sylaris's head. "Play? But she plays with the castle servants all the time."
Harun sighed. "Sylaris is a little girl, your highness, and since birth she has been trapped within these walls. The servants are far older than her; she has no true companion who is of her own age. Seeing how bright her eyes were today... how happy she was amongst those children... it just made me think..."
Zaliyah's eyes narrowed slightly, though there was no real anger in them. "Did she put you up to this, Harun?"
Harun's lips twitched into a smile. "No. This is a wish from my own heart, because I want to see her happy. Please reconsider, your highness." He bowed low once more, preparing to turn and leave the room.
Before his foot could cross the door, a softly spoken phrase reached his ears. "Thank you."
Harun paused, listening as Zaliyah continued, "Thank you for keeping her safe… I hope she didn't trouble you a lot today."
Harun turned back slightly, a warm expression on his face. "Sylaris means a lot to me. I am not only bound by my sworn duty to keep her safe, but by my heart. So I beg of you… please let her have a normal childhood. Give it a second thought. I have never seen her smile as brightly as she did with those kids today. And she seems really fond of Carmilla…."
Harun hesitated, the image of the little girl kissing Sylaris's "mask" flashing across his mind. He wavered on whether he should tell Zaliyah about the sudden display of affection, but ultimately settled on keeping it to himself. Some things were better left as innocent childhood secrets.
Zaliyah gently held his daughter's hand, his thumb once again tracing the cool jade of the bracelet. The smooth cut and pale tone of the stone were hauntingly familiar—it looked almost identical to a bracelet Karas had brought back and given to him years ago after returning from his studies in the eastern region.
"I will think about it," Zaliyah muttered, his voice barely audible.
Harun gave nodded and quietly backed out of the room, drawing the door closed behind him.
The moment the latch clicked, the side door opened and a head maid stepped into the chamber. She bowed her head low, her hands folded neatly within her sleeves. "It is time, your highness."
Zaliyah pressed one final kiss onto Sylaris's warm forehead before rising smoothly to his feet and exiting into the corridor.
Inside his private bathing chambers, the atmosphere was thick with steam and the intoxicating scent of crushed lotus and sweet oils. The servants moved like silent ghosts, their movements were disciplined and swift.
Without a word, they unclasped his outer robes, stripping away the familiar layers of white silk and fur that usually shrouded his frame.
Zaliyah stepped over the wooden lip of the massive tub, lowering himself into the warm, fragrant water. He closed his eyes as the heat seeped into his tired muscles, letting out a long, shuddering breath.
A maid stepped forward carrying a small, dark ceramic bowl. Within it sloshed a thick, dark liquid—fermented leeches soaked in concentrated dark wine and crushed iron-root, an ancient and potent dye.
As two maids gently washed Zaliyah's shoulders and torso with scented soaps, three maids positioned themselves carefully behind his head. One began to comb through his long, striking white hair with a fine-toothed ivory comb. Another held the dark bowl steadily, while the third stood watch, carefully measuring the steeping time.
When the tangles had been thoroughly smoothed away, the maid holding the vessel lowered it into position directly behind Zaliyah's neck.
"Your highness," the lead maid whispered softly.
Zaliyah tilted his head backward. The two maids gently gathered the weight of his long white hair, bundling the strands together before slowly submerging the entire length into the bowl of dark, pungent liquid.
Zaliyah closed his eyes, resting his head against the rolled edge of the wooden tub. The sweet aroma of the bathwater clashed with the bitter, coppery smell of the dye, making his head feel light. The quiet murmur of the water and the gentle massage of the maids' fingers against his scalp acted as an unwanted lullaby. His eyelids grew impossibly heavy, and despite his anxiety for the night ahead, he slipped silently into a deep slumber.
"Your highness... Your highness... Your highness..."
The softly repeated words slowly filtered into Zaliyah's consciousness, pulling him back from the dark void of sleep. He fluttered his eyelashes open, his vision blurry at first, gradually resolving into the flushed, excited faces of the maids standing over him.
He hadn't even realized he had fallen asleep. But as he looked at their wide, brilliant smiles and the subtle blushes creeping up their necks, a realization settled in his chest. If they're smiling this much... then it means it was successful.
The maids offered their hands, respectfully helping him step out of the steaming tub and onto the soft, absorbent mats. As Zaliyah stood upright, a cold sensation brushed against his lower back.
He looked over his shoulder and his breath hitched.
Cascading down his spine, pooling over his bare hips like a river of liquid shadows, was long, glistening, ink-black hair.
Zaliyah's eyes widened in shock. He stared at the dark strands clinging to his wet skin, completely stripped of their natural, ethereal silver hue. He looked up at the maids, who were all beaming back at him in quiet triumph.
One of the younger maids hurried across the room and returned with a hand-held bronze mirror, holding it up before Zaliyah's face.
Zaliyah stared at the reflection, feeling an unsettling detachment from the person looking back at him. His striking white hair was gone, replaced by a deep, light-swallowing black that made his pale skin look almost luminous by contrast. He raised a trembling hand, gently running his fingers through the wet hair.
"It looks so ..... different..." he muttered, his voice hollow.
The sudden drop in his tone sent a ripple of anxiety through the servants. The maids all shuddered, bowing their heads nervously. One of them stepped forward, her voice trembling slightly. "If... if the intensity of the shade is not to your taste, your highness, we can redo the process immediately. We can light—"
Zaliyah shook his head slowly, cutting her off. "No. Let's proceed."
Relieved, the maids bowed in unison. "As you wish your highness."
They immediately set to work dressing him, executing a meticulous, step-by-step transformation.
First came the undergarments: a pair of gossamer-thin, translucent white silk trousers that clung loosely to his slender legs, secured at the waist by a delicate gold cord. Next came the base draped garments inspired by the traditional court dancers of the eastern provinces. Two long, wide sashes of royal-blue silk were crossed over his chest, leaving his midriff completely bare while shielding only the vital curves of his torso.
Over the blue silk, they draped an exquisite, flowing skirt made of sheer, canary-yellow chiffon that swirled around his ankles with the slightest movement, creating a striking color contrast against the blue underlying drape.
Then came the jewelry. The maids moved with practiced precision, adorning his exposed skin with metal. Around his waist, they buckled a wide, articulated hip belt wrought from antiqued gold, dripping with cascading rows of tiny gold coins that jingled softly with every breath he took. Multiple strands of lustrous silver coins were draped across the belt, swinging low against his thighs.
They slid thick, solid gold cuffs up his biceps, pinching them tight against his skin, followed by stacked gold bangles that clinked musically against his wrists. Around his throat, they fastened an immense, sweeping collar necklace—a masterpiece of solid gold filigree that draped over his collarbones and covered his upper chest like a bib of woven light. Finally, they pierced his elongated ears with dangling gold earrings shaped like falling stars, the weight of the metal pulling gently at his lobes.
When they were done cladding his body in silk and metal, two maids took on the burden of styling his hair while the other two began preparing his face.
Using fine charcoal pencils, the maids carefully traced over his naturally white eyebrows, darkening them into sharp, defined arches of jet-black that framed his eyes.
They dusted his pale cheeks with the softest rose blossom powder, imparting a delicate, flushed warmth to his porcelain skin. Next came a deep crimson pigment made from crushed berries, applied carefully to his lips until they gleamed like ripe cherries. Finally, using a fine brush dipped in charcoal, they drew a dramatic eyeliner that extended outward from the corners of his eyes, giving his gaze an exotic, feline tilt.
The two maids at his back brushed his now-black hair with care. They had spent almost four years accustomed to the snow-like beauty of Zaliyah's white hair; seeing him crowned in this dark, sleek mantle was a shock they didn't think they would ever get over. They worked fragrant oils into the strands, brushing until the black hair was so sleek, smooth, and reflective that it resembled liquid silk cascading all the way past his waist.
Then came the final step.
A maid stepped forward bearing a lacquered tray lined with velvet, displaying an array of different face veils. Some made of sheer black gauze embroidered with silver thread, others of red silk trimmed with tassels, and a few woven from delicate lace.
Zaliyah's hand hovered over the tray, his fingers rummaging through the options without interest until they brushed against something metallic and shiny. He picked up a veil made entirely of dense, fine gold chainmail. It was structured to hook over the ears, with a thin gold chain meant to run up the center of his forehead and over the parting of his hair, while the lower veil of gold links hung down to cover his nose, cheeks, and jaw in an impenetrable, shimmering mesh.
He handed it to the servants. The maids carefully lifted the piece, draping the central chain over his hair parting and securing the hooks behind his ears. The gold chainmail fell over the lower half of his face, It was cold against his skin, masking his expressions completely while leaving only his dark, painted eyes visible above the metallic mesh.
When they were finished, the four maids stepped back and gasped, looking at him in awe. Their eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of shock and excitement. They were used to seeing Zaliyah buried under layers of modest robes and oversized fur cloaks; it was their very first time seeing so much of his bare skin exposed to the open air.
One young maid's eyes accidentally drifted to his chest, where the thin crossing of royal-blue silk barely concealed the pink dots of his nipples. Her face flushed a violent shade of crimson, and she quickly averted her gaze to the floor.
Zaliyah turned away from them, stepping slowly toward the large mirror in the corner of the room.
He stopped. The reflection that greeted him was terrifying in its foreignness. Was that really him? He wasn't remotely familiar with this version of himself—this glittering, exposed, jewel-encrusted creature. A wave of disgust washed through his chest.
He raised a hand, running his fingers through the sleek black hair resting over his shoulder.
"It looks like Karas's..." he muttered, his voice muffled by the chainmail.
Images of Karas instantly flooded his mind his striking blue eyes that looked like the open sky, and his long, raven-dark hair that was almost always tied back in a high ponytail secured with a pin. Zaliyah's throat constricted. He could feel hot tears welling up at the corners of his eyes, threatening to ruin the dark eye the maids had so carefully applied. He closed his eyes tight, forcing his breathing to steady, brutally pushing those suffocating memories into the dark corners of his mind.
He gently touched his face, the cold gold chains clinking softly against his knuckles. He looked so drastically different.
A sudden gust of night wind slipped through the cracks of the room, traveling across the floor and making the sheer yellow silks of his skirt dance wildly around his bare ankles.
He turned back to the maids, his painted eyes softening slightly above the veil. "Thank you," he muttered.
The maids bowed low, their faces beaming with pride.
Before another word could be spoken, the door burst open. A tall woman with deep, sun-kissed tan skin stepped confidently into the room. She was dressed in an outfit designed in the exact same provocative style as Zaliyah's, though her attire was cladded entirely in polished silver rather than gold. Her chest was barely concealed by two small scraps of silver cloth that covered only the barest minimum of her breasts, leaving her toned midriff and shoulders completely bare.
She bowed her head briskly. "It's time."
Zaliyah nodded. "Lead the way."