At some point, his tray was cleared away and replaced with one of sweets and a more potent wine – Hushed Whispers, spicy and fruity, marvelous for enjoying alone while composing poetry or… well, doing delightful things to handsome kings, but that utterly hopeless fantasy would have to wait until later.
By the time he finished the wine, the hour was late, and he could barely keep his eyes open.
It was the best day he could ever remember having, marred only by the thought that it would be years yet before he was able to manage another.
Gathering up his poems and writing supplies, he left a coin on the tray for the servant who'd tended him all evening and took himself off back to bed, still humming along with the distant strains of music.
*~*~*
When he awoke come morning, it was to a familiar pounding on his door. Well, he'd had one afternoon and evening to himself. That was more than he'd ever expected to get.
Bracing himself, he climbed out of bed, hastily tidied himself as best he could, and then opened the door.
His mother barreled into the room, and he hadn't even opened his mouth to greet her when he got a ringing slap across the face. Literally, his ears were ringing from the force of it, and he could taste blood in his mouth where his teeth had cut his cheek. "Mother?"
"Do not look at me likeI'mthe one causing problems here."
"Mother, I swear to you, I do not understand what is going on. I went to the healers as His Majesty requested, and the next thing I knew I was sent here and ordered to rest for three days. That is all I know, all that's happened. What have I done wrong?"
"Wrong?" she asked, voice not quite shrill, but very nearly. "You whined to that healer so much that we are under investigation! What did you say?"
"Nothing!"
She slapped him again, the other cheek this time, provoking tears from the stinging force of it. "That is a bald-faced lie, and I will not tolerate such disrespect."
"Mother, I swear to you, I went only to see about the head wound, and only because His Majesty insisted, and I would not be so rude as to ignore his requests. All I did was answer questions, and none of them were about you and Father."
"Repeat them all to me."
Nadir did so, or at least tried to; he'd been so tired, and the whole situation so bemusing, that mostly it was a blur. He concluded with relating his nap, followed by his evening in the garden. Predictably, it helped nothing, but if he'd withheld the information or waited for her to ask, her anger would have been even worse.
"You lazy good-for-nothing, letting them slander us while you sit about napping and drinking and jotting down your stupid nonsense."
"It's not stupid—"
He regretted the words the moment they slipped out, and swallowed in the aftermath of a third slap. His face hurt, but he'd learned a long time ago not to complain or beg for mercy. Instead, he simply let her rant, arms waving and lashing about, eyes filled with the sort of fury and contempt she saved for convicts and her only son.
All the relief brought by his wonderful evening was shattered by her raging, and the final slap she added for good measure before scooping up his 'pathetic waste of time and paper' and storming off.
Nadir sat on his bed and tried not to cry more than he already had. What in the world was going on? Why were they investigating his parents? Why did she think he was responsible? Was it really the end of the world that he'd been ordered to rest for three days? Didn't parents want the best for their children, but also their health and happiness?
Why did his parents hate him so much?
Sadly, he was more distressed about the poetry. He'd been so pleased with some of it, even the silly one about Shafiq he'd been trying to work into something good and not simply maudlin and mushy and embarrassing.
Gone, now. It wasn't the first time his mother had confiscated his 'drivel' in retaliation for disobediences he never understood. Sometimes he was able to retrieve bits of it, hide them away until he could recopy and destroy the originals, so she'd never realize what he'd done. Most of the time, though, it was thrown into the fire or taken away by servants to be disposed of before he had the chance.
Why did his parents dislike him so much? What had he done so wrong?
Sniffling, Nadir rose and took his tonics for the morning, then gathered up what he needed and headed down the hall to the baths. Some of his misery eased then, as he realized that for once he could linger in the hot water as long as he liked. After cleaning thoroughly, he did precisely that, sliding into the steaming water and sighing at the relief that was immediately brought.
Oh, to be able to do this every single day, or at least most days, like the rest of the world. How much better would he feel each day if he had this one small thing? He was going to stay here until he melted.
Or until a discreet cough forced him to open his eyes—which widened further as he took in the mark on the man's livery that designated him as a personal servant of the king. Nadir sat up. "Uh. My apologies. If I had known someone would be coming to see me, I would have been waiting in my room properly."
The man smiled. "No need for that, my lord. The visit was not scheduled. His Majesty would like to see you at your leisure.He is available for the next couple of hours in the sunset room, or you can see him after dinner."
"No, I'll come as soon as I'm dressed. I apologize for causing him any delay."
