Date: The Night of the 2nd Day of the Month of Blossoms, Year 1107 of the Imperial Calendar.
Location: The "Rat's Nest," Deep Slums.
Aanya remembered only the sensation of floating, held against a chest that was warm and hard, smelling of rain and iron.
Then, the movement stopped.
"We're here," Veer's voice rumbled against her ear.
He kicked out with his boot. Thud.
A heavy wooden plank—serving as a door—groaned inward on rusted leather hinges.
Veer ducked his head, carrying her across the threshold. He kicked the door shut behind him, sliding a thick wooden beam into place to bar it.
The roar of the storm was instantly muffled. It was replaced by the rhythmic, percussive drumming of rain hitting a tin roof.
Aanya opened her good eye.
She was in a box.
Veer's home was not a house. It was a shack cobbled together from the city's refuse. The walls were made of mismatched timber planks, scavenged crates, and sheets of flattened metal. The floor was packed dirt, but it was dry.
The air was thick. It didn't smell of Golden Lotus or jasmine. It smelled of damp wool, old wood, candle wax, and the pervasive, earthy scent of black mold growing in the corners.
To a princess, it would have been a dungeon. To Aanya, shivering in her wet burlap sack, it smelled like oxygen.
"Down you go," Veer whispered.
He lowered her gently onto a pallet in the corner. It wasn't a goose-down bed; it was a pile of straw covered with a patchwork quilt of stolen blankets.
Aanya sank into it. The straw crunched under her weight. It was lumpy, but it was dry.
Veer stepped back. He was bare-chested, his skin slick with rain, his hair dripping onto his shoulders. He looked wild, dangerous, and exhausted.
He moved to a small wooden crate in the center of the room. He struck a flint. A spark flared, and he lit a nub of a tallow candle.
The yellow light flickered, pushing back the shadows.
Aanya looked around. The room was tiny—barely six feet across. There was no furniture, only crates. Rusty tools hung on nails. A bucket in the corner caught a leak from the roof—drip, drip, drip.
"It's... small," Aanya croaked, her voice trembling.
Veer turned to look at her. He grabbed a rough towel from a hook.
"It's not a palace, Princess," he said, his voice guarding a sliver of shame. "It's a hole. But the roof holds, mostly."
He walked over to her. He knelt beside the pallet.
"We need to get you dry," Veer said, his tone shifting from defensive to practical. "And we need to get... that... off your face."
He gestured to the gray sludge.
Aanya flinched. She pulled the quilt up to her nose, hiding the ruin.
"Don't look," she whispered. "Please, Veer. It's ugly."
Veer didn't pull the blanket away. He just looked at her, his dark eyes reflecting the candlelight.
"I've seen ugly, Aanya," he said softly. "I've seen dead bodies in the river. I've seen men beaten for copper coins. I've seen what hunger does to a face."
He reached out and gently touched the quilt near her cheek.
"But I've never seen a lie look this painful."
He stood up and went to the bucket catching the leak. He dipped the towel into the rainwater. He wrung it out.
He came back.
"Trust me?" he asked.
Aanya looked at him. This was the boy who had beaten three men with an iron rod to save her. This was the boy who had given her an apple when she was a ghost in her own home.
She slowly lowered the blanket.
Veer didn't flinch. He didn't gasp like the men in the tavern.
He leaned in. With hands that were calloused and scarred from years of thieving, he began to wipe her face.
He was incredibly gentle.
He wiped away the gray slime of the Alchemist's resin. He wiped away the mud from the alley. He wiped away the dried blood from her lip.
The cool water stung the raw burn scar, but Aanya didn't pull away. It felt... clean. For the first time in hours, the burning chemical reaction stopped.
Veer worked in silence. He cleaned the scar. He cleaned the swollen eye. He cleaned the perfect, pale skin of her left cheek.
When he was done, the "White Jade" was gone. The "Monster" was gone.
There was just Aanya.
Her face was a map of two worlds. The left side was the beautiful, delicate daughter of a merchant. The right side was a landscape of red, shiny, rippled tissue, swollen and bruised.
Veer sat back on his heels. He tossed the dirty towel into the corner.
"There," he said. "Now you're real."
Aanya touched her face. It felt raw, but it felt light. The weight of the mask was gone.
"My parents..." Aanya whispered, the tears starting again. "They gave Riya to him. They gave my sister to the Emperor to save themselves. And they threw me in the trash."
She looked at Veer, her eyes wide with the horror of it.
"I have nothing, Veer. I am trash."
Veer's jaw tightened. A muscle jumped in his cheek.
"You are not trash," he said firmly.
He reached into a crate next to the bed. He pulled out something wrapped in a cloth.
He unwrapped it. It was a piece of dried meat and a small, hard crust of bread. It was his dinner. Probably his breakfast too.
He broke the bread in half. He held a piece out to her.
"Trash gets thrown away," Veer said. "You were found."
Aanya looked at the bread. Her stomach cramped. She reached out with her trembling hand—the one with the cut knuckles—and took it.
She took a bite. It was stale. It was hard. It tasted like dust.
It was the best thing she had ever eaten.
"Why?" Aanya asked, chewing slowly. "Why did you save me? I ignored you. On the steps... at the temple... I saw you. And I looked away."
Veer looked at the candle flame.
"I know," he said. "I saw you look away."
"Then why?"
Veer was silent for a long time. The rain hammered on the roof. The leak dripped into the bucket.
"Because," Veer finally said, turning to look at her, his eyes dark and serious. "Seven years ago, I looked through a window. And I saw a girl who was sadder than I was."
He shrugged, feigning indifference, though his voice was thick.
"Thieves stick together, Aanya. And you..." He pointed to her scar. "...you've been stolen from more than anyone I know."
Aanya lowered the bread.
She looked around the moldy shack. It was damp. It was cold. It was hidden in the armpit of the city.
But for the first time since the accident involving the boiling water, she didn't feel like a product. She didn't feel like a burden. She didn't feel like a Queen.
She felt safe.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Eat," Veer commanded, lying back against the wall and closing his eyes. "And sleep. Tomorrow, we figure out how to survive."
Aanya finished the bread. She pulled the stolen quilt up to her chin. The smell of mold was strong, but beneath it, she could smell Veer—rain, iron, and life.
She closed her eyes.
Outside, the Emperor slept in silk, believing he had discarded the broken doll.
Inside the den, the doll began to breathe.