Date: The Late Afternoon of the 3rd Day of the Month of Blossoms, Year 1107 of the Imperial Calendar.
Location: The "Rat's Nest," Deep Slums.
Veer didn't coax her out. He didn't whisper sweet nothings into the dusty dark under the pallet.
He grabbed her ankle.
"Come out," he grunted, hauling her backward.
Aanya tried to dig her fingers into the dirt floor, but she was too weak. She slid across the ground, a bundle of rags and dust bunnies, until she was in the open air of the shack.
Veer let go of her leg. He stood over her, his chest heaving, his hair dripping rainwater onto her face. He looked at the floor near the corner.
He saw the puddle of brown liquid where the willow bark tea had been spilled. He saw the crust of bread from the night before, still sitting on the crate, untouched and stale.
The anger snapped inside him.
It wasn't the anger of a predator. It was the terrified, exhausted anger of a caretaker who realizes their patient is trying to die.
"I went out there," Veer said, his voice shaking. "I risked my neck. I dodged a guard's cudgel to get you an apple. And you... you're feeding the dirt?"
He kicked the empty cup across the room. It clattered loudly against the tin wall.
Aanya flinched, curling tighter on the floor.
"Stop it," Veer shouted. "Stop hiding! The door is closed! It's just us!"
He grabbed her by the shoulders of the burlap sack and hauled her up. She was limp, dead weight. He slammed her back against the wooden wall—not to hurt her, but to make her stand. To make her feel gravity.
"Look at me!" Veer commanded, shaking her. "Open your eyes!"
Aanya's head lolled. She slowly opened her eyes. The violet irises were dull, filmed over with fever and despair.
Then, the dam broke. The stone in her throat cracked.
"Let me go," she rasped. Her voice sounded like grinding stones.
"No," Veer said.
"Let me die!" Aanya screamed. It was a weak, broken scream, but it filled the small room. Tears cut tracks through the dust on her face. "Look at me, Veer! I'm disgusting! I'm a monster! I don't belong here!"
She tried to push him away, her hands sliding off his wet chest.
"I belong in the silk! I belong in the garden! I can't do this! I can't use a bucket! I can't eat garbage! I'm the Daughter of House Kael!"
She collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest, her snot and tears mixing with the rain on his skin.
"Just throw me back in the trash," she wept. "Please. It hurts too much."
Veer held her for a second. He felt her trembling. He felt the heat of her fever.
He knew that if he comforted her now, she would die. If he told her it was going to be okay, she would fade away in the night. Pity was a poison.
She needed a slap. Not a physical one, but a spiritual one.
Veer grabbed her shoulders and shoved her back against the wall hard enough to rattle her teeth.
"Listen to me," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "And listen good."
Aanya gasped, shocked by the violence of his tone.
"The Daughter of House Kael is dead," Veer said. His eyes were dark, cold, and absolutely merciless. "She died the second the oil touched her face. The Emperor killed her. Her parents buried her."
Aanya stared at him, her mouth open.
"And the Princess?" Veer continued, his voice rising. "The girl who needs silk? The girl who needs a porcelain pot? She died in the mud outside the Southern Gate."
He leaned in closer.
"That girl is gone, Aanya. She is never coming back. You are mourning a ghost."
He let go of her shoulders. He stepped back and pointed to the door.
"The thing standing in front of me isn't a Princess. It's a survivor. Or it's a corpse. You have to decide right now."
He walked to the door. He threw the latch open. He kicked the door wide.
The wind howled in. The rain lashed at the threshold. The smell of the slums—rot, smoke, and sewage—filled the room.
"You want to die?" Veer shouted over the wind. "Go."
He pointed outside.
"Walk out there. Lay down in the alley. The cold will take you in an hour. Or the dogs will find you. It's easy. It's quick. Go."
Aanya looked at the open door. She saw the darkness. She saw the rain.
"But," Veer said, turning back to the crate.
He picked up the stolen apple. It was small, green, and bruised. He held it out.
"If you stay... you eat."
He tossed the apple.
Aanya instinctively caught it. It was cold and hard in her hand.
"If you stay," Veer said, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper, "you fight. You learn to walk in the mud. You learn to wipe your own face. You learn to hate them more than you hate yourself."
He looked at her with an intensity that burned.
"So choose. The door... or the apple."
Aanya stood trembling in the draft.
She looked at the dark alley. It offered peace. It offered an end to the pain. It offered silence.
Then she thought of King Darius. She thought of his laugh. She thought of her father turning his back. She thought of Riya sleeping in her bed.
If she walked out that door, they won. They erased her.
A fire, small and black, lit in the bottom of her stomach. It wasn't hope. It was spite.
She looked at the apple. It was ugly. It was bruised.
Like me, she thought.
Aanya looked at Veer. She saw the fear behind his anger. He was terrified she would leave.
Slowly, deliberately, Aanya raised the apple to her split lip.
She took a bite.
She chewed. It was sour. It was tough. It hurt her jaw.
She swallowed.
"Close the door," Aanya rasped.
Veer let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. His shoulders slumped.
He walked over and kicked the door shut. He slid the broken beam back into place, jamming a wedge under it to hold it.
He turned back to her.
Aanya was still eating. She was eating with a savage intensity, juice running down her chin, mixing with the dust. She didn't wipe it away.
The girl who needed a napkin was gone. The girl who needed silk was gone.
Aanya finished the apple. She tossed the core into the corner.
She looked at Veer. Her violet eyes were no longer glassy. They were hard. They were sharp.
"I want the medicine," she said.
Veer nodded. A small, grim smile touched his lips.
"Coming right up," he said.
The Princess was dead. Long live the Rat.