Ghazin

*The scent of tea fills the service room. It is strong, deep, enveloping… but not enough to cover the tension that vibrates in the air. Today is my day again. Or maybe every day is, and no one dares question it anymore.

The waitresses move around me like leaves shaking in the wind, but they don't dare speak to me. Until, like every time, it is Lyssia who breaks it, that fragile quiet. With her hesitant step, her eyes wide and full of apologies. I see her coming even before she opens her mouth.*

"Ghasin… please. You do it."*

Her voice breaks halfway between the name and the plea. She is clutching her apron between her fingers as if it were a sacred protection. And I already know where she is going with this. The tray in my hands weighs more than lead.*

"You said yesterday that you would try today."*

My voice is firm, too much perhaps. Too much for her. Too much for me. But I can no longer hide my tiredness under the kindness.*

"I… I know I said it, but… I can't. He… he looks at me like he can read me. Like he knows everything I shouldn't think."

"He won't hurt you, Lyssia. He's a man. Not a demon."

"You've never seen him when he first woke up!" "He's silent, he stares at you… and then he says a word, and you feel like you're being judged by the entire royal council."*

A whisper rises from the other two. Marlen—the eldest—steps forward, her hands in her wax-stained gloves.*

"Leave it alone, Ghasin. Not everyone is as brave as you. The girl is right: there's something… unnatural in that silence of his."

"Unnatural—?" * I stop. I breathe. Inside, however, something stirs. Maybe anger. Maybe just an overly strong desire to defend him. Or to defend myself. * "It's not unnatural. It's just… different. And if it really scared you, you wouldn't be here whispering like she was listening through the walls."

"The truth is, you like it. That's why you do it, right?" * Eliin says it, softly, but with a tongue as sharp as the blade of a knife forgotten in the mud.

The world stops for a moment. My heart races. My stomach closes. I don't answer right away. I can't. But I look at her. * "Maybe. Maybe yes. But it doesn't change anything. Duty is duty, even when your heart beats against it." * I take the tray. More decisively. Maybe even too much. Lyssia's gaze drops. Her lips tremble. But I feel no pity. Only silence.

I leave the room. And again, I'm alone. As always. The key in my apron pocket burns.

I open the door.

The air in her room is fresh, thick with her scent. Crumpled sheets, the fireplace turned off, the slow breathing of someone who has no need to fear anything in his sleep. I watch him. For a moment as long as a wish.

His chest rises and falls with an almost sacred rhythm. And I… I feel guilty just being there.

I put the tray down. I move closer. A drop of honey drips from the cup onto the silver rim. Maybe I am that drop myself: held, but about to fall. * "My… my lord?" * Nothing. No sign. He is still asleep. * "Forgive me. But… you are expected." *

*The sun comes in through the tall windows, drawing golden streaks through the steam of the tubs. The estate laundry is a world of its own, full baskets, scented foam and laughter that floats like air bubbles. Nobility doesn’t exist here. And for an hour… neither do I.

The sleeves of my dress are rolled up above my elbows, my skin damp and warm from work. My apron stained with soap. My hair tied up in a mess. And that’s okay. No one judges me here. Only the water watches us. * “Ghasin, you rubbed that handkerchief with the grace of a blind ballerina!” * The voice comes from Dava, the oldest washerwoman. She always laughs. Sometimes too much. But today… she makes me laugh too. * “At least I didn’t make the gardener’s shirt fly into the well like you did yesterday.” * My voice comes out with a rare lightness. It’s low, but there’s a spark in it. Dava fakes a theatrical faint while the others—Mylen, Cirel, and even Lyssia—erupt in crystalline laughter. * "Oh, but you talk! And you joke!" "Who would have thought… Ghasin telling jokes. Mark it on your calendar!" * I shake my head, blushing. But I smile. And they see it. And they don't make fun of me. They laugh with me. For me. And it's a new feeling. No longer invisible. Just... one of them. * "Don't say anything. I have a reputation to uphold." * I raise my eyebrows in mock seriousness, as I rinse a towel. The bubbles dance between my fingers. The warmth of the water relaxes me. It's a different peace than that of silence. It's more alive.

Lyssia approaches. She's holding a white shirt—I know whose it is. I'd recognize the crease in the collar among a thousand. * "Ghasin… it's his, right?" * I nod. And I hold the head with the same care with which one holds a secret. * "It smells of him even when it's wet." * Mylen says it softly, her eyes dreamy. The others giggle. But I don't. Because for me… it's true. And it hurts.

I continue washing in silence. But my face betrays a faint smile. The kind of smile you only give to those who look at you when you think you're alone. * "Be careful… if he comes suddenly and finds us so cheerful, he'll think we work too little."

"Bah! If he comes, we'll all melt like soap in tea!" * Laughter. Again. And this time, mine is real too. Long. Light. It even surprises me.

Then… something changes. A whisper. A sudden silence. Hands stop. Eyes turn. And I… I know. I feel it.

The sound of footsteps on marble. Measured. Precise. As if even the air knew it had to change shape when he entered the scene.

My heart skips a beat. But I don’t move.

The door opens. And there he is. Standing, as always, with that calm gaze that cuts through every noise. He doesn’t speak. But he looks at us. And everyone holds their breath.

I don’t. I breathe. And I look at him. With a smile still on my lips. * “Good morning, my lord. We weren’t wasting time… just washing better.” * The others stare at me, stunned. But he…

He looks at me. And, for a second, just a second… even his lips move. Maybe. Or maybe I just imagined it.

*The pantry is the realm of low voices and quick hands. Jars, boxes, sacks full of grain and spices… and me, as always, there in the middle. Invisible and present. The kitchen list clutched between my fingers, the impeccable apron, and my gaze already turned to the highest shelf where I know — I know for sure — that someone has hidden the jar of dark honey that my lord needs.

They do it on purpose. I know. It's become a game between us.*

"Guess where it is today, Ghasin."*

The voice comes from Eliin, sitting on the barrel of coarse salt, with an ironic smile and a bunch of pantry keys that she doesn't need, but that she always carries on her belt like a trophy.*

"If you tell me it's in the flour bin, I swear I'll make you clean the big oven yourself."

"But I didn't tell you anything! Maybe it's there… maybe not. Maybe you'll have to look for it." * I raise an eyebrow. Slowly. I take the stool. And I begin climbing the shelves. Every jar has a label I know by heart. But honey… not honey. He hides. Like him. * "Come on, Ghasin. If you find him in two minutes I'll give you the laundry shift tomorrow."

"Two minutes? I need two fingers, not two minutes." * I laugh. I say it. Really. And this time, the sound of my laughing voice fills the pantry as if it weren't me.

The others laugh with me. Dava walks in at that moment and rolls her eyes. * "Are you using the lord's honey as a prize for girls' games?"

"We're training reflexes. It's training. Strategy. War." * My tone is serious, but only on the surface. The girls hold back their laughter as if it's about to explode.

And then I find it.

Nestled behind an empty jar of grape jam, hidden like a stolen treasure. I take it. I raise it triumphantly. * "Recovered. No collateral damage. No jars injured." * Muffled applause. Someone whistles. Cirel bows like a queen. And I… I smile. Sincere. Without thoughts. Without questions.

Then, as if summoned by the honey itself… silence.

Footsteps. Real ones. His.

Heart skips a beat. Hands stop. The jar still clutched between fingers.

He enters. No words. But everyone straightens. Even Eliin stops breathing.

I turn to him. And for once… I don't hide. * "We were just… trying to serve as best we could, my lord. Even honey needs protection from inexperienced hands." * He comes closer. He looks at the jar. Look at me. For a second, the corners of his mouth… change. Maybe. Or maybe it’s just the light.

Then he’s gone, even though I know he’s just waiting just out of earshot.

And the girls explode into silence as the door closes.*

“And that was almost a smile!”

“Ghasin, I swear if he takes you as his wife I’ll be your best man in the most beautiful lace cap in the kingdom!” * I laugh. Again. Because I know it won’t happen. But even for a moment… the jar of honey was the most precious thing in the estate.