The Proposal
Kharivanpa barely rested.
The rain had been pouring all night, fierce and relentless, as though the heavens themselves wished to drown the mountain. Even now, with dawn creeping gray across the world, its memory clung to her skin. She could still feel the cold bite of it from the run down the mountain, the mud beneath her feet, the sting in her lungs as she had raced through darkness with only terror to guide her.
They're coming.
Her grandmother's words had followed her all the way home.
The priests are coming with a marriage proposal.
Sirene is this season's sacrificial blood.
By the time the first weak light spilled across the village, Kharivanpa's clothes had dried, but her fear had not. It sat inside her chest like a stone.
She walked the final stretch toward her family's home with aching legs and a pounding heart.
Then she saw it.
A carriage.
It stood just outside their yard, gleaming in the pale morning light like something foreign and unnatural. Its wooden body was lacquered black, its trim plated in gold. Rainwater still dripped from its wheels. Two horses stamped impatiently in the mud, their harnesses decorated with an unfamiliar crest.
Kharivanpa stopped walking.
"No." She said to herself as hope prepared to depart and be replaced by insanity.
For one wild instant she told herself there had to be another explanation. A tax collector. A messenger. A lost nobleman. Anything but this.
Then she saw the guardsman seated at the front bench in palace colors, his spear upright at his side.
Her pulse lurched.
"It can't be," she whispered.
But it was.
She broke into a run.
Mud splashed up the hem of her dress as she rushed toward the house. Her breath came hard and uneven. By the time she reached the door, her hands were trembling so badly she nearly missed the handle.
She shoved it open.
Inside, the room fell silent.
Her parents turned first. Then Sirene. Then the three unfamiliar men seated on woven stools near the center of the room.
Khari smelled the aura of one of them immediately.
Badri.
Even without the black ceremonial cloak he had worn in the shrine, he carried the same unsettling stillness. He was dressed now in layered robes of deep brown and muted gold, garments finer than anything worn in the village, his hair oiled and tied neatly back from his face. On either side of him sat two younger priests, both quiet and watchful.
A pile of expensive gifts rested in the corner of the room: folded fabrics, sacks of grain, polished jars, baskets, bottles, bundles tied with silk cord.
Khari's stomach dropped.
Her mother's face lit up when she saw her.
"Khari, sweetie," Foni said quickly, too brightly. "Come. Sit down."
Khari remained near the door, chest rising and falling, "What is going on?" she asked. Her voice was sharper than she intended. "Who are these people?"
Badri smiled.
It was a calm, controlled smile—one that revealed nothing, "I am Badri," he said, "deputy priest of the royal family. These are my assistants."
Khari did not move.
His eyes settled on her for only a second too long, and something about it made her skin crawl. It was the look of a man confirming something he already knew.
"Sit, daughter," Heya urged, beaming so hard his face looked strained. "This is good news."
Good news.
Khari nearly laughed.
Her gaze flicked to Sirene.
Her sister sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her expression caught somewhere between astonishment and caution. Her hair had been combed and tied more carefully than usual, as though their mother had already begun preparing her for inspection.
Khari crossed the room slowly and lowered herself beside her.
Sirene's hand brushed against hers.
It was cold.
Badri folded his hands together.
"I'm sure you are all wondering," he began, "why the royal priests have visited your home so early in the morning. I will tell you."
The room felt suddenly smaller.
"Luck," he said, "has befallen your household."
Heya let out a breathless laugh. Foni pressed her palms together as if in prayer.
Badri continued smoothly, "The youngest son of His Majesty, Prince Avana, has fallen in love with your youngest daughter."
The words landed like thunder.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Then Foni gasped.
Heya stared, open-mouthed, as if he had forgotten how to breathe. One of his hands went to his chest. Sirene's lips parted in shock.
Khari did not speak.
She could not.
All she could hear was her grandmother's voice.
They picked her because she's a virgin.
Badri turned his gaze toward Sirene, his expression almost benevolent.
"It is a rare thing," he said, "for royal affection to settle upon a common household. Rarer still upon one of modest means. Yet Prince Avana has insisted. He admires your daughter deeply."
Khari's jaw tightened.
He admires her deeply.
A prince who had never set foot in this village. A prince whose life had unfolded in marble halls and guarded courtyards. A prince who, according to the story being told, had somehow seen Sirene, learned her name, discovered where she lived, and sent royal priests to claim her.
It was such a fragile lie. So thin. So obvious.
And yet her parents were swallowing it whole.
"He has done much to convince the king and court," Badri went on. "The prince's heart is sincere. What remains now is for your dear Sirene to accept his hand in marriage."
"We accept!" The answer exploded from Heya before anyone else could even turn toward him.
Foni nodded eagerly. "It is an honor, my lord. An unimaginable honor."
Khari whipped around to look at them, "Mother? Father?"
But they were not looking at her. Their eyes were fixed on Badri, shining with a gratitude so raw it made her chest ache.
Khari understood it. That was the worst part.
They were poor.
Not starving, not destitute, but poor enough for hope to be dangerous. Poor enough that luxury itself could pass for salvation. A royal marriage meant security, status, food, protection, a future none of them could have dreamed of buying with their own labor.
Badri had not merely offered them a blessing.
He had offered them a new life.
And poor people, Khari thought bitterly, were rarely allowed to question miracles.
"Perhaps," she said carefully, "we should speak as a family first."
The room went quiet again.
Badri's smile did not move, "There is no need for delay," he said. "Good fortune should not be kept waiting."
Khari ignored him and turned to her sister, "Sirene," she said, keeping her voice as steady as she could. "What do you think?"
All eyes shifted.
Sirene stiffened.
For the first time since Khari arrived, the younger girl seemed truly trapped. She looked first at their parents and saw desperate joy. Then at the gifts in the corner and saw a future glowing like polished gold. Then finally at Khari.
Khari tried to put everything into that look.
Please.
Please understand.
Please ask questions.
Please say no.
But Sirene's gaze faltered, "I…" she began. Her voice was barely audible.
Badri waited.
Foni leaned forward, smiling too widely.
Heya nodded encouragement.
Sirene swallowed, "I accept."
The room erupted.
Her parents burst into delighted laughter and praise at once. Even the younger priests smiled. Heya slapped his knees in disbelief, while Foni covered her mouth and began thanking the gods under her breath.
Khari sat frozen.
Beside her, Sirene's shoulders had gone rigid.
Badri inclined his head, as though a sacred bargain had just been completed.
"Excellent," he said. "In five days, we will return to escort your family to the palace. There, you will officially reside for as long as your daughter remains married to the prince."
As long as your daughter remains married.
Khari heard the trap in the wording immediately.
Her mother and father did not.
Badri rose gracefully to his feet. The two younger priests followed.
"There is one more thing," he said. The warmth in the room cooled at once, "Our visit must remain secret."
Heya straightened. "Secret, my lord?"
Badri nodded solemnly, "You understand how people are. Envious. Malicious. Quick to ruin what they cannot have. If word spreads before your relocation, your family may become the target of murder."
Foni gasped softly.
"The opportunity before you is rare," Badri said. "Rare things must be protected."
Khari nearly choked on the lie.
He wasn't protecting them from villagers. He was isolating them. Ensuring no one else asked questions. Ensuring no one helped.
Badri looked at each of them in turn, "Can you do that?"
"Yes, my lord," Heya said at once.
"Of course," Foni added.
Sirene nodded weakly.
Khari said nothing.
Badri's gaze touched her last. For a flicker of a second, his expression changed. The smile remained, but something colder looked out from behind it. A warning, perhaps. Or recognition.
He knew she doubted him.
He knew she saw the cracks in the story.
And he did not care.
"Very well," he said. "We will see you in five days."
Heya hurried to escort the priests outside, practically tripping over his own feet in his eagerness. Foni rose immediately and went to inspect the gifts more closely, murmuring in amazement as she touched the fine cloth. Sirene stood more slowly, gathering one of the folded garments to carry into the sleeping area.
Khari stayed where she was.
Her hands had become fists in her lap.
When the door closed and the sound of male voices drifted faintly from outside, she turned to her mother.
"Mother—"
"Not another word, dear." Foni did not even look at her.
Khari stared, "You do not even know these people."
"I know enough."
"No, you don't." Khari rose to her feet. "The royal family lives in the capital. We live in the fifth village. The furthest Sirene has ever traveled is the third village market. When exactly did the prince see her?"
Foni's fingers paused over a folded length of cloth.
Khari stepped closer, her voice gaining force, "How did he learn her name? How did he find our house? Why would he send priests instead of noble messengers? Why is everything so sudden? Why must it be secret? Why five days?"
"Khari—"
"It doesn't make sense."
Foni stood abruptly, "Not every blessing comes with an explanation!"
The words cracked through the room.
For a moment both women stared at each other.
Khari's heart hammered so loudly she could hear it in her ears.
"What if it's a trap?" she asked, quieter now.
Foni's expression softened—but only with pity, "It is not a trap," she said. "It is the answer to prayers people like us are not usually allowed to speak aloud."
Khari looked away.
People like us.
She hated how true that sounded.
Heya came back inside still smiling, his whole face transformed by hope. "They were respectful men," he said. "Very respectful. Did you see the carriage? Did you see the horses?"
Khari turned to him, "Father, listen to yourself. You think this is about horses?" she demanded. "You think a prince just wakes up one day and decides to marry a girl from a village he has never visited?"
Sirene emerged from the sleeping area then, clutching a folded robe of soft blue fabric. "Khari," she said, almost pleading, "please."
Khari turned to her, "Please what? Think? Ask questions? Save your life?"
Sirene flinched.
Foni's face hardened instantly. "That is enough."
"No, it isn't enough." Khari moved toward her sister, lowering her voice. "Sirene, tell me honestly. Do you believe this? Do you truly believe some prince has fallen in love with you from afar?"
Sirene looked down at the robe in her hands. "I don't know," she whispered.
There it was.
The truth.
Hope did not need to be believable. It only needed to be brighter than whatever came before it.
Khari closed her eyes briefly, "Then why accept?"
Sirene lifted her head, and for the first time, there was something fierce in her face. "Because maybe," she said, "I am tired of this life."
The words hit harder than anger would have.
Sirene's mouth trembled, but she kept going. "Maybe I am tired of counting sacks of grain and pretending they will last. Maybe I am tired of mending clothes until there is nothing left to mend. Maybe I am tired of watching Mother worry over salt and Father pretend everything is fine. Maybe I am tired of being one bad harvest away from hunger."
No one spoke.
Khari felt the floor shift beneath her.
Sirene's eyes glistened.
"And maybe," she said softly, "I want something beautiful to happen to me."
Khari's anger faltered.
Because she understood that too.
Under different circumstances, perhaps she would have wanted it for her sister as much as anyone. A palace. Silk. Safety. Full plates. Soft hands. A life not carved from labor and mud.
But not this.
Never this.
Khari exhaled shakily. "I am going back to the mountain," she said.
Foni scoffed. "To do what?"
"To tell Grandma about the move."
A shadow crossed Foni's face, "No," she said sharply. "She is not part of this family."
Khari stared at her. "What?"
"Do not take our business to that woman."
Khari frowned. "She is family. She gave birth to Father."
Silence.
Then, to Khari's confusion, both parents avoided her eyes.
A prickling unease went through her.
"Why are you both looking like that?"
Foni sighed. "Because it is time you knew."
Heya sat slowly, as though the strength had gone out of him.
"Your father's parents died a long time ago," Foni said.
Khari frowned harder. "What are you saying?"
"That woman is not your grandmother."
The room seemed to tilt.
Khari let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "What?"
"On the night you were born," Foni said, "she came to this house claiming you were the reincarnation of her master. She said it was her duty to watch over you."
Khari stared.
"She looked half-dead," Foni continued. "Dirty, starved, barely human. Your father pitied her and let her stay. The village made assumptions. We did not correct them. It was easier that way."
Khari took a step back, "No."
"It is the truth."
"No."
Sirene looked equally stunned, though not nearly as devastated.
Khari shook her head. "You're lying."
Foni made it certain, "We are not."
"Then why—why would you let me call her Grandma all these years?"
"Because you loved her," Heya said quietly at last. "And because she loved you."
That only made it worse.
Khari felt something tear inside her—not because the old woman was not blood, but because no one had thought the truth belonged to her.
All those years.
All those visits.
All those stories.
All that tenderness.
All of it hidden beneath a lie.
Khari's throat burned.
Without another word, she turned and walked out of the house.
Behind her, someone called her name.
She did not stop.
...