In his windowless room, Osmund could tell when morning had come from the sounds of life returned to the mansion, and the light peeking through the crack beneath the door.

He rose from bed feeling better than he had in months. The pleasant twinge in his joints told him he must have rested soundly for a very long time. Even so, he was amazed at how improved he was: it was as if he’d been off his feet for a week instead of one single day. Curiously, not even the blisters remained from his many long hours wandering the street.

Then he opened the door, and was greeted at once by the bustle of the other servants.

Osmund balked, feeling lost. Everyone looked so clean and put-together and…busy, scurrying about with linens and brooms and baskets under their arms, en route from one corner of the manor to another. They ignored him as effectively as if he’d been a wooden post. Admittedly he’d never paid much attention to domestics back when he was a prince—they had no reason to love him, and Father would’ve been cross to know he was speaking with them in the first place. He had no idea how to interact with them as an equal, even without the language barrier.

He’d been standing there in a buffoonish manner for nearly a minute before a servant girl stopped and inspected him, unabashed. Osmund stared back.

“U-um,” he said.

She seized his elbow. He flinched at the unexpected contact. “Well? Are you an ████ or something?” (Osmund was pretty sure he could fill in the blanks.) She sighed. “I’ll show you where the ███ is. Come. Come on!”

Without further ado, she pulled him behind like a kite, and along he went, stumbling.

They arrived in the kitchens, where a flurry of cooks were hard at work preparing the next meal. Osmund had eaten roast mutton often enough back home in the castle, but was unprepared for the queasy sensation that overtook him, seeing the gruesome work up close. It really drove home what a sheltered princeling he’d been. “You missed ████,” the girl told him. She opened the door to what was evidently the larder, and pulled out some cheese and fruit. “Eat. You’re ███ as a ███.”

Osmund didn’t need to be told twice. (Apparently, the bloody carcasses hadn’t completely spoiled his appetite.) He sank his teeth into the offerings, mindless of his audience. It was so, so good to really eat. The dinner Cemil had had sent to him the night before had been the same way; he’d practically inhaled it in a fugue. He wasn’t sure he’d even tasted it.

The girl clicked her tongue, but she was smiling. Maybe she approved of his appetite. “You’ll ███ ███ soon, don’t worry,” she said. Then she raised her skinny arm and patted her thin padding of muscle. “Get nice and big.”

Osmund flushed. “Me?! Get big? I don’t know.” They were the first real words he’d managed so far.

She laughed at him. It wasn’t a mean or a mocking laugh. She was actually a nice girl, Osmund thought, with an open, pretty face. Her hair was tied back in dangling, practical black braids. She was probably about his own age, he realized, or maybe even younger.

“Where are you from?” she asked him curiously.

This was the longest single interaction in Meskato Osmund had possibly ever had, and he was surprised at how much he understood. “I’m from Valcrest,” he replied after another big bite. “In Tolm.”

She shrugged, like that meant nothing to her. “Do all men there look and speak like you?”

If she’d had a chance to meet Father—with his huge, manly frame and imperious voice that filled any room—she’d have known in a heartbeat that Osmund was a strange one. He was preparing to answer when an older servant woman approached.

“Nuray!” she scolded. “This is the şehzade’s new ████. Don’t ███ him.”

Nuray looked appropriately chastised. After spending these last few minutes with her, Osmund was pretty sure it was an act, but he still felt the need to leap to her defense. “I-it’s alright,” he attempted. “She is helping me.”

On cue, Nuray nodded, the image of humility. “That’s right, Auntie Damla.” Then she turned back to him. “What do you want to see next?”

Osmund was pretty sure he ought to go find the stables—and was eager for it in fact!—but he couldn’t pass up this chance. “I don’t know how to say it,” he admitted, in what he was sure was barely comprehensible Meskato, “b-but…there is a place I want to go.”

Osmund had caught a glimpse of the library on the way to the bathhouse. Even in passing, he’d marveled at the wide array of books and scrolls, enough to rival what they’d enjoyed at Valcrest Castle. Father himself had never been much of a reader, and Osmund, likewise, was hopeless when it came to mathematics and military history and all the usual subjects that brilliant men tended to pen volumes about, but he couldn’t get enough of novels. Namely, romantic fiction.

You see—and it pained him to admit it even to himself—but his greatest, most secret aspiration was to fall in love.

That was what had motivated him to run away from Pravin’s estate, and all Pravin’s promises. Not the realities of Father’s cold body, or the very real possibility that their re-capture of Valcrest from the necromancer queen would fail. It was the thought that, if he didn’t escape the arranged marriage with Pravin’s deceptively innocent-looking daughter, Lady Selenne, who planned to keep him like a toy and use him as a captive son-making machine, Osmund would never get his chance at happiness.

On his second night on the streets, hungry and wearing only the worn trousers and shirt that he’d stolen right off someone’s clothesline, he knew he’d been a colossal idiot. Only rich men could afford such romantic fantasies. And the more his stomach gurgled, the more he hated himself for learning yet another lesson the hard way.

Human beings needed to eat, and they needed a place to rest their heads at night. They didn’t need to find their one true love, like the hero always did in the stories. Osmund could’ve been happy with just the books. Lord Pravin and Lady Selenne would’ve let him have that, at least.

Obviously, he didn’t attempt to recount any of this when he and Nuray stepped into the library. On instinct he averted his eyes when the well-dressed scholars who had made this their base of operations raised their heads to watch them enter. A worrying thought occurred.

“Are we…” Osmund fumbled through his limited vocabulary. Are we servants allowed in here? was what he wanted to ask. “Are we…okay to be here?”

Nuray nodded firmly. “████ them,” she declared. Then, slowly, “You can read?”

He didn’t miss the look of open longing that came over Nuray’s eyes. This was a girl who wanted something that he had, an ability that he’d always taken for granted.

“Do you like…” Osmund began, but he couldn’t finish the sentence. Stories, novels, books—he didn’t know any of those words in Meskato. He gestured to their surroundings instead.

Now Nuray looked embarrassed too. Her eyes fell to the carpet, plush beneath their feet. “Yes,” she said. “Others read. I like to listen.”

Osmund walked carefully to a row of shelves, ignoring the errant stares being thrown in their direction. (Nuray walked behind him, surprisingly cowed.) He couldn’t read Meskato, of course, but surely there had to be something here in Tolmish. This was such a full library; even in Valcrest Castle, there’d been plenty of foreign tomes hiding among the stacks, gifts from some dignitary or another. He wished the Meskato wrote more often in characters he recognized, at least, rather than the flowing script they’d adopted from the Sulamese!

His eye caught upon some familiar letters, and he gravitated to the book immediately. Here it was! This was what he’d been looking for! His own letters! His own tongue! Only…

He stared numbly at the book. It wasn’t a romantic novel, not even mathematics or military history. It was, of all things, a dictionary. He was cursed, as usual.

But wait.

He turned it backwards and forwards, flipping through the pages. This wasn’t any old dictionary, he realized, pulse quickening. Far from a curse, this was his salvation. This was divine intervention.

This was a Tolmish-Meskato dictionary!

He held the book firmly to his chest, issuing a silent prayer. When he’d first arrived in Şebyan, he’d had no interest in learning the local language or customs. All he cared about was getting back home. It was a dream he’d clung to single-mindedly for so long.

Whether he could ever make a new home here, Osmund wasn’t sure. But he knew he wanted to understand the people around him and express himself in turn. For as long as he was here, he at least wanted to stop feeling like an outsider.

“Are you done?” Nuray cut in. Osmund was thrown by her urgency. He would’ve thought a girl who aspired to read would enjoy being in a library! “Let’s go.”

They made their way back to the main servants’ quarters. Osmund knew he had to begin work soon. Idly he wondered about Cemil, and when he’d see him again. Now that he was out of sight, the memory of him didn’t seem entirely real.

He opened his mouth, possibly to try and ask about their employer the prince, and was surprised to see Nuray moving away from him. “Wait!” he exclaimed. “I…um…where do you go?”

“I have to ███ to work,” she said. “You should too.”

He began to sweat, anxious to know what he’d done wrong. Osmund had barely dared hope he might make a friend here—his very first friend, possibly ever!—and already it seemed he’d ruined it, just like he always did. “Sorry,” he said wretchedly, though he wasn’t sure for what. “I…I was happy that you…talk to me.” Verbs were still such tricky things. She hesitated, her back to him.

Bravely, he continued. “I’m Osmund. It’s…nice to meet you.”

Finally, she angled her head back at him.

“See you, Osmund,” she said. And then she disappeared down the hall.

Osmund stood, scrutinizing their interactions in his head. Nuray had been uncomfortable in the library, especially with the scholars staring at them. Maybe she was embarrassed to be a poor servant who couldn’t read. Maybe, Osmund realized, she thinks I’ll look down on her for it. It was difficult to believe that a confident girl like that could care about what he thought.

He made her a silent vow. One day, if I figure out how to help myself, I’ll help you too!