Their first stop was the dining room.

  The long table, which took up most of the room, seemed more like a decoration than something you could touch, let alone eat on; it was made of electrum, a very expensive and precious material that was a natural alloy of gold and silver, and was inlaid with the same gold and silver, whose brilliance resembled the bright but blinding rays of the sun and the dim but soothing light of the moon. Even the Prince himself, who had been surrounded by all kinds of precious things since childhood, did not want to eat at this table when he looked at it — what if it got ruined forever?

  The chairs stood out sharply against the table — not because they were even more exotic, no; quite the opposite — in comparison with it, they looked too boring and extremely ordinary. But this was only in comparison; if you looked at them without the table, they seemed no less beautiful: carved from alabaster stone, they shone like stars in the night sky, without overshadowing the table, but rather complementing it, bringing together not only the sun and the moon, but also the stars.

  Various vases and other decorations similar to those in Pharaoh's private office were also placed throughout the dining room, including oil lamps of various shapes that complemented the expensive interior of the royal dining room.

  However, all this paled in comparison to the basic but extraordinarily beautiful table and chairs.

  "From now on, you will eat here too," said Arenor, finishing showing Airena the royal dining room. "If you get hungry, or just want something specific, be sure to tell Zafir," he pointed to the guard standing nearby, "and he will inform the cooks, who will prepare everything for—"

  "Too?" Airena suddenly asked in a hoarse voice.

  Although Arenor didn't immediately understand what she was asking at first, his eyes widened with happiness — 'she finally spoke!'

  "Yes, too," he replied hastily, afraid that if he delayed his answer even for a second, the sparkle of liveliness that had appeared in Airena's eyes would disappear without a trace. "I already eat here, and now you will eat here too, which means that from now on we will eat here together."

  But the Prince's fears were confirmed; even despite his quick response, the sparkle in her eyes disappeared without a trace, and she fell silent again, leaving his words, filled with hope of hearing her response, hanging in the air.

  Arenor exhaled loudly — he felt the oppressive feeling of unbearable sadness in his heart again, but mentally cheered himself up — despite Shafia's words about Airena's complete lack of reaction, she had spoken after all. It may have been a small thing, but it made him incredibly happy. Arenor hoped that if he tried hard enough, he would be able to help her and pull her out of this vegetative-like state.

  He hoped that at least this time he would be able to save her.

  ***

  Their second stop was the toilet and the font.

  And while Arenor conducted the tour of the toilet rather quickly, since even in the royal version of this place there was nothing interesting, they lingered in the font.

  From the very threshold, it seemed that compared to the other rooms, this one had very high ceilings and was much larger in size, but this was just an optical illusion created by the absence of numerous decorations and furniture, whose dazzling brightness could be envied even by fiery opals.

  The only exceptions to the list of decorations were the numerous oil lamps placed here and there, illuminating the font chamber with their dim light to save those entering it from accidentally falling into the water and subsequently, just as accidentally, drowning.

  There were no exceptions in the list of furniture, since the deep rectangular font, which occupied almost the entire room with its enormous size, except for small areas of floor near the walls and the steps for exiting it, was, in Arenor's opinion, not furniture at all, but something for which he had not yet come up with a name.

  The water inside it was clean and, surprisingly, still cool — its breeze pleasantly touched their skin, heated and sweaty from the heat, gently washing it with its freshness.

  "Now you will bathe here too," said Arenor, half expecting Airena to ask him the same question she had asked him last time.

  But she did not.

  "But," he continued when it became clear that she was not going to say anything, "even though we will be together, we will not bathe together." Pause. "Unless you want to, of course," Arenor said jokingly, this time waiting much more hopefully for her reaction to his words.

  However, just like last time, his words were met with no response.

  "You..." Arenor began, feeling an unexpected anger burning in his chest. "Why are you silent, Airena?" Despite the irritation so clearly audible in his voice, there was also despair in it that could not only be heard but also felt. "Why aren't you talking, Airena?" He clenched his hands into fists, resisting the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her — Arenor knew that wouldn't help.

  He crouched down near the font and, scooping some water into his palm, said:

  "Maybe if I splash you with water, you'll finally come to your senses and—"

  "Arenor, don't do that," Zafir suddenly said, addressing the Prince by name and in a commanding tone, thereby breaking all possible rules of etiquette. "Don't you dare."

  He wanted to object; to say that his guard had no right to speak to him in such a familiar and disrespectful manner, and in the end to splash water in Airena's face in order to elicit at least some kind of reaction from her — even if she hit him, even if she killed him. At least that would be much better than the absolute lack of reaction, as if she were actually a dead soul locked in a living body.

  But for a moment, Arenor hesitated and looked at her again: her lifeless gaze was fixed on the water, while her arms hung limply at her sides like heavy weights, her back hunched over, carrying the invisible burden of emotional and psychological trauma on her fragile shoulders.

  All this made Arenor feel a pang of shame; now Airena was completely helpless in her condition and could not respond to him even with a glance, even with a word, even with a gesture — and even more so, she could not respond to him with action. If he had splashed water on her now, it would have been no different than if he had splashed water on a beaten and abandoned kitten.

  It would have been simply inhumane.

  After all, neither the little kitten nor Airena could have responded to even such a harmless action.

  And Arenor, fortunately or unfortunately, even though he really wanted to wake her from this state, was not ready to become a monster — neither in her eyes nor in his own.

  ***

  Their third and fourth stops were Pharaoh's office and the Prince's bedroom.

  However, Arenor was not sure that the third stop could be considered as such, because unlike other places in the palace, which he showed to Airena with almost detailed accuracy in an attempt to interest her, this time he did not even take her inside the room.

  After all, despite his hatred for his father, he respected him as the Pharaoh of the country in which he lived and as the husband of his mother, who had given birth to him, and he could not show his private office to anyone without his permission, as this was a direct violation of the rules; at the very least, he did not want to, because it was a direct violation of his own principles.

  Therefore, he limited himself to showing Airena where the office was located.

  "This door," he pointed to a door that looked too ancient compared to the others and was made of a strange material that was impossible to identify at first glance, "leads to the Pharaoh's office. While my father is away from the palace, I—"

  "What is this?"

  Small wrinkles appeared on Arenor's face: some near his lips, which curved into a smile of joy that Airena had spoken again; others above his eyebrows, which frowned in confusion at what she meant.

  "What... is this...?"

  The Prince watched as she moved closer to the door and ran her fingertips over it, as if curious.

  "Ah, you mean this..." Standing behind her, he raised his hand and, just as gently as she had, ran his fingertips over the door, following the same path as Airena.

  He knew he was copying her movements on purpose; he wanted to share this little moment of curiosity with her, even if it was in such a strange way.

  "This is Tamarisk wood," he explained. "A long, long time ago, about a hundred years ago, when the kingdom of Apharia didn't even exist yet, it was used to make furniture, including doors. Since few people knew how to carve stone at that time, as it was very difficult and laborious work, wood was used instead of stone, as it is much softer and therefore easier to carve. And since the only trees that grew to full size were tamarisk trees, it was decided to use them. In addition, their wood was very hard and durable, which helped the things made from it to survive in this hot and dry desert climate. And also—"

  "Why not?" Airena interrupted him.

  Arenor's face flushed with embarrassment, turning a delicate pink color—the same color as the clusters of flowers that appeared on the tips of tamarisk branches during flowering—when he realized that he had gotten a little carried away playing the history teacher.

  "Why... not...?" he asked carefully, trying not to ruin the moment or distract her, and to understand what she meant.

  "Why..." she tensed her whole body, as if formulating the sentence or searching for the right word caused her physical pain, "...not anymore?"

  "Why not... anymore...?" he asked, glancing quickly at the door and instantly understanding the meaning of Airena's question. "Ah, it's because this tree no longer grows. After so many hundreds of years, our climate has become much worse: even hotter and even drier. So even these trees simply couldn't withstand it and died out, and people, left with no choice, switched to stone carving. Probably..." He paused for a second. "...this door is one of the last remaining things made from Tamarisk wood."

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  The Prince's last words were spoken with a slight but clearly noticeable sadness in his voice.

  "Actually," he said suddenly, after a long pause, "this door is still here thanks to my father, who literally saved it from death by restoring it... but still, I can't—"

  "Why?"

  "Huh?" Arenor flinched slightly at her question, as it pulled him out of the thoughts he had unknowingly immersed himself in. "Ah, it's to preserve an ancient relic. After all, historical records simply cannot convey all the beauty of the things that existed in ancient times — but this way, you can see them for yourself and feel it for yourself, even if they look a little worn." Pause. "By the way, about historical records..." A playful smile blossomed on his face, and mischievous sparks danced in his eyes. "...do you know where most of them are kept?"

  "In... in..." she tensed up again, "...in the library?"

  "Wrong," he said.

  But then, afraid that Airena would be upset by her supposedly wrong answer, he added:

  "Actually, you're right — that's how it should be. However, it so happens that for several years now, most of the historical records and books have been stored in my bedroom, because I just love to read and often take something from the library, but then either forget to return them or simply refuse to do so because I want to reread them or simply because I want to keep them on my bookshelf, as I enjoy not only reading them but also just looking at them." Pause. "But as for—"

  "Why?"

  The mischievous sparkle in his eyes was joined by a happy one when he heard her ask her sixth question of the tour.

  "I just enjoy looking at them: either because I've already read them and absorbed their knowledge, or because I haven't read them yet and am looking forward to the moment when I do and absorb their knowledge," Arenor replied, immediately understanding the meaning of her question. "So, as for my bedroom..." he took her by the hand and led her to another door, located not far from the first one, and one that, unlike the first, literally screamed of the wealth hidden behind it, "...it's here."

  Without needing to be asked or told, Nasir opened the door, allowing Arenor to enter first and bring Airen in behind him.

  The bedroom of Crown Prince Arenor was truly beautiful: windows that let in rivers of sunlight flooded the entire room with golden light. The walls were lined with cabinets, their shelves filled with various books: from historical records intended to educate the reader to fictional stories intended to entertain. Several chests in the room were filled with clothes and headgear, which Arenor disliked wearing because they made his head sweat even faster than it did without them, thanks to the usual heat. There was also a table and chair in the bedroom, which, although not as ornate as the dining room furniture, still stood out from the rest.

  But most of all, of course, the bed stood out.

  Made entirely of gold, the bed shone brightly even in the pitch darkness, without the help of sunlight or the light of oil lamps shining on it. The lapis lazuli and turquoise inlays shone even brighter, almost blinding anyone who dared to look at them. The carved lion legs looked like silent guards protecting the Prince's peace during his sleep, ready to open their mouths at the slightest threat and attack whoever caused it.

  However, it stood out not only for its beauty, but also for its complete lack of comfort, since—

  "What's this?" asked Airena, pointing to the place where the mattress should have been.

  "Those are leather straps," replied Arenor, delighted by her latest question. "They are stretched between the bed rails and used instead of a mattress."

  "Why?"

  "Although they are softer and more comfortable than leather laces, they also absorb any liquid very well—including sweat, which is secreted in large quantities by a person living in conditions of constant sharp temperature changes—which causes mold to appear, as well as various bugs, some of which are quite harmless—but can still crawl into your ear, nose, or mouth while you sleep, which, you must agree, is not particularly pleasant—while others are very dangerous to humans: even a single bite can be fatal," he explained, sitting down on the bed and pulling Airena after him, forcing her to do the same. "In the past, when mattresses were first invented, the royal family used them, enjoying incredible comfort. However, after a while, they noticed that they began to fall ill frequently, and bites of unknown origin began to appear on their bodies. The turning point came when one of the members of the royal family was paralyzed and later died. Later, they discovered that his mattress was literally covered with mold and mites, as well as..." Arenor suddenly faltered and fell silent; he understood that Airena, having lived on the streets all this time, had seen much more terrible and disgusting things, but he still didn't want to finish the sentence; and he was honest enough with himself to admit that he himself was uncomfortable describing it all. "In the end," he continued, "they decided to stop using them, and because they were no longer needed, mattress production was halted."

  "What's that?" Airena asked again, but this time pointing to where the pillow should have been.

  "It's a headrest. It's needed to keep the head still while sleeping."

  "Why?"

  Arenor's smile widened thanks to Airena's tenth and anniversary question following his explanation.

  "Historical records say that only the royal family used headrests, as it was believed that they were the intermediaries between the common people and... the gods," he said the last word a little more quietly, even though no one—not even his own guards—could overhear them. "This meant that they had to be pure in their intentions, which was proven by the headrest — during sleep, a person was forced to lie face up, which proved that they had nothing to hide from the gods, since they did not hide their face from their all-seeing gaze."

  "Why not?"

  "Even historical records do not provide an answer to this question," replied Arenor, this time easily understanding the meaning of Airena's question. "Although after the complete ban on religion, this thing became meaningless, for some reason it was never removed. Either because they simply forgot to do so, or because they decided to leave it as a sign of distinction of the royal family or as a tradition of the royal family."

  Airena ran her fingertips over the headboard, which looked almost as ancient as the door leading to Pharaoh's office, as it was clearly made of the same material. She frowned, either not understanding its meaning or worrying that she herself would have to sleep on it.

  Deciding it was the latter, Arenor smiled slightly and said:

  "Don't worry, you won't have to sleep on it. I've ordered a regular bed to be put in your room, so you won't have to suffer."

  This time, Airena said nothing, causing the dancing lights in Arenor's eyes to fade.

  But he wasn't going to give up so easily.

  "By the way, about your room..."

  He got up from the bed, then took Airena by the hand and pulled her after him, forcing her to do the same.

  "It's time for the last stop — a stop in your new bedroom, which I prepared especially for you."

  But Airena didn't answer again.

  ***

  Their fifth and final stop was Airena's bedroom.

  More precisely, it was supposed to be, because before that, they made one more stop in the hallway when Airena stopped, ran her fingertips along its strangely uneven walls, which were also present in other rooms of the palace, and asked:

  "Why?"

  Arenor smiled but rolled his eyes; along with the joy of Airena talking, despite his desire to show off his knowledge and spend more time with her, he also felt a little irritated that she was now behaving like a curious little child, asking him so many of the same questions.

  After all, he was not just a Prince now, but his father's deputy, and he still had a lot of work to do before the end of the day.

  But despite this, he still couldn't resist her sparkling, lively eyes and replied:

  "You mean, why are they uneven?" he stopped next to her and, without waiting for a nod or shake of the head, replied. "It's because they used to have images of gods and goddesses on them." his voice lowered again, "but then, after religion and any mention of it were banned, many buildings with their images were demolished, and those that were not demolished—either because it took too long or because it was too expensive—had the top layer of their walls scraped off. However, since this work was done carelessly, and after its completion no one bothered to smooth everything out, they remained uneven, and upon closer inspection, one can even see faint traces of the drawings."

  Finishing his explanation, he gently but firmly took Airena by the hand and led her away from the walls.

  "I know you find all this very interesting, but let's not linger. You still need to rest..."

  '...and I still need to work,' he thought to himself.

  When they stopped in front of the entrance to another room, Arenor said:

  "Here it is..."

  Nasir, needing no prompting, silently opened the door, allowing Arenor to enter first and bring Airena in behind him.

  "...your new bedroom."

  Airena's new bedroom was truly beautiful: small windows that let large rays of sunlight into the room; a soft bed, despite the leather straps instead of a mattress, whose comfort contrasted wildly with the sand and thin fabrics spread on it, on which she had previously been forced to sleep; several chests with a large amount of varied clothing, enough to last her a lifetime; and a mirror in which she could see her reflection much more clearly than in the smooth surface of the Niloufar River, which now bore a different name, but one not too different from the first - Niluar.

  "I prepared all this especially for you," Arenor said suddenly. "I personally chose the furniture, picked out the decorations, and even the clothes. I hoped I could help you start a new life. And honestly, despite your current condition, I still hope for that," his voice trembled slightly with the emotions that were overwhelming him, now writhing out of his mouth in a continuous stream of words. "I can't even imagine what you've been through, and I know it may seem like the end to you right now, but it's not. It's just a new beginning. And I promise I'll make sure it's the best beginning you've ever had," he paused to swallow the saliva that had accumulated in his mouth. "I've already made all the arrangements for the funeral ceremony, so tonight we can honor your brother and—"

  But Airena couldn't hear anything else. Her world stopped after his words about her brother, the funeral ceremony, and the honor they were supposed to honor tonight.

  The spark of life disappeared from her eyes, her back hunched, her arms hung limply, and her knees bent slightly.

  Her consciousness, which had only just begun to emerge, crept back, as if hiding behind the horizon, like the morning sun that had suddenly lost the desire to rise.

  "...I have prepared a gift for you!" Arenor continued excitedly, completely oblivious to any changes in Airena.

  Approaching the table on which the golden box stood, he couldn't help but glance at the vase standing nearby, from which peered an incredibly beautiful lotus flower that, thanks to the skillful work of its creator, seemed almost real. He paused for a moment before turning his attention back to the box, and, taking out what he needed, returned to Airena.

  "This headdress..." he began, coming up close to her and placing his gift on her head: a thin silver chain resembling a spider's web because of the pattern it formed in her hair; many pieces of silver, some small, some larger, adorned her, resembling either drops of morning dew that had fallen on her or small spiders crawling and descending on her. But all this faded into the background against the opal set right in the center of Airena's forehead, shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow, like the shell of a rainbow scarab. "...is called a tika."

  However, instead of following up with an explanation of what exactly this tika was, where it came from, what it was used for in the past and what it was used for now, and most importantly, why he had suddenly decided to give it to Airena, he simply took a few steps back and looked at her with eyes full of love and reverence — so much so that the rest of the world ceased to exist for him; for him, the girl standing before him was not a stranger, but a goddess.

  "You... are beautiful," said Arenor, coming closer. "You're just so—"

  "Done?"

  He flinched as if she had slapped him in the face.

  "What do you mean?" he asked, hope in his voice, hoping that her answer would be anything but what it obviously was going to be.

  "Are you... done?"

  Hearing her answer, the lights in Arenor's eyes, shining with the light of a thousand stars, burned out completely.

  "Yes... I'm done," he said, stepping away from her. "I'm done with the tour."

  Arenor understood: he was to blame for Airena's mood. Just a few minutes ago, he had complained that she was too curious and asked too many questions, and that her childish behavior annoyed him. And now he got what he wanted: no curiosity, no endless questions, and no childish behavior; he got silence.

  But why did he feel so much worse now? Why did he now feel something much worse than irritation? Why did he now feel pain?

  Arenor understood: this was his punishment.

  Punishment for his thoughts, which, although unspoken, had still been heard.

  And this time, he really did need to give up; it was the right thing to do.

  When he had already left the room, he suddenly turned around and said:

  "If you need anything, you can—"

  However, he did not have time to finish, because Airena, either not hearing him or not wanting to, slammed the door right in front of him.

  He exhaled sharply, as if the door had hit him.

  But it was not the door at all, but Airena's action, the realization of which knocked all the air out of his lungs.

  The guards standing nearby tensed slightly, waiting for his reaction.

  But Arenor just leaned his forehead against the door and whispered:

  "Sweet dreams... dear Airena."