"Why must I go?" said the girl, looking at herself in a mirror of polished bronze as her mother brushed her waist-length black hair. Her mother's face tightened, but she said nothing and instead brushed another tress to its tip. The girl did not ask again, but her pale hands played across the inlaid wood of the dressing table. Her fingers passed over her ivory jewellery boxes and a pallet of rouges and lip colourings.

"Pass me those hair clips." Her mother's voice rasped with suppressed emotion. The girl picked up a silver tray of earrings and hair clips, and her mother selected two of filigree gold shaped like doves. She pulled the two sheaves of hair to the back of the girl's head, and placed a clip on either side so that an inky waterfall flowed over the girl's back "Now the ribbon." A long silk ribbon was solemnly passed to her by one of the servants, and the waterfall was reduced to a river, bounded by the red silk, ended with a simple but beautiful knot.

The girl shifted herself to face her mother, and cosmetics were applied to enhance her young face. Black kohl framed her eyes and aquamarine and viridian paints made from crushed lapis and copper oxide was applied to her lids and forehead. Cinnabar powder was dusted on her cheeks to hide her pale skin, and her delicate pink mouth was transformed into a deep and sensual scarlet with ochre and rosewater.

The girl stood, looking as if she did not want to damage the new mask that she inhabited. Servants moved forward and she was dressed, the clothes moved and folded around her, careful not to damage anything of the construction that had just taken place. The girl complied with the dressing fluidly; left arm up so that a fold of her gown can be adjusted, one foot and then the other raised so that slippers could be put on her feet, tilting her head so that a gold necklace could be put on with ease. It was done. The girl stood in her finery, looking at her mother as the servants began to pack her other clothes into their chests.

"Why must I go?"

"Duty."

Duty. For such a small word it describes so much. For her father it meant protecting her family, loving his children, swearing loyalty to the king and obeying the gods. For her mother it meant honouring her father, keeping their house and avoiding scandal at court. And for her, it meant serving her king by giving up her freedom, her future and her family. She knew that great honour was attached to having been chosen; but doesn't she deserve to be attached to her family? What honour is worth such pain, such cruelty? Why should she, a child, be made to become merely a painted shell dressed in silks and jewellery? What is her purpose?

But she said none of this aloud. Her mother stood back as a servant opened the door into the loggia that runs around the courtyard of their house. Sweet smelling climbing plants stretched out their tendrils to the noonday sun, and the new buds of their flowers were swelling and ready to open. She wouldn't see the flowers in her own home again. Down in the paved courtyard where tiles made a geometric pattern, was the courtyard where she used to play with her kitten, making it chase a little ball decorated with bells. The kitten, now a cat, appeared from behind a pillar and sidled up to her. She wanted to pick it up and bury her face in her fur; forget what she was about to do and where she was about to go. This warm creature was the only thing left from her childhood and there was nothing in between that and the crushing womanhood that was only a palanquin ride away.

But she couldn't pick it up; she only stooped and stroked its head. Its eyes narrowed into slits and it purred deep in its throat. It tried to nuzzle her leg, but she stepped away from it so that no stray hairs attached to her dress. "Goodbye," she said, trying to pour out all her sorrow in that one word. For her new life she would have to remove emotion and create a façade; she knew that much. The cat looked at her with large green eyes, and then padded into the room that she just left. Down the stairs with careful, measured footsteps and into the courtyard itself. The servants that weren't packing upstairs were there, lined up in rows to bid her goodbye. She didn't look at a single one of them; all she could see was the doors ahead that opened onto the street, and the palanquin that was waiting outside.

She turned around and bowed to her mother, who bowed in turn.

"Farewell Mother."

"Farewell my daughter. Gods keep you safe." The woman who was letting her go had regained her composure, and looked past her daughter out of the door. The girl turns around and saw the figure of her father in the sun outside in the street. She walked through the doorway, past the doors she had entered and left by a thousand times. This would be the last time to leave. Father and daughter faced each other in the street, as the palanquin bearers pulled back the curtains.

"Are you prepared, daughter?"

"I am ready. We are to go there now?"

Her father nodded and stooped to get into the palanquin. She turned back to the house and looked up at an upstairs window to see the cat sitting on the sill. Her mother appeared and leaned out to look at her for one last time. She gazed up, then followed her father and knelt to recline against the cushions across from him. She steadied herself as the bearers raised the palanquin off the ground and began to move down the street. The noises of the city swelled and roared around them as they left the quiet street and reached the markets. The sounds were familiar, yet muffled through the swathes of fabric. Dogs barking, caged birds singing and the shouts of the market traders. The skipping feet of the market urchins running out of the way of the palanquin and the armour of the city guards clanking as a patrol made its way through the stalls and booths.

"Asha…"

She looked at him. She practiced the composure of the women she had heard of, and how she imagined they gazed at the men who visit them. She looked at him with a slightly sultry stare, thinking of how her cat watched her when she wrote poetry or painted. He didn't seem to notice; he was too busy needing to explain himself to notice what she was doing.

"You know that I do not give you away lightly. It is a real honour to have been chosen for the Palace of Caged Birds. So many families would give so much to be in our place."

But their daughters are breathing a sigh of relief, she thought silently. Another year before the harem inspectors would start sending letters to the patriarchs of all the highest families of the land, demanding their daughters for inspection. Only three girls a year could be chosen, but often only one or two were; sometimes no daughters went to the Palace. What was offered was considered a fair exchange for what was given – a family gained power and status by having a child in the Palace, and if the King was taken enough with a girl he could promote her to the Chamber of Earthly Delights and possibly even to being his Queen. Whether a girl's star rose or fell was down to her attributes and accomplishment, her attention to ritual and tradition and her ability to provide witty conversation and other diverting activities.

"You are one of two chosen this year. You are one of the most prized flowers in the kingdom and you have been selected by the gardeners and propagators of perfect human beauty. Be happy in that knowledge!"

I would not have been selected if I was stupid enough to be happy that I was told I was pretty, she thought. But she replied "I am happy father. I am pleased to bring further honours to our family. I wish to please the King when I see him and when I live in the Palace of Caged Birds. I am perfectly satisfied."

Her father looked at her sadly "You are younger than most girls, I know. But the best flowers are the most tender when they are plucked young. And of course you will have one of the finest educations possible; in art and music and in dance…and in various other areas, I am sure."

And those are the areas that terrify me.

The sounds outside had changed while they had talked. Rather than clamouring voices and the sounds of camels and horses in the streets, birdsong and running water was all that could be heard. Some music could also be heard – delicate strains on a mandolin and soft drumbeats.

"I think we're here," said her father, drawing back the curtains to reveal the marble arches and latticed windows of the Royal Palace. Asha stifled a tremor of real fear. "Come, let us go and meet your new family."