Arst woke up before the prince, which suited him just fine because, according to his long list of tasks, he was supposed to bring him breakfast. Which was good and all, except he did not know where the kitchen was and what the man sleeping on the bed usually ate in the morning.

With nothing else to do while waiting for him to wake up, Arst set out to explore the residence beyond just the main house. The crisp early morning air was invigorating, and he spent a few minutes in the courtyard, basking in the sunshine. A wisteria tree was planted near the main house's entrance. It was in full bloom, its flowers swaying gently in the breeze. The clime here was warmer than in the mountains, but mornings were still cool enough for Arst to appreciate the fresh air.

Resuming his exploration, he found what looked like a reception hall in the east-wing house, along with a small kitchen that lacked all but the most basic utensils. His rummaging through the cupboards yielded nothing aside from tea leaves and some dry snacks, which Arst doubted constituted the prince's breakfast. Frustrated by his lack of progress, he moved to the west-wing house, which was even more devoid of food but housed a large bathroom.

Like in the temple, a mechanism powered by spirit artes brought water directly into the building (there was even a glyph he could infuse with fire artes to heat it!), which seemed like a luxury to Arst, who was used to having to fetch water by hand from a well and bathe in natural hot springs. He supposed such technology was common in big cities, and this was just another example of how the Outway clan with its small mountain town was lagging behind.

With nothing else to do until the prince woke up—he did not dare venture outside of the estate on his own yet—Arst opted to wash himself and dress for the day. After a refreshing bath, he came back into the main house just as the prince was getting up. Prince Lin barely spared him a glance before striding off toward the bathhouse. Arst lingered around the doorway for a moment, hesitant. It was written in his list of duties that he was supposed to assist his husband in washing and dressing. However, the prince had not given him the impression that he wanted to be followed, and Arst did not want to intrude if he was unwelcome. On the other hand, would his lack of eagerness to serve be interpreted as a slight?

Frustrated, he sat down at the spot he had occupied the night before, opening the scroll to read it again. The list was equally vague and detailed, providing many directives but little guidance. Sometimes, it even contradicted itself: "Anticipate thy husband's needs," one line said. "Do not presume to know thy husband's intentions," another read. What does that even mean, he wondered bitterly. By the time he was done trying to make sense of the document, the prince had come back and selected his own clothes himself, changing behind the privacy screen like the night before. Arst decided to take his silence at face value. If he needed anything, he could just order him, but Arst was not going to pretend to be a mind-reader.

Prince Lin sat at the table, facing Arst, and took out his own reading material. He opened his book without paying Arst any attention, which Arst was starting to find unnerving. It was not that he wanted to be given orders, but the tense silence and uncertainty was starting to get to him. At home, he always had something to do, whether it was assisting his father, helping people in the fields, visiting neighboring clans, training, or spending time with his sister. But here, he was stuck in a room getting the silent treatment from the one he was now completely dependent on. It was… disconcerting.

Of course, he could always just ask what the prince expected of him, but Arst had his pride too, and was not so desperate to beg for something to do. If the prince had nothing to say, then neither did he.

They sat at a standstill for several more minutes, until the silence was interrupted by the arrival of the blond servant from the day before, who came in bringing food. Well, that solved the breakfast problem, at least.

The servant inquired about the prince's disposition and attempted to engage him in conversation about mundane things despite the monotone answers. Arst noticed that his own plate was much less furnished than the prince's, but when he looked at the servant, the man pretended not to notice his gaze.

"You're going to the library this morning, right?" the servant asked the prince as if Arst wasn't there at all. "I'll go with you."

"No need."

The servant frowned. "But…"

"I have another task for you." The prince glanced at Arst, before addressing his attendant once more. "Take him on a tour of the castle grounds. But before that, have a tailor brought in."

Since they were talking about him, Arst broke his silence. "I don't need—"

"Of course you do," the servant interrupted. "You are Prince Lin's concubine; we can't have you walking around looking like that."

Arst looked down at his own clothes. He was wearing a simple cotton tunic over pants, the kind of outfits he often wore when running errands through his hometown, as it was both practical and comfortable. He was hardly indecent.

"I don't see what the problem is."

The attendant rolled his eyes, but it was the prince who answered. "Even our servants don't wear such cheap fabric. Your marriage to me granted you a certain status; it would be improper not to look the part."

Anger clouded Arst's expression. "You call that cheap? Cotton of this quality is rare to find in Darhan. It's not like I'm dressed in rags." He had a couple of finer outfits, but those were reserved for official occasions. As far as everyday wear was concerned, this was one of his nicest tunics, and it was more expensive than what he usually spent on clothes. To dismiss it as cheap…

"Darhan is Darhan," the prince stated in his monotone voice. "This is Xian Yang Castle. You need to adapt."

Arst wanted to protest, but forced himself to calm down. Prince Lin did have a point. Much as he loathed to think, he carried different expectations now. Which apparently included actually dressing like someone from the prince's household. "Fine," he sighed. "Bring in your tailor."

The fitting took longer than expected, as the tailor seemed intent on measuring every part of his body. He'd brought with him a few textile samples, and Arst had to admit that the fabrics were indeed of great quality. The prince's attendant (whose name was Nils, Arst learned) tried to place the order for him, but Arst managed to interject some of his own choices too—no, he didn't need such a heavy winter coat, thank you very much, the spirit clime here was much milder than what he was used to—which lightened his mood somewhat. He still did not appreciate people dictating his life for him, but the ability to make some personal choices was a small relief.

The tailor left promising that everything would be ready within a few days, and Arst was left alone with Nils once more.

"Don't you have anything better to wear for today?" Nils asked him.

Arst went over to his chest and took out one of his best shirts. It was made of slightly sturdier material, and was adorned with flame designs at the hems. "How about this?"

Nils studied the piece for a moment, then gave a satisfied nod. "Better."

It felt weird, Arst thought, to be wearing a shirt he usually wore when presiding council meetings in place of his father like it was a casual outfit. He should probably be happy to be elevated to a life of such luxury, but Arst found the contrast jarring. Perhaps it was due to his habit of blending with the general population back at home, a habit his father had encouraged since childhood ("A good leader must know his people," he'd said), but Arst had never really regarded clothing as a symbol of status before, and the thought of spending so much money on something so basic unsettled him.

Now deemed presentable according to Nils, Arst was taken on a tour of the castle grounds. The Outway clan's own castle was very simple—wooden fences and a shallow ditch protecting the main mansion housing the chief's family, two turrets, and a short keep at the top of a hill. In contrast, Xian Yang's castle was gigantic.

Built in the middle of the river, it was only accessible through a pair of bridges that could be taken down in case of attack. Stone walls elevated the ground above the city's level, and turrets at all corners ensured a constant monitoring of boat traffic near the castle. The main keep stood proud and tall in the center, its bright white walls, black-tiled roofs and silver ornaments visible from any point in the city. A symbol of power and prestige.

Around the main keep were several buildings and facilities, like a small city within the castle walls. There were, notably, the ruling family's residences, but also a training hall, a library, ministers' offices, an elegant garden, and of course accommodation and working spaces for the servants. Arst thus learned that there were no less than four sets of kitchens from which meals could be brought to the various people residing on the castle grounds.

"Is this why the kitchen seems unused in the prince's mansion?"

Nils nodded. "It is more efficient to have everything centralized. Of course, the prince's meals are prepared separately, and tested for poison before delivery."

"Poison?"

Nils looked at Arst critically. "Of course. Every member of the main family has their own meals tested before they touch it. You were a clan heir yourself; didn't you use to do the same?"

"We just ate whatever was available," Arst shrugged. He could not think of anyone who would want to poison him or his father in their village. The few servants they employed had served their family for many years and were trusted members of their household. They even made sure that his own meals were seasoned lightly, just as he preferred. He could not imagine any of them slipping something inedible into the food.

Nils shook his head in slight disbelief, as if he could not fathom that a clan chief would be so lax about security.

"Does it happen often?" Arst asked, curious.

Nils' first reaction was to bristle, offended that anyone would insinuate that matters in the clan were anything less than perfect, and that the precautions they took were for more than excessive prudence, but eventually his shoulders sagged a little and he answered truthfully. "Sometimes. The culprits are usually found quickly, but that doesn't stop others from trying from time to time…"

For the first time since coming here, Arst felt a pang of sympathy for his husband. Rotten as the clan was, so far the prince had done nothing to warrant attempts on his life, especially in such underhanded ways.

That evening, Arst visited the castle kitchen with the aim to accomplish his duty for the evening meal at least, but when he explained his intentions to the head chef, the woman laughed heartily.

"Oh goodness no, we cannot possibly let you handle the cooking!"

Arst frowned. "I was under the impression that it was now my duty to see that the prince is well-fed." He was starting to wonder if the scroll of rules was some elaborate prank. So far every rule he had tried to abide to had been dismissed. Not that he minded, but the pointlessness of everything he did was getting frustrating.

The chef looked at him with a fond smile. "Your role is to ensure that everything is prepared in a timely manner, but the actual preparing is the cooks' job." She had a rather brusque way of speaking, but her voice was not devoid of kindness. "My lord, you are our prince's esteemed concubine, not a servant. Leave the menial jobs to us castle staff."

Arst thought that a servant was precisely what Lars Long Dau wanted him to act like, but he kept the thought to himself. "All right. But I will at least bring the food to the residence myself."

A strange expression passed over the woman's face. "Ah, but that's…"

"…my job," came a voice from the entrance. Arst turned around to find Nils looking at him with that critical look of his. He strode into the kitchen, his eyes fixed on him. "Prince Lin was surprised to find the house empty when he came back from the library. If you leave the residence, you must notify him of your whereabouts."

Ah, there it was, the reminder that even if his status was still higher than everyone else in the room, freedom was no longer something to take for granted.

"I was merely trying to accomplish my 'duty' as your master instructed me."

Nils opened his mouth to retort, but the head chef interrupted him. "All right, all right, if you want to supervise the preparations, you can stand in that corner over there, but right now you're getting in the way." She made a gesture to shoo them away, and they begrudgingly complied. Arst could have simply gone back to the residence, but a stubborn part of him decided that, since he had already come all this way, he would stay till the end.

He spent as much time observing the preparations as stealing sideway glances at Nils. The man glared at him and opened his mouth several times as if he wanted to say something, but never voiced his thoughts. Arst wondered why he was so hostile to him. They had only known each other for less than a day, but the blond servant was often curt and critical with him, as if he objected to his very presence. During their tour of the castle grounds, Arst had gleaned that Nils was Prince Lin's personal attendant. He seemed to hold the prince in high regard, and Arst wondered how that factored into the man's behavior toward him.

"You need not concern yourself with mundane tasks," Nils finally spoke, somewhat calmer now. "That has always been my job."

Arst nodded slowly. "As you wish."

The food preparations and tasting went smoothly, and the two of them headed to the prince's residence accompanied by a pair of servants carrying the plates.

Prince Lin did not reproach Arst for his absence as he had expected; perhaps Nils' warning had been enough. The evening was spent in pretty much the same fashion as the previous day, with few glances exchanged and even fewer words. After dinner, the prince went to his study, and Arst finally took the time to unpack and sort his belongings, storing them the furniture allocated to him. When it was time to sleep, the prince instructed him to set the futon himself and slipped into his own bed without further acknowledgment.

"Well, good night to you too," Arst muttered under his breath.

He was answered by silence.