The Golden Daughter
By sixteen, Zarina had learned that there were two kinds of rooms in the palace.
There were rooms where she could sit badly.
And there were rooms where she could not.
In Balif’s rooms she still put her feet on the furniture until he complained. In her father’s private study she could still arrive without warning, steal fruit from his plate, and read over his shoulder despite being told not to.
Everywhere else, someone seemed to be watching.
Not rudely.
That almost made it worse.
A servant would glance at the way she held a cup. An ambassador would remember exactly how long she had spoken to him. Older nobles noticed which colors she wore, which guild representatives she greeted first, whether she laughed too freely, whether she looked tired.
Nobody told her all of this directly.
She simply began to understand.
The first time her father asked her to stand beside him during a formal audience, Zarina was delighted.
“You mean properly?”
The Supreme Ruler looked up from the document in front of him.
“I am not sure what you have been doing until now.”
“You always put me behind everyone.”
“I put you somewhere safe.”
“That is behind everyone.”
Balif was seated nearby, sorting correspondence.
“Usually those are the same place.”
Zarina ignored him.
“What do I have to do?”
“Very little.”
“That means something difficult.”
“It means stand beside me, listen, and do not interrupt.”
She frowned.
“I know how audiences work.”
Her father gave her a look.
Balif did not look up.
“Do not interrupt,” he repeated.
“I heard him.”
The ruler folded his hands.
“There will be a delegation from the eastern provinces. They have been petitioning for changes to the grain levy.”
“I know.”
Her father paused.
“You do?”
“Balif gave me the reports.”
The Supreme Ruler turned toward Balif.
Balif continued sorting papers.
“She asked.”
“You gave her the tax reports?”
“She said she wanted to understand what you were doing.”
Her father looked back at Zarina.
She was trying not to smile.
He sighed.
“All right.”
“So I can speak?”
“No.”
“That seems wasteful.”
“You are there to observe.”
Zarina folded her arms.
The ruler pointed at her.
“That.”
“What?”
“That expression.”
“What expression?”
“The one you are making now. Do not make it in front of the delegation.”
Balif finally glanced up.
“I have told her that for years.”
“You make the same expression,” Zarina said.
Her father stared at her.
Balif returned to his papers.
“I have also told him.”
The delegation arrived shortly after midday.
Zarina had expected to be nervous.
She was.
But not in the way she imagined.
There were no trembling hands or forgotten words. Instead she became acutely aware of everything around her.
The sound of boots on polished stone.
The rustle of silk.
The careful silence before someone addressed her father.
Three representatives stood before the dais. Two were landholders. The third was a woman from one of the river towns whose sleeves were plainly cut and whose face carried the exhaustion of someone who had traveled farther than the others.
Zarina noticed that immediately.
The delegation spoke for nearly an hour.
The landholders blamed poor harvests.
The river representative blamed transport restrictions.
One complained about taxation.
Another complained about local governors.
The third said very little until directly questioned.
Zarina listened.
At first she tried to remember everything Balif had taught her.
Then she stopped trying.
She simply listened.
Eventually her father asked one of his advisers whether the petition matched the previous season’s reports.
The adviser answered yes.
Zarina looked toward the river woman.
The woman looked dissatisfied.
Zarina waited.
Her father continued speaking.
She tried not to interrupt.
She lasted perhaps twenty seconds.
“Excuse me.”
The chamber went still.
Her father slowly turned his head.
Zarina knew that look.
She swallowed.
The adviser frowned.
The representative from the river town lowered her eyes.
The Supreme Ruler said, very quietly, “Zarina.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He waited.
Zarina should have stopped.
Instead she said, “The transport figures do not match.”
One of the landholders looked offended.
The adviser immediately replied, “Highness, the figures were verified.”
“I know.”
“Then—”
“The reports say river traffic fell after the levy changes. But she said the warehouses were already empty before that.”
The room remained silent.
Zarina looked at the woman.
“Didn’t you?”
The woman hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Yes, Highness.”
“Why?”
The adviser shifted.
The woman glanced toward the landholders beside her.
That was enough.
Her father noticed it too.
The rest of the audience changed quickly after that.
Questions sharpened.
Numbers were checked again.
A transport contract appeared that nobody had thought relevant an hour earlier.
By the end, the argument was no longer about whether taxes should be reduced.
Someone had been diverting grain before it ever reached the river.
When the delegation finally left, Zarina remained beside her father.
The doors closed.
Nobody spoke.
Then the Supreme Ruler turned toward her.
“You interrupted.”
Zarina’s stomach dropped.
“Yes.”
“I specifically told you not to.”
“I know.”
Balif stood near the wall, saying nothing.
Her father looked at her for another moment.
Then he smiled.
It was small.
But Zarina saw it.
“You were right.”
Her face changed immediately.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so.”
“I noticed.”
Zarina tried to control the grin and failed.
Her father shook his head.
“You were also lucky.”
“I wasn’t lucky.”
“You were.”
“I listened.”
“You guessed.”
“I did not.”
Balif said, “She did not.”
The ruler looked at him.
“You are supposed to be helping me.”
“I am.”
Zarina smiled wider.
Her father sighed.
Then he reached out and squeezed her shoulder.
“You did well.”
That was all.
Zarina carried those three words with her for the rest of the day.
After that, she began attending more audiences.
Not many at first.
Her father was cautious.
A trade delegation.
A dispute between two provincial houses.
A ceremony honoring soldiers returning from the western passes.
Zarina loved all of it.
She loved the preparation.
She loved reading reports beside Balif and then discovering how different people sounded when they had to defend those same reports in person.
She loved standing beside her father and beginning to understand why he asked certain questions.
Most of all, she loved the moments afterward.
Sometimes he corrected her.
Sometimes he told her she had missed something.
Sometimes he asked what she thought.
The first few times, Zarina assumed he was testing her.
Eventually she realized he actually wanted to know.
That changed something.
She began keeping notes.
Her own notes.
Not elegant ones.
Names written sideways. Questions squeezed into margins. Small observations Balif complained were impossible to decipher.
One evening he picked up a page from her desk.
“What does this say?”
Zarina looked over.
“Which part?”
“This.”
She squinted.
“‘Governor may be lying.’”
Balif looked at the rest of the page.
“And this?”
“‘Probably about sheep.’”
He stared at her.
“It was a very long meeting.”
“I see.”
“There were many sheep.”
“Apparently.”
She took the page back.
“You understood it.”
“I understood two lines.”
“That’s enough.”
Balif shook his head.
But he was smiling.
Word spread quickly through the court.
The ruler’s daughter was no longer simply attending.
She was participating.
At first the praise embarrassed her.
Then she began to enjoy it.
Not all of it.
Some compliments were unbearable.
An elderly noble told her she possessed her mother’s grace.
A visiting guild representative said Ashkar was fortunate to have “such a promising continuation of the throne.”
Another called her the Golden Daughter.
Zarina laughed when she first heard it.
Later, she heard servants repeating it.
Then merchants.
Then a herald used it publicly during a procession.
The name stayed.
Her father thought it was harmless.
Balif hated it immediately.
“Why?”
They were eating breakfast.
Balif tore a piece of bread.
“Because people who give you names usually want something from them.”
Zarina rolled her eyes.
“It is a compliment.”
“Yes.”
“Then what is wrong with it?”
“Nothing yet.”
Her father looked up.
“Must everything become suspicious before you finish eating?”
“It is how I maintain my appetite.”
Zarina smiled.
“I like it.”
Balif nodded.
“Then enjoy it.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“That sounded like disapproval.”
“It was breakfast.”
“You do that deliberately.”
“Frequently.”
The Supreme Ruler looked between them.
“I regret introducing the two of you.”
“You didn’t,” Zarina said.
“Balif was already here.”
“That is what I regret.”
The title followed her anyway.
The Golden Daughter.
At seventeen, Zarina stood beside her father during the Festival of Concord and heard thousands of people cheer it.
She had never seen the central square so full.
Banners hung from the upper galleries. Guild colors filled the streets. Bells rang from the eastern towers.
Before stepping onto the balcony, Zarina stopped.
Her father noticed.
“Nervous?”
“No.”
He waited.
“A little.”
“Good.”
She looked at him.
“Good?”
“It means you understand there are people out there.”
“That is not helpful.”
“It is not supposed to be.”
Balif stood behind them.
Zarina turned.
“Anything useful?”
“Do not trip.”
She stared at him.
“That is your advice?”
“It would be memorable.”
Her father laughed.
Zarina looked offended.
“You are both terrible.”
She stepped onto the balcony.
The sound hit her first.
Not applause.
Something larger.
Thousands of voices rising at once.
For a moment she forgot everything she had been told.
Where to stand.
Where to look.
When to wave.
Then her father stepped beside her.
The noise increased.
Zarina glanced at him.
He was looking at the crowd.
But when he noticed her watching, his expression softened.
She smiled.
Then she faced the square.
The fear disappeared.
Later she would remember almost nothing of the speech.
Only the sound.
The banners.
The heat of the sun on the stone.
And the moment her father introduced her.
“My daughter, Zarina.”
Nothing elaborate.
He did not use the title everyone else had begun using.
But the crowd did.
Golden Daughter.
Golden Daughter.
Golden Daughter.
Zarina looked at her father.
He was smiling.
And for that moment, she loved the name too.
Her responsibilities increased after that.
Not dramatically.
There was no decree.
No formal announcement.
Things simply began appearing.
A luncheon she was expected to attend.
A visiting family she should greet.
An evening reception.
A ceremonial opening of a new bridge.
A charitable foundation that wanted her patronage.
A delegation that wished to present her with a gift.
At first Zarina accepted everything.
Why wouldn’t she?
She was useful.
Her father was busy.
She could help.
When Balif asked whether she wanted to attend a three-hour lecture on maritime regulation, she stared at him.
“Does Father need me?”
“No.”
“Then why am I going?”
“Because you already agreed.”
She frowned.
“I did?”
“Yesterday.”
“Oh.”
Balif watched her.
“You could cancel.”
Zarina shook her head.
“No. That’s rude.”
“You are allowed to be rude occasionally.”
“You aren’t.”
“I am old.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It helps.”
She went to the lecture.
It was worse than expected.
She began studying later.
There was always something she thought she should know.
Trade routes.
Guild customs.
Names of provincial officials.
Old territorial agreements.
Balif once found her asleep at a table with her face pressed into a book on irrigation law.
He stood over her for a while.
Then tapped the table.
Zarina jerked awake.
“I’m reading.”
“No.”
“I was.”
“You were drooling on agricultural infrastructure.”
She wiped her mouth immediately.
“I was not.”
Balif turned the book around.
There was a mark on the page.
Zarina stared at it.
“That could be anything.”
“It is shaped like your face.”
She sat upright.
“What time is it?”
“Late.”
“I have to finish this.”
“No.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Father asked me to attend the southern council tomorrow.”
“He asked whether you wished to attend.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Zarina opened the book again.
Balif closed it.
She looked up.
“Balif.”
“Sleep.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You have just demonstrated otherwise.”
“I need to know this.”
“You need to know enough.”
“What if someone asks me something?”
“Then say you do not know.”
She stared at him as though he had suggested treason.
“I can’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because I should know.”
Balif pulled out the chair opposite her.
“Who told you that?”
Zarina frowned.
“Nobody.”
“Exactly.”
She did not like the way he said it.
“I’m fine.”
“I did not ask.”
“You were going to.”
“Yes.”
“Then I saved you time.”
Balif sighed.
Zarina smiled.
“See? Useful.”
He did not smile back.
She still visited her father’s study.
Just less often.
Sometimes she arrived carrying her own documents now.
The first time this happened, the Supreme Ruler looked up and laughed.
“What?”
Zarina stopped.
“Nothing.”
“You laughed.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Balif was reading near the window.
“He did.”
The ruler ignored him.
Zarina placed her papers on the table.
“What is funny?”
“You.”
“That is rude.”
“You used to come here to complain that I worked too much.”
“I still do.”
“You brought work.”
She looked at the papers.
“So?”
Her father smiled.
“Nothing.”
Zarina sat across from him.
For perhaps half an hour, none of them spoke.
Three people reading in the same room.
Eventually Zarina looked up.
Her father was rubbing his forehead.
“Headache?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“I am ruling.”
“That causes headaches.”
“Frequently.”
She stood, walked behind him and pressed her fingers against his temples.
Her father looked surprised.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping.”
“It hurts.”
“You complain about everything.”
Balif said, “Press less.”
“I know.”
“You clearly do not.”
“Both of you stop talking.”
Her father laughed.
Zarina smiled.
For a few minutes, the room felt exactly as it had years earlier.
Then a servant entered with another stack of papers.
And Zarina returned to her own.
Her friends noticed before she did.
There were only a few people her age whom Zarina genuinely trusted.
One was Mira, the daughter of a minor court official, whom Zarina had known since childhood.
Mira had no interest in politics and understood almost nothing about guild disputes.
Zarina liked this about her.
One afternoon Mira appeared at Zarina’s chambers carrying two riding cloaks.
“You forgot.”
Zarina looked up from a report.
“Forgot what?”
Mira stared.
“You promised.”
Zarina’s stomach sank.
“The north fields.”
“Yes.”
“That was today?”
Mira lifted the cloaks.
“No, I brought these because I am starting a clothing business.”
Zarina put down the report.
“I’m sorry.”
“You said that last week.”
“I know.”
“And the week before.”
“I know.”
Mira dropped the cloaks onto a chair.
“Do you even want to go?”
“Yes.”
“Then come.”
Zarina looked at the report.
“I have to finish this.”
“Why?”
“I’m meeting Father before dinner.”
“Will he imprison you if you haven’t read it?”
“No.”
“Execute you?”
“Mira.”
“Exile?”
Zarina smiled despite herself.
“No.”
“Then come.”
For a moment she almost did.
Then she shook her head.
“Tomorrow.”
Mira’s expression changed.
Not angry.
Worse.
Disappointed.
“Fine.”
She picked up one cloak.
Zarina watched her.
“Mira.”
“What?”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Mira left.
Zarina sat there for a long time afterward.
Then she finished the report.
That evening, her father asked only one question about it.
Zarina answered correctly.
He nodded.
“Good.”
For reasons she could not explain, the word did not feel as satisfying as usual.
Still, there were good days.
Many of them.
Zarina was not unhappy.
That was something Balif sometimes forgot when he worried about her.
She liked the work.
She liked being trusted.
She liked seeing parts of the realm that had once been hidden behind closed doors.
And she was good at it.
By eighteen she could walk into a reception and remember twenty names before leaving.
She knew which guild representatives disliked one another.
She knew when her father was genuinely angry and when he merely wanted someone to think he was.
She learned that silence was sometimes more effective than argument.
The court loved her.
People began predicting what kind of ruler she might become one day.
Zarina usually laughed it off.
“I am not replacing anyone.”
Her father, when told this, would say, “A comforting attitude.”
She would glare at him.
But privately, she began imagining it.
Not the throne.
The work.
Standing beside him.
Taking some of the burden.
Perhaps one day he would sleep more.
Perhaps he would leave the palace without twenty unanswered petitions following him.
Perhaps Balif would finally stop complaining that they were both impossible.
Those thoughts made her proud.
The first time Zarina chaired a small council without her father present, she barely slept the night before.
Balif found her walking through the old observatory shortly before dawn.
“You know the meeting is not here.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“I noticed.”
“What if they don’t listen to me?”
“They may not.”
She looked horrified.
“Helpful.”
“You asked.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Balif sat down slowly.
Zarina paced.
“They’re all older than me.”
“Yes.”
“They’ve been doing this longer.”
“Yes.”
“They’ll think Father sent a child.”
“Possibly.”
She stopped.
“Are you trying to make this worse?”
“No.”
“You’re very good at it.”
Balif gestured toward the chair opposite.
Zarina sat.
He looked at her.
“You do not need them to think you are older.”
“What do I need?”
“To know why you are there.”
She frowned.
“That sounds like one of your lessons.”
“It is too early for originality.”
Zarina looked toward the old dome.
“Father trusts me.”
“Yes.”
“What if he shouldn’t?”
Balif’s expression softened.
“He does.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“No.”
She waited.
Balif leaned back.
“You will make mistakes.”
Zarina looked annoyed.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because you keep trying to avoid it.”
“I don’t want to embarrass him.”
There it was.
Balif watched her.
Zarina looked down.
“He trusts me with this.”
“Yes.”
“So I have to be good.”
“No.”
She looked up.
Balif continued.
“You have to do the work. Those are different things.”
Zarina was quiet.
Then she stood.
“That was almost useful.”
“Thank you.”
She kissed his cheek on the way out.
Balif smiled after she had gone.
Then the smile faded.
The meeting went well.
Not perfectly.
One governor talked over her twice.
Zarina interrupted him the third time.
Another tried to explain something she already understood.
She let him finish.
Balif, seated near the back, noticed that.
By the end, an agreement had been reached.
When Zarina returned to her father’s study, she tried to appear calm.
“How was it?” he asked.
“Fine.”
Balif entered behind her.
The Supreme Ruler looked at him.
Balif said, “She did well.”
Zarina turned.
“That is all?”
“You would prefer a song?”
Her father stood.
“What happened?”
Zarina told him.
Not everything.
Only the important parts.
The governor who resisted.
The concession she offered.
The final agreement.
The Supreme Ruler listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he walked around the desk.
For one terrible second, Zarina thought she had missed something.
Then he embraced her.
She froze.
Her father was not usually demonstrative immediately after political work.
“You did well,” he said.
Zarina smiled against his shoulder.
“You already said that once.”
“I can repeat myself.”
“Balif says repetition is lazy.”
“Balif says many things.”
Behind them, Balif muttered, “A dangerous precedent.”
Zarina laughed.
Her father released her but kept both hands on her shoulders.
There was pride in his face.
Open pride.
Zarina felt it like warmth.
She would have done almost anything to see that expression again.
And so she kept saying yes.
Yes to another ceremony.
Yes to another audience.
Yes to another speech.
Yes to another late night reading something she might never need.
Nobody demanded it.
That was important.
Her father occasionally told her to rest.
Balif told her more often.
Zarina ignored both of them.
She was helping.
She was becoming useful.
She was becoming someone her father could rely upon.
For a while, that felt very much like growing up.
Late in the autumn, the palace hosted a formal reception for representatives from several guilds.
It was the largest event Zarina had attended without remaining constantly at her father’s side.
For weeks beforehand she prepared.
Names.
Titles.
Disputes.
Family connections.
Subjects best avoided.
Balif found the entire exercise depressing.
“You are meeting people, not invading them.”
“It feels similar.”
“Then you are attending the wrong receptions.”
Her ceremonial dress was heavier than expected.
Gold embroidery ran across the sleeves and collar.
Three attendants spent nearly an hour arranging her hair.
Mira, who had reluctantly agreed to attend, stood behind them looking horrified.
“You cannot move your head.”
“I can.”
“Try.”
Zarina tried.
She could.
Barely.
Mira laughed.
“If you fall, I am leaving you.”
“You are an excellent friend.”
“I know.”
For the first hour, Zarina enjoyed herself.
Then came another hour.
Then another.
People wanted to speak with her.
Everyone wanted to tell her how impressive she had become.
How much she resembled her mother.
How proud the Supreme Ruler must be.
Zarina smiled.
She asked questions.
She remembered names.
She laughed at stories she had already heard.
Across the hall she occasionally saw her father.
Once their eyes met.
He smiled.
Zarina straightened without realizing it.
Later Balif appeared beside her.
“You are limping.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“My shoes hurt.”
“Sit down.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Lady Senara is bringing the northern delegation.”
“They will survive seeing you seated.”
Zarina lowered her voice.
“Balif.”
“What?”
“Stop.”
He looked at her.
She was still smiling.
Not at him.
At the people approaching behind him.
Balif stepped aside.
Zarina greeted them flawlessly.
The reception ended long after midnight.
By then Zarina’s cheeks hurt from smiling.
Her shoulders ached.
She had forgotten when she last ate.
Still, she remained until the final delegation left.
Her father found her near the doors.
“You stayed.”
“Of course.”
“You did not have to.”
“I know.”
He looked around the nearly empty hall.
“You handled yourself very well tonight.”
Zarina smiled.
“Thank you.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
He touched her arm.
“Go to bed.”
“You too.”
“That is unlikely.”
She frowned.
“Then I’m staying.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because one of us should behave sensibly.”
“Balif says neither of us does.”
“Balif is usually irritatingly correct.”
Zarina laughed.
Her father kissed her forehead.
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
He walked away.
Zarina watched him go.
Then she turned toward her chambers.
Balif found her ten minutes later in a small retiring room behind the reception hall.
She was sitting on the floor.
Her ceremonial shoes had been thrown across the room.
One earring lay beside her.
The other was still tangled in her hair.
Balif stopped in the doorway.
Zarina looked up.
“If you laugh, I will have you removed from the palace.”
“I would like to see you try.”
“My feet are bleeding.”
“That is less amusing.”
He came inside and closed the door.
Zarina was trying to undo one of the clasps at the back of her collar.
Her fingers slipped.
“Here.”
“I can do it.”
“I can see.”
She glared at him.
Balif crouched behind her and worked at the clasp.
For a while neither spoke.
Then he said, “You should have left earlier.”
“I was fine.”
“You are sitting on the floor.”
“The floor is comfortable.”
“You are bleeding.”
“Barely.”
The clasp came loose.
Zarina exhaled in relief.
Balif sat beside her.
“You do not need to stay until everyone else leaves.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She gave him a tired look.
“Yes.”
“Then why did you?”
Zarina leaned her head back against the wall.
For several seconds she said nothing.
Then she smiled.
“Father was watching.”
Balif frowned.
“What?”
“He looked happy.”
She turned her head toward him.
“Did you see him?”
Balif had.
“I did.”
“He was proud.”
“Yes.”
Zarina looked down at the discarded shoe near the door.
“So it was worth it.”
She said it without bitterness.
Without sadness.
She truly meant it.
Balif watched her for a long moment.
Zarina noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing the face again.”
“What face?”
“The worried one.”
“I am old. I have many unpleasant expressions.”
She smiled.
“Stop worrying.”
“I will consider it.”
“You always say that.”
“Yes.”
Zarina rested her head against his shoulder.
Balif stayed still.
Within a few minutes her breathing slowed.
She had fallen asleep.
He looked down at her.
The Golden Daughter.
That was what the court called her now.
Everyone seemed so pleased with what she was becoming.
Balif reached over and carefully removed the remaining earring from her hair before it could catch.
Then he sat with her in the quiet room until someone came to help carry her to bed.