with a theatrical flourish. “Your palace for the next seven years, your Majesty,” he announced, standing on tiptoe and turning up his nose.

She cast happy eyes about the clean space, enjoying the sight of the swaying arka trees growing right outside her window. Beside the window was a sleeping mat, upon which had been set a pile of new garments. On a shelf above the mat she spied an open lacquer box containing a string of rudraksha meditation beads. A low desk stood at the other end of the room, complete with clay tablets and a stylus. Taken aback by the simple splendor of the dwelling, she uttered the first thought that came to mind—“But I cannot write!”

Hariaksa chuckled. “I wager you’ll soon be doing a lot more than just writing, sweetling.”...

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