A FEVER OF THE HEART

A FEVER OF THE HEART
(1935) PRASIT SUWANWEJ'S POV (Age 19):

The evening air was thick with the sweet, heavy fragrance of blooming jasmine outside the window. I had just finished arranging the silk pillows on the bed, smoothing out every invisible wrinkle to ensure her sleeping room was perfectly prepared. I turned my attention to the small, beautifully crafted clay pot resting on the bedside table, taking a soft cloth to polish its painted surface.

"Prasit, can I ask you something?" The sudden, melodic voice of Khun Saengdao made me jump. I hadn't realized she was sitting so quietly on the edge of her reading chair, watching me with a curious glint in her dark eyes.

"Yes, you may ask anything, Khun Saengdao," I replied, immediately bowing my head. I looked at her, entirely confused as to what she might need at this hour. Was the tea too cold? Was the room too warm?

She looked hesitant, her fingers tracing the edge of her silk shawl. Seeing her unease, I offered her a gentle, reassuring smile. It worked. Her shoulders dropped, she leaned back into the chair, and a playful, almost mischievous spark ignited in her eyes.

"I read something today," she said. She tapped her fingernail against her chin. "It got me thinking about a certain sickness. I want to ask the healer."

"A sickness, Khun Saengdao?" I stepped forward. My servant training shut down. The healer took over. A cold spike of adrenaline hit my blood. "Are you feeling ill? Should I fetch the herbalist right now?"

"Sit down," she laughed. She waved her hand at me. "Roots and herbs won't fix this. Just tell me if you know the symptoms. Have you ever felt a heat in your blood? Like a fever that only hits when one specific person walks into the room?"

"That doesn't make any sense, Khun," I told her.

"Oh, it gets worse." She leaned back. "Sweaty hands. You completely forget how to talk. Your chest tightens up like you're choking, but... you don't want it to stop. You just sit there scrubbing at clay pots so you don't have to look them in the eye."

A cold drop of sweat slid down the back of my neck. My polishing cloth suddenly stopped moving. She was perfectly describing my exact reaction in the main hall earlier today.

"That sounds like a severe panic attack, Khun," I choked out. My throat was tight.

"Does it?" She rested her chin on her hands and grinned at me. "Or is it just a fast heartbeat? Tell me the truth, Prasit. Have you ever been in love?"

The question hit me like a runaway carriage. I choked on air, completely taken aback. I was absolutely not prepared for a conversation about matters of the heart with the sister of the master of the house.

"I... I cannot say yes, Khun Saengdao, because I have never been in love with someone," I replied quickly, praying my voice sounded more convincing to her than it did to my own ears.

She burst out laughing. "Really? Not even once?" She squinted at me. "What about my brother? You haven't fallen for him?"

My brain violently short-circuited. My fingers went numb. The beautiful clay pot—the priceless, handcrafted gift Khun Thawin had made specifically for his sister—slipped right through my hands.

"Oh, merciful Buddha!" I gasped. Time seemed to slow down. I lunged forward, fumbling like a panicked street juggler. The pot bounced off my knee, rolled over my wrist, and just as it was about to shatter into a thousand unforgivable pieces against the teakwood floor, I dove and caught it. I lay sprawled on the ground, clutching the clay pot to my chest, my heart threatening to explode through my ribs.

I couldn't destroy this pot. If I broke Khun Thawin's gift, I would die of shame before he even had the chance to punish me.

"S-sorry, Khun Saengdao!" I gasped, the hard teakwood digging into my knees. A heavy, icy pit of dread dropped into my stomach. I braced for her temper.

She didn't yell. She just laughed and covered her mouth. "You almost dropped it just hearing his name!" she teased. "Your face is so red, Prasit. Are you sure? Do you like him?"

"No... no... No, Khun Saengdao!" I scrambled to my knees, placing the pot safely back on the table, my face burning with the heat of a thousand suns. "I will never fall for Khun Thawin! I am a boy! And most of all, I am merely a servant! I do not possess the right to have that kind of feeling toward my master!"

I bowed my head, feeling overwhelmingly shy and incredibly defensive. The very boundaries of our world forbade it. It was a sin against the natural order of this house.

"Why not?" she asked. Her smile disappeared. "Does your heart ask permission? Do you think love cares about rank?"

She stared right at me. Testing me. Waiting to dig up the exact secret I was trying to shove down into my gut.

"It's just not possible, Khun Saengdao," I said. I tried to sound firm, but my hands were shaking against my cotton trousers. I had to get out of this conversation. Now. The blood rushing to my face was going to give me away.

I sucked in a sharp breath and forced myself to look up, flipping the target. "But... why are you asking me this all of a sudden, Khun Saengdao?"

"Because," she whispered.

Her teasing tone completely vanished. A massive, uncontrollable smile took over her face. "I just realized how completely, hopelessly in love I am."

"In love?" I blinked. My brain scrambled for a second before the pieces finally clicked. "Wait. You mean Khun Rajchai?"

She nodded, quickly pulling the edge of her silk shawl over her mouth to hide her grin. Her shoulders shook with a giddy, quiet laugh.

"Your... fated partner," I said.

The word fated tasted like ash in my mouth.

Fated. What a polite, pretty lie. I knew exactly why the elders paired them together. It was a breeding contract. The clan didn't care about a cosmic match or her happiness. They wanted a bloodline. They needed Saengdao to birth a weapon—a shaman powerful enough to secure the family's violent grip on the region. She wasn't chosen to be a bride. She was chosen for her womb.

I looked at her. She was practically vibrating with excitement. She bit her lower lip, trying and failing to fight back her massive smile. Her dark eyes were bright and incredibly alive.

Is this what a person in love actually looks like?

It made absolutely no sense to me. How could she genuinely fall for a man forced onto her by a house of butchers?

"He sent me a letter today," she said. She kicked her heels lightly against the bottom of her chair like a child. "He remembered my favorite tea. And he wrote a poem, Prasit. A terrible, awful poem."

"If it was so awful, why are you smiling like you just found buried gold?" I asked.

She snatched a small silk pillow from her chair and threw it at me. It bounced harmlessly off my chest.

"Because he tried!" she laughed loudly. "Oh, you are hopeless. You know absolutely nothing about romance."

I caught the pillow. I couldn't help it. A small, genuine smile broke through the lingering panic in my chest. It was a massive relief to see her this happy. To see a sliver of actual light in a house built entirely on blood.

"I know enough to recognize a severe fever when I see one," I teased back, tossing the pillow neatly onto the bed. "I will be sure to brew you something extremely bitter tomorrow morning to clear your head."

"You wouldn't dare!" She gasped, pointing a threatening finger at me. But her eyes were crinkling with pure joy.

I looked at her glowing face. The dark, rotting reality of this clan was still right beneath our feet. Her future was a cage built by the elders. But right now, in this room, her joy was completely real.

I bowed my head, my smile softening into something quiet.

"I am happy for you, Khun Saengdao," I told her. "Truly."