She Bore the Heir. The Palace Still Erased Her.
In those underground years, she lived in an apartment in the old quarter of Bangkok. The curtains stayed drawn. Takeout boxes stacked by the door. The room had one window, and the window faced a wall. She learned the sound of his car before she learned the sound of his voice. He came at no fixed hour, sometimes deep in the night, sometimes just before dawn. She learned to make tom yum the way he liked it. The soup sat in the pot, heated, cooled, heated again.
