With surprising serenity, I reply to Prince Balior, “Not in many years.”
“That is a shame.” He takes another sip. Red droplets sheen his mouth. “May I ask why you stopped?”
My chest pulls taut, like a network of strings. The prince cannot know the burden this question carries. No one ever explained to me that when a loved one passed, pieces of you died with them.
“I suppose I lost interest,” I murmur.
Prince Balior continues to regard me inquisitively. His interest draws up my guard. I smile blandly in response.
“I confess that I knew of your musical triumphs long before our introduction,” he continues. “My mother once acquired tickets to one of your concerts. You were scheduled to perform the Jerashi Violin Concerto with our National Symphony Orchestra.”
At the time, I was performing five nights a week. Ibramin encouraged me to explore opportunities beyond Ammara’s borders, including competitions.She was born for this, he’d told Father.You cannot keep her small.
Unfortunately, talk with Um Salim soured due to political differences. King Halim was too stubborn a man to set aside his opinions for the sake of my career. He could not have known how heartbroken I’d been to learn the opportunity had been dashed. I cried myself to sleep every night for a month.
“Tensions were high between our realms at the time,” I explain. “Father believed it best that the tour be contained to Ammara.”
Prince Balior coughs uncomfortably, then sips his wine. I down the remainder of my drink, my skin prickling under the South Wind’s scrutiny. King Halim ogles me as though I have gone mad.
“You will have to forgive my daughter,” Father eventually grits out. “She has… quite the imagination.”
My lips curve bitterly. “I was simply explaining to Prince Balior the reason I was unable to perform.”
“That’s enough, Sarai. When your opinion is requested, I will call on you. Kindly return to your meal before you spoil the rest of the evening.”
I hold the king’s enraged gaze. He is pale—too pale. Sweat dots his brow and upper lip, and I am reminded of his deteriorating health. I swallow my shame, for I did not mean to cause him additional stress. My hands tremble as I slice into my lamb. The knife shreds the meat’s soft pink center.
A wave of hot air brushes my nape, almost like a caress. My head swings toward Notus. He clasps the hilt of his scimitar in one white-knuckled hand. For once, he is not looking at me, but at Father. The chill of his expression makes my hair stand on end.
As one of the servers piles another scoop of rice onto my plate, I consider the best means of escape. I could feign illness: a sudden fever, perhaps, or wooziness. But I fear the consequences of an early departure. Though I hold no love for this prince, I understand the importance of our union.
Discussion veers toward current events. Prince Balior is aware of our drought, though he does not realize it is the work of dark forces rather than nature running its course. Apparently, Um Salim does not have darkwalkers to contend with, though the prince has heard of them. Both men discourse on how best to distribute resources and aid Ammara’s struggling farms.
Eventually, conversation turns to our courting. King Halim dictates how our time will be spent. Breakfast in the mornings. A ball in three weeks’ time. Trips to the public gardens and aviary, so that Ishmah’s citizens will grow used to Prince Balior’s presence.
Lifting my glass, I quickly sip my wine before I do something rash, like toss the liquid into Father’s face. Unsurprisingly, he does not ask my opinion on the matter.
“And how many children do you desire, Princess Sarai?” the prince inquires.
My throat spasms around the liquid, and I choke, spewing wine across the table. Ruby droplets stain the white tablecloth.
A babe in my belly. A child yanking on the hem of my dress. The heaviest stone around my neck. How many children do I desire?
None.
I have always known this. Whatever maternal instincts the noblewomen at court claimed would surface, I never experienced them. Perhaps, if my mother were alive, or if I had not developed in the shadow of my early demise, I would think differently. But I know the grief of growing up without a mother, and I would not wish that pain on any child of mine.
“You must produce a male heir, of course.” Father’s iron tone, edged in denial. He is hopeful Prince Balior will find a way to break the curse. I am not so sure. “You will make that a priority once wed.”
I swallow down my protest. Nothing can break me. “My will is Ammara’s will.”
A small sound draws my attention to the South Wind, who continues to stare at me without attempting to hide it. I’m almost certain it was a scoff. As if he knows anything about the trials I face.
“Prince Balior.” I offer our guest my warmest smile. “Since you are so fond of horses, would you care to accompany me on a ride tomorrow? The weather should be ideal.” Granted, the stretch of desert separating Ishmah from Kir Bashab—Ammara’s largest oasis—will be brutal, but once beneath the cover of dense forest, the temperature will be downright pleasant.
Prince Balior grins in return. What pleasing features he has. Had I not been so distracted by the South Wind’s unwanted presence, I may have noticed sooner. “I would be honored, Princess Sarai.”
At this, my smile widens, a bit too brittle, a bit too bright. “No need for formalities.” I look to the South Wind as I say, “Just ‘Sarai’ will do.”
