Together, we hurry toward the war chamber, marked by doors paneled in gold, and flanked by four guards. At our approach, a broad-shouldered man bearing a long, pointed spear steps neatly into my path. “King Halim has asked not to be disturbed.”
“I must speak with the king,” I snap.
“I cannot allow that, Your Highness.”
The South Wind edges forward so that we stand shoulder to shoulder. The display of solidarity momentarily takes me aback.
“Princess Sarai has ordered you to stand down,” he murmurs, voice no louder than what is required for intimate conversation. “May Iremind you that she outranks you tenfold and has the power to order your execution for obstruction of justice, should she desire it? Now step aside.”
The air begins to stir, roused to life by the South Wind’s budding ire, and the guard flinches back. He glances to his comrades, who appear equally fearful. Inwardly, I smile. I never claimed pettiness was beneath me.
A low groan as the doors open wide enough to grant Notus and I entry. At the disturbance, the two men occupying the long table stretching the length of the war chamber glance up in surprise. King Halim—and Prince Balior.
It is so vast a space my footsteps echo against the pale stone walls, the gleaming slabs of marble gracing the floor. Father regards our unexpected appearance with reproach. Meanwhile, Prince Balior regards me curiously before his gaze flicks to Notus. The blacks of his eyes flatten with a distaste he does not attempt to hide.
“Father.” With the ease of practice, I soften my expression, the tense pinch of my mouth. I smile warmly at Prince Balior, as if in silent apology of the intrusion. After all, he is our guest. “May I speak with you in private?”
King Halim digs the tips of his fingers into the cushioned arms of his chair. Its rust-colored upholstery paints his complexion with a yellow tinge. “Our meeting is still in session. You will have to wait.”
“The matter is urgent.”
“As is this meeting,” he retorts, “which is now delayed due to your interruption.”
An all-too-familiar heat begins to pinken my face. I stand tall by force of will alone. Indeed, the rules are clear. But I am trying my best to do what is right. “Please.”
“I will not repeat myself.”
I am your daughter, I wish to say. But I know what will occur, should the situation escalate. And after? When I have been shamed into silence, as if my emotions are a burden, and must be hidden as such? My mouth shuts, my words swallowed. I say nothing at all.
“Your Majesty.” The South Wind steps forward, drawing Father’s attention and, as a result, his anger. “I apologize for the interruption, but Princess Sarai would not interject unless the matter was as pressing as she claims.”
In this moment, I am a body with two minds. The woman who seeks to push aside any existing fondness for Notus, and the girl who leans toward him as though he is star bright. Even when I have treated him contemptuously, the South Wind still attempts to shield me. I do not deserve this kindness, but I appreciate it nonetheless.
“Very well,” King Halim growls with a wave of his hand. “You have the floor. Speak your concerns.”
All eyes come to rest on me. My heart flutters in uncertainty. I ask myself if I am willing to step from this cliff’s edge without knowing what awaits me at the bottom of the drop. For my people, for my realm, there is only room enough foryes.
“Father, I strongly prefer that we speak in private.” The prince’s attention continues to shift between me, Notus, and the king. “As I’m sure you would agree, I do not want to burden Prince Balior with news of Ammara’s toils.”
“If Prince Balior is to one day oversee Ammara, then he should be given a full image of the realm’s current state.”
My intention was to discuss my concerns with Father, calmly and concisely. I would lay out the information, no matter how implausible, though the implications are grave, and the details are few. Maybe I’m overthinking and forcing connections when none exist. But I fear what will happen to Ammara when my twenty-fifth nameday arrives and I am forever gone from the world. There is the army inside our walls. There is Prince Balior’s interest in the labyrinth. There is the beast, who seeks escape. No matter my fading days, I must find a way to force the prince—and his army—out of Ammara.
“Father—”
“Damn it, Sarai. Spit it out.”
Well then. He asked for it. “I cannot marry Prince Balior.”
Silence.
It is drowning, this stillness. Prince Balior sits frozen in his chair. Notus stares at me with rare bewilderment. King Halim’s mouth hangs open, jowls quivering. For half a heartbeat, I fear I have driven him to insanity.
Then Father lifts a hand to alert the guards. “Please escort our guest from the room.”
Prince Balior shoves to his feet. “I mean no disrespect, Your Majesty, but don’t you think I should hear what Princess Sarai has to say, considering I’m the topic of conversation?” A thin film of venom coats his words.
It takes a great effort, but eventually, the king stands as well, using the table for support. It hurts to watch him struggle for balance. But I know better than to show outward concern over his health.
