“I apologize, Prince Balior. Please excuse Sarai’s behavior.” Despite his lack of stability, the king’s voice rings with strength. “She has not been feeling well of late—”
“I am feeling perfectly fine, Father,” I say through gritted teeth. Oh, if there were no witnesses in the room, I would have a story to tell. “If I could speak with youprivately—”
“This heat would make anyone mad,” he goes on in response to Prince Balior. “Why, just yesterday—”
The lump in my throat thickens, and I turn from the king. I’m not sure why I try so hard to be heard when it is clear he does not care to hear my voice.
“Sarai.”
The touch of a gentle hand on my arm draws my attention to Notus. His eyes soften as they rest on me. They promise sanctuary. What fool am I, that I might reach out and collect what is promised? I never wished for Notus to see me in this pitiful, weakened state. If I am not strong, if I am not assertive, if I am not self-reliant and encased in armor, then I am vulnerable. And that simply cannot be.
“Was this your plan, Your Majesty?” the prince demands. “Lure me with the promise of an alliance. Then, when my guard is brought low, humiliate me?” His voice, which has climbed in volume, pelts the stone and marble of the room.
“Not at all, Prince Balior.” I hear it then—the king’s panic, which in turn ignites my own. As the prince paces, his gestures grow wild, an outlet for a fury that swells and overwhelms. In attempting to avoid conflict, have I in actuality set the spark?
“I have journeyed over twelve hundred miles through desert sands to get here. Now I’m expected to return home without a wife, without a union, as if this was no more than a holiday?” The prince barks an incensed laugh. “It is absolutely the worst treatment I have ever received in any kingdom or realm. You promised me your daughter’s hand,” he argues. “Now you’re going back on your word?”
King Halim’s face is so deep a red I half expect him to burst into flames. “I assure you, Prince Balior, thatno oneis going back on their word, least of all me. Like you, I am hearing of this for the first time. My daughter is simply confused… heat-stricken.”
Prince Balior smiles cuttingly. “I’m sure.”
With a heavy sigh, the king lowers himself onto his chair, bent in defeat. I glance at Notus, failing to mask my fear. If Prince Balior retaliates, Notus will protect Father, protect Ishmah, protect the realm. This I know. “I swear to you, Prince Balior, I wouldneverdisrespect you in this manner. I ask only for your forgiveness.”
The prince glances between me and the king in suspicion. “I have your word, Your Majesty, that you were not aware of what Sarai would say?”
“PrincessSarai,” Notus growls to the prince in warning. “Do not address her so informally. You are not yet betrothed.”
Prince Balior studies the South Wind with arms crossed, posture loose, mouth slanting into his cheek. “As it turns out,” he says, “thatiswhat King Halim and I were discussing—before you so rudely interrupted.” He slips from between the table and chair to circle the room, bypassing the guards stationed along the walls. When he begins to approach, Notus steps between us, hand gripping the hilt of his sword. Distaste curls the prince’s upper lip. “The king and I have reached an agreement. Princess Sarai and I are soon to be wed.”
My head whips toward Father, who refuses to meet my eye. We had an agreement, he and I. Yes, I agreed to an arranged marriage. But first, I would meet this prince and determine his character. Father promised that we would discuss my betrothal following the courtship before a final decision was made. Now he has gone behind my back and made this decision for me, without my consent?
And now my alarm has burrowed deep. I cannot separate myself from it. Because if Prince Balior’s motives are as nefarious as I suspect, my options have been reduced even further. I did, indeed, have a plan. And now Father has ripped a hole clean through it. No water will hold. It must be patched—quickly.
“Is there something I have done to offend you, Princess Sarai? Is that why you refuse to marry me?”
Prince Balior’s question draws my attention. Peering around the South Wind’s broad back, I regard Um Salim’s adored prince warily. For a heartbeat, I wrestle with the absurd desire to press my palm flat against Notus’ spine, absorb his heat and strength.
“No, Prince Balior.” Lies.
“You’re sure?” He cocks his head curiously. “Because if that were the case, I would hope we might discuss it like reasonable adults.”
“It’s not that,” I say. He cannot know the why. If I mention the army, the darkwalker, the beast, who is to say the prince will not retaliate? No, to abandon this plan, the reason must be sound. Indeed, it might be the only clear-headed decision I have made since the prince’s arrival.
“I cannot marry you,” I explain, “because Notus and I are engaged.”
11
THESOUTHWIND MAY BEa pillar beside me for how motionless he stands. Even the air hangs in suspension. His winds have died, wholly and completely.
“Excuse me?” King Halim’s features are so twisted they appear to have gone to war with one another.
I consider my response. Too meek—I toss it aside. The next: too forceful, teeming with resentment. That one will not do either. I discard them all, each one lacking, until I unearth the very core of myself, this polished, hardened heart of metal. “I believe you heard me well enough, Father.”
He chews on the inside of his cheek, gathering himself. “Whatever hoax this is, Sarai, I do not appreciate it. Have I not been giving you enough attention? Is that why you feel the need to jest?”
Once a king, always a king. No matter that I am his daughter, disrespect will not stand in King Halim’s court. “It is no hoax, Father.” It takes an effort to smooth the raw edges of my response. His assumption stings more than I care to admit. “Notus and I are engaged.”
“Since when?” he barks.
