“Yesterday evening.”
My attention slides across the room to Prince Balior. He, too, is immobile, carved in equal measure by affront and disbelief. That is tobe expected. The fury igniting his dark eyes, however, is potent enough to send me back a step. It is too wild a thing.
“Meaning no disrespect, Princess Sarai, but I was with you yesterday evening, roaming the palace grounds.” The prince smooths the front of his robe, giving motion to his evident frustration. “At what point did Notus have time to ask for your hand?”
A perfectly valid question, for which I have no answer.
“Princess Sarai and I crossed paths in the corridors,” the South Wind says. I glance at him in surprise. He is a flawless image of placid waters, as though this is all unfolding exactly as intended. “I wanted to make sure she arrived at her chambers safely, but I couldn’t wait. I asked then.”
Prince Balior appears moments away from stabbing Notus through the heart. After casting a glare in the immortal’s direction, the prince turns to me, his expression deeply wounded. “You told me there was nothing between you and the South Wind,” he says. “Was that, too, a lie?”
I am acutely aware of Notus’ heated gaze razing the side of my face. I refuse to look at him. “Not exactly,” I begin, wetting my lips, “but after some reflection, I wondered if I had been too quick to judge his past actions—”
Prince Balior scoffs and turns from me. “I can’t listen to this anymore.”
I look to King Halim, who glowers at me, hands clamped around the arms of his chair. “Explain.”
Does he demand this of me as a father, or as a king?
“I’m not sure how else to explain it,” I say with notable composure. “Yesterday, Notus asked for my hand in marriage. I accepted. Should the gods will it, we will be wed.”
Father shakes his head. His gaze is so cutting I imagine he wishes to chisel this image into something else. “You tread too soft of sand, Sarai.” That I have accepted Notus’ engagement without Father’s knowledge—without anyone’s knowledge—is cause for potential scandal.
I startle as the strength of Notus’ fingers encloses mine, and my eyes leap to his. He does not understand what is happening, yet he standswith me. A gratified warmth blooms against my sternum, which I tuck aside for consideration at a later time.
“Your Majesty,” the South Wind says, with the bass resonance of canyon winds, “Sarai speaks the truth. I’ve asked for her hand in marriage. I understand it is sudden and that it may complicate matters—”
“You’re damn right this complicates matters!” Spittle flies from Father’s mouth. “I don’t know what marital customs exist in whatever realm you hail from, Notus, but in Ammara, they are not to be treated carelessly.”
“I do not treat your customs carelessly, Your Majesty.” The solemnity with which Notus speaks rings in the way only truth can. “However, I understand my actions may suggest otherwise. I have only the utmost respect for you, Princess Sarai, and your realm. All I wish is to bring your daughter happiness.”
My fingers twitch inside his palm, and Notus tightens his grip in what I convince myself is comfort. A past version of myself—young, naive—at one point wished to hear this sentiment. Now, I’m uncertain whether the South Wind speaks the truth or is simply going along with the ruse because he hopes to foil the prince’s reprehensible plans. Would it matter, in the end? If I’m promised to another man, Prince Balior will leave Ammara. There would be no reason for him—or his army—to stay.
With calm resolve, I inform King Halim, “As you know, Father, Ammara’s customs dictate it takes two parties to consent to an engagement, but only one to break it. If you cannot honor the fact that I’d already accepted Notus’ proposal before this meeting, then at least honor the traditions of our realm.” So long as Notus and I refuse to renounce our betrothal, the king hasn’t the authority to prohibit it. This is our law. And it would be in poor taste for the king to disregard the laws of the realm in front of a visiting prince.
Father blinks once, twice, before a bit of laughter slips out and unrolls in hoarse waves of disbelief. Notus and I exchange a wordless glance. Across the room, Prince Balior observes the South Wind with crossed arms, his expression downright scathing.
“I see what this is about,” the king manages once he regains control of his emotions. “It is a jest. A means to get my attention. Well, you have it. I admit, I have not been present enough, Sarai, but please understand there are more important matters at hand. Enough of this.”
“That’s not it, Father. Not at all.” And it hurts unbearably that he would make light of a very real, very unmet need in my life.
He sits straight-backed in his chair, mood darkening. “I arranged this with your future in mind. Prince Balior is what you need. What weallneed.”
Does he think I don’t understand? Of course I do. Without Prince Balior’s research, darkwalkers will continue to infiltrate. But if I am to protect my realm from a potentially larger, more insidious threat, this is my only path forward.
Quietly, I say, “Please, Papa.”
Something fractures the king’s expression. Sorrow, perhaps, or grief. I have not called him this since I was a child. But it is what I have always yearned for: to reach for Father, knowing that he will reach back.
“King Halim.” Prince Balior turns toward him. “You assured me that a union between our realms was guaranteed. Now I learn that your daughter is promised to another man?” His lip curls. “I have traveled far, and for what? To be publicly humiliated by a second-rate royal and this foreign scoundrel—”
“That’s enough,” Notus cuts in.
The air coils onto itself, a serpent in its nest. The South Wind’s black eyes lock onto Prince Balior in warning. Sensing the mounting tension, the guards stationed along the walls reach for their swords.
Quietly, Notus says, “Remember whose home you occupy, Prince Balior. Do not think to disrespect the royal family.”
A deep flush inflames the prince’s cheeks. “This whole thing reeks of deception,” he growls.
