Hello, Sarai. What have you come to offer me?
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Prince Balior approach the South Wind. As they converse, the prince gestures with his hands in evident frustration. Notus, unsurprisingly, remains calm.
Returning my attention to the task at hand, I reply,I’m not here to offer you anything. I’m here to beg for your mercy.
The wind abruptly dies.
Members of the Royal Guard glance around in apprehension. Here, atop the bluff, the air is always stirring, building into distant storms. I wait, nape prickling, for the Lord of the Mountain to smite me down. Perhaps I could have worded my request with a bit more reverence.
Please,I press.I don’t want to die. I want to live, I—My fingernails dig crescent moons into my soft palms.You owe me nothing. I know this. But my father is a good man who only wanted to save me. Why must I be punished for something I had no control over? I was just an infant.A terse breath hits the back of my clenched teeth.I’m begging you. Please, won’t you help me?
But the Lord of the Mountain does not answer.
On our return to the palace, King Halim is stopped by a haggard woman clutching a swaddled infant to her breast. The child is sickly. Wan face and yellow eyes. Paces behind, I am frozen atop the horse I share with Notus, stricken.
“Please,” says the mother, lifting her child toward the king. “I would ask for your blessing, Your Majesty. I have beseeched the Lord of the Mountain, but he continues to ignore my pleas. You are my last hope if my son is to live.”
One of the soldiers begins shoving the interloper aside when Father lifts a hand. “Wait.” Slumped forward in his saddle, he considers thewoman before turning to one of his guards. “Help me down from my horse.”
The South Wind dismounts as well, positioning himself nearer to the king for protection. I watch Father take the baby into his arms. I remember a time when he gifted blessings most generously. Monthly, he ventured into the city. Young and old, healthy and infirm, none were turned away. Following Fahim’s death, he no longer paraded the streets, choosing instead to cloister himself behind the palace walls.
As Father bestows a kiss on the infant, a queue begins to form. The king’s blessing, more valuable than coin. Slowly, he makes his way down the line, until his crown slips out of sight.
Meanwhile, attention shifts from King Halim and settles onto the South Wind. At first, I can’t discern what the crowd is saying. The city sounds drown out but the nearest voices. Eventually, however, I catch their topic of conversation: my betrothal to Notus.
I hesitate before dismounting from Zainab, the Royal Guard driving back the gathering. “You are quite the person of interest,” I murmur to the South Wind. From their saddles, Amir and Tuleen watch King Halim bless Ishmah’s citizens.
“Give the princess a kiss!” someone cries.
The crowd stirs. Their mouths run away from them.Kiss? Did I hear that right?Holding hands as an engaged couple is harmless. Kissing is another beast entirely. Prince Balior still sits astride his horse, the clench of his jaw exposing his outrage.
“You say you’re truly engaged to the South Wind?” another person calls. “Then prove it!”
Soon, a second voice piles onto the first, and a third, until the chant rolls over our party.
Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss…
I clear my throat, shift my attention to Notus, whose eyes come to rest on my face. Strands of dark hair poke from beneath his headscarf. He looks… not terrified, exactly, but wary. My cheeks heat in the passing moments. We made an agreement, he and I. Notus vowed to help me until Prince Balior departed Ammara. Watching the womanpromised to him kiss another man—it might be enough to drive the prince from Ishmah for good.
I’m not sure who moves first, but somehow, I find myself in the South Wind’s arms, as though we have irrevocably agreed to do whatever is necessary to maintain this charade, damn the consequences. My vision momentarily blurs as his scent surrounds me. I sigh against his neck. Notus stiffens.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” I murmur, for his ears only.
Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!
“Right.” He grips my hip with a broad palm. “It’s for show.”
I curl my hand into the front of his robe, drat its trembling. “Exactly.” His eyes begin to heat. I do not think I’m imagining it. “What if…”
My lungs hollow out. “What?”
He shakes his head, and the bristle sketching his jaw scrapes my cheek. My stomach drops so swiftly I swear it splatters at my feet. “Never mind,” he murmurs.
I can’t help the feeling of disappointment that follows. I’d thought… but no, that’s stupid. We promised to put on a show. And if it’s a show the people want, it’s a show they shall get.
Easing back, I peer at him through my eyelashes, our mouths a hairsbreadth apart.
“Do it,” I murmur.
