When he lifts his gaze, I’ve the distinct feeling of having been cornered, despite sitting in a spacious room, a hot breeze coasting through the open windows. I’ve a handful of seconds to determine how I might react.
I reply with a single word. “Why?”
He smiles, a little bit sharp, a little bit mean. “For the same reason your father stationed guards at my chambers and has a handful of his men shadowing me at every turn. I can’t forget our history. Ammara and Um Salim have been politically strained for decades. Can you blame a man for requiring safety when visiting an enemy nation?”
As a matter of fact, I cannot. “Why did you fail to divulge this information to the king?”
“But I did.”
“What?”
“With all the darkwalker attacks, I asked King Halim if my men might take refuge within the capital, and he agreed.”
Never in my wildest dreams would I believe Father to welcome an army into Ishmah’s walls. As his sickness worsens, I fear the deterioration of his mind.
“If it would ease your worry,” the prince says, “I will remind him at tonight’s meal that my men remain in the city. If he requests that the troops be removed from the capital, I will dismiss them without argument.”
Admittedly, it would do much to ease the strain on my nerves. “Thank you.”
“Is that enough reason for you to reconsider our engagement?”
My hands drop onto my lap. The lead bracelet gleams dully. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. And that is the best I can offer at the moment. “Whether or not this has been a misunderstanding, I’m still engaged to the South Wind.”
“You’ve already shown how easily a promise can be broken.” He levels me a pointed look.
And that, too, is a truth. Though I will need to think deeper on what I truly want, what is best for Ammara’s future. “I will think on it.”
“That’s all I can ask of you.”
Once standing, the prince dips his chin toward me, seemingly in better spirits than he was prior to this conversation. “Good day to you, Princess Sarai.”
And so the festival unfolds. Each evening, following time spent in the city, offerings placed and markets attended, I return to my quarters, sunburned and dehydrated, yet filled with joy at spending time amongmy people. One night, Notus knocks on the interconnecting door between our rooms. I all but trip in my haste to open it.
“Hello,” I say breathlessly, swiping strands of hair from my eyes.
The South Wind lifts an eyebrow in curiosity. “King Halim requests our attendance in his chambers.”
My heart sinks. Right. Because of course that would be the only reason for Notus to knock. The last thing I need is Father challenging my engagement yet again. I’m not ready to speak to him just yet. “Can’t we just… take a walk?”
I would like that, I think, to walk with the South Wind in the streets of Ishmah, and to blend past with present.
Soon we are strolling the King’s Road, veering toward one of the public gardens. All is quiet but for the sounds of Ishmah bedding down. The stamp of horses’ hooves. The din of merchants closing up shop. The snap of cloth, laundry hung out to dry on ropes woven from goat hair and strung between buildings.
“I heard you and Prince Balior spoke privately the other day,” Notus murmurs, hands behind his back as we ease around a corner. Moonlight brightens the paving stones, gleams silver across the rooftops.
I fight the urge to look at him. “We did.” My slippers scuff the hard ground.
He hesitates, and from the corner of my eye, I watch him fight the urge to look at me, too. “It’s none of my business, but I can’t help but wonder why you keep giving him the time of day, considering what we know of him.”
I’m not sure whether to be pleased that Notus is affected by my conversation with the prince, or irked that he doesn’t trust me. “Prince Balior doesn’t surrender easily, and I’m wary of angering him now that he intends to stay. Better if he thinks he has a chance to change my mind about the engagement.”
“Would you?” He pulls me to a halt in the middle of the street. The garden entrance lies only steps away, its wrought iron gates a shield over interlacing leaves. “Change your mind?”
“What?” I stare at him, completely flummoxed. “About Prince Balior?”
He glances away in what I believe to be embarrassment. “It’s not that problematic of a question, is it?”
The longer I study the South Wind, the more certain I am of one truth: he cares. More than I realized, more than he is willing to admit. The thought warms me, ears to toes. “No,” I say softly. “I suppose it’s not.”
