‘They are all good girls,’ Bilal said, rocking slightly in his seat. ‘I just want them safe.’
The king looked in need of a lie-down.
‘I understand,’ Tariq said. ‘You’ve been successful so far.’
When Bilal met his gaze, Tariq saw the pain in his eyes.
The story went that a decade after his wife’s death, the king was still grieving. That grief had consumed him entirely. It was visible in every crevice of his face. Even his clothes resembled those worn by a widower. Despite his advisers urging him to remarry, his heart and soul remained bound to his dead wife.
A covenweaver.
Many women had since met the same fate. The Emperor had no tolerance for people with abilities he couldn’t control or possess—especially women.
The two sisters glanced in his direction, confirming that they were talking about him. It had been clever to suggest Lilah as a match, knowing his parents were seeking a pliable wife. But Tariq hadn’t travelled to Avanid for a good wife. He had come in search of a covenweaver.
Aisha turned to go indoors, and Tariq watched her retreating back, wondering if he had imagined the change in her when their hands had touched, the way her eyes glazed over and her pupils expanded.
‘Apologies, Your Highness,’ Zara said as she took her seat. ‘Everyone seems to be dispersing.’ She glanced at the king. ‘What did I miss?’
Bilal didn’t appear to hear.
Tariq gestured towards the garden. ‘I was just admiring your carved wall.’
Zara looked over at it. ‘My mother’s design. She was quite the artist.’
Bilal seemed to come back to life at the mention of her, staring at the wall as though seeing it for the first time. ‘She really was.’
Zara reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, the way one might a child’s.
‘The craftsmanship’s a testament to Avanid’s dedication to artistry,’ Tariq said, keeping the conversation moving.
Zara lowered her head in gratitude. ‘Thank you, Your Highness.’
Conscious of time, he brought the conversation back around. ‘I was wondering if you could tell me about Princess Aisha.’
That had Bilal looking up.
Zara sat back, assessing the prince. ‘She’s as educated and capable as her sister.’ She paused before adding, ‘And just as beautiful, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.’
He had noticed. But he wasn’t about to let a pair of pretty brown eyes impair his judgement. There was no way of confirming that Aisha had abilities without putting her in danger. Covenweavers hid behind safer words like healer, confidant, or mentor.
‘Aisha’s attributes are endless,’ Zara continued. ‘And she’s not spoken for—yet.’
It seemed Zara didn’t mind which sister he wanted, so long as it was one of them.
‘She doesn’t have any current marriage prospects?’ Tariq asked.
Bilal closed his eyes. ‘It is the rumours. He wants them all to burn.’
Zara’s hand shot out, silencing him with a simple touch. ‘People love to talk.’
‘They lie,’ Bilal said to no one in particular.
Another squeeze from Zara.
‘I try not to pay too much attention to rumours,’ Tariq said, eyes on the king. ‘With your blessing, Your Majesty, I’d like Aisha to accompany me to Gruisea.’
Bilal slowly lifted his gaze, staring at the prince with the most tortured of expressions. But before he had a chance to respond, Aisha rushed into the garden, looking slightly panicked.
