“Stand back!” someone roars, and I freeze. In my peripheral vision, I see the courtyard guards snap to instant attention, hands on their weapons and moving closer... towardme,as ifI’ma threat. Every single person drops to the ground in deference as a hushed silence descends over the courtyard.
Trembling with adrenaline, I do the same and peek up through my lashes. A massive Thoroughbred stallion glistens with sweat above me, its powerful hooves stomping the dirt a hair’s breadth from my head. My eyes travel past the animal’s sleek, muscular torso to the rich drapes falling from the golden saddle and jeweled bridle, my stomach cramping with every raised inch.
Please don’t be the king. Please don’t be the king.
“Stand,” a female voice commands, and a lance of cold horror spikes through me. Only one person could be worse than the king. His wife, Queen Morvarid.
“M-majesty,” I stammer, standing but keeping my eyes lowered.
“Show me your face.”
I look up and meet the glacial stare of Prince Javed’s mother. Her disdain is obvious as she pinches my offending headdress with the tip of her index finger and her thumb. She looks like a warrior goddess in polished riding leathers, golden armbands, and an exquisitely plumed headpiece that trails down her back. Although an emerald silk veil covers the lower half of her face, I can tell the rumors of her beauty aren’t exaggerated.
A kohl-lined gaze sweeps me from top to bottom, narrowing at my messy hair, rumpled clothes, and sweaty face. “What is your name?”
“Sur—Suraya Saab, Your Majesty.”
Her stare is cold. “House?”
“Aldebaran.”
“Of course,” she says with no small amount of disdain, and waves off the guards who have surrounded us. “Isthisyours?”
“Yes, it is, Your Majesty,” I stammer, wishing I could disappear into the bowels of the earth at her scathing tone.
“Refined young ladies in the imperial court donotcomport themselves in such a manner. This is not the slovenly market square of whichever squalid hole of a backwater city you hail from. This is the royal palace. Youwillconduct yourself with grace and decorum.”
Her words are delivered like the strokes of a crop, and I flinch at each soul-blistering crack. My stomach takes its final dive into complete and abject humiliation as ugly heat creeps up my neck into my cheeks. “Of course, Your Majesty. Forgive me.”
She tosses the headpiece down, where it’s caught by the gardener from the wall, and wheels her horse around with a flourish. Half a dozen mounted guards follow in her wake, while the rest go back to their positions. Dead silence descends for a moment, followed by a roar of frenzied whispers.
Every remaining pair of eyes in the courtyard flicks to me, while the nearby chosen don’t even attempt to stifle their delight at such a scandal. The women I’d noticed on arrival laugh openly at my shame, and I cringe. No amount of fancy clothes will erase an entrance such as mine, at least not in this century.
“By the maker, how could I have been so sandsdamned stupid?” I whisper to myself.
“Not stupid exactly,” an all too supercilious voice interjects. “Perhaps ill-advised or temerarious?”
Chapter Five
I glance over at the gardener who’d been the harbinger of my misfortune, my humiliation intensifying at the teasing glint in his eyes. “What do you know?” I snap.
One well-formed shoulder lifts in an indolent shrug. “I suppose I know my place here. The real question is do you, Lady Suraya Saab of House Aldebaran?”
The truth stings, but he’s not wrong. This is theroyalcourtyard, not the inn in Coban; I’d behaved like a boorish country bumpkin, and I know my behavior will be nothing but fodder for juicy gossip. I force back a rush of self-pity as the man standing beside me hands me the now dusty headdress that Laleh had crafted so carefully.
“Thank you,” I mutter, and then glance around, still feeling the press of many eyes, not just from the women but from the guards. The way they’d reacted earlier, as if I were running to attack the queen.Me.“Are there so many guards because of the Dahaka and what happened yesterday?” I blurt out.
Face inscrutable, he follows my gaze. “Yes. Or so I’ve heard.”
“They thoughtIwas a threat?” I ask.
“Well, you were running hell-bent toward our esteemed sovereign,” he replies, putting his hands into his pockets and lifting his brows.
“I was only trying to get my veil!”
He purses his lips with solemn gravitas. “With the most murderous look on your face. Even I was scared for my life.”
Beyond irritated, I glower at him. “You should be the court jester.”
