I pick up my pace, and in a few minutes, I enter the great hall and dart across it, exiting into the courtyard.
Finally, freedom!
“Excuse me,” I say to a young boy carrying a bucket of oats. “Where is the palace forge?”
His eyes widen, presumably since I’m one of the chosen, but then he points toward some well-manicured hedges and scurries away. I suppose a general direction is better than nothing. I head off to where he indicated and find myself at the entrance of a lush garden maze. A delighted laugh leaves my lips. I recognize this place! The maze is painted on the leftmost side of the picture back home.
Mama and I used to pretend that we had to find the jewel at the center of it. We’d trace the lines on the painting, making choices on which way to turn. While I’d gotten hopelessly thwarted at first, she’d known exactly how to get to the center, having been inside this actual maze herself.
I breathe in the fragrant air, wondering if she, too, had once stood in this spot. I step past the first hedgerow and hesitate. But as I stand in the sunlight, the path to the heart of the maze comes back to me in a rush. I see it in my mind’s eye, and I follow the turns we’d mapped together, enjoying the solitude and the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves around me.
I know I’m nearing the center when I hear the muted splash of a fountain.
And voices.
One fluttery and high-pitched, and one belonging to... Prince Javed.
With a sharp inhale, I flatten myself against the leaves and peek through the nearest gap in the hedge. The prince has one of his chosen, the redhead from the courtyard, pressed against a column, his hand up her skirts. She doesn’t seem to mind; her giggle fills the space as his other hand gropes the front of her bodice. If seduction is part of the prince’s whole selection process, count me out.
“Your Highness,” she squeals, and bats his hand away.
With a growl that makes the hairs on my nape stand straight, that same hand lashes to her throat. “Did you just strike the heir to the throne?” he snarls.
Her face goes crimson as his fingers tighten. “Of course not, Your Highness.”
I can’t see his expression, but I can see his fingers cinching her slender neck and hear the tiny, panicked wheezes of her breath.Fuck this.I can’t just stand by and let him hurt her! But before I can take a step forward, a hand closes over my mouth and an arm bands about my waist. A scream throttles in my throat as warm lips graze the shell of my ear. “Don’t be foolish. He’ll execute you.”
It’s the voice belonging to... the second prince.
“I’m going to release you now,” he whispers. The moment his arms loosen, I shove my elbow backward hard, taking pleasure in the soft grunt that comes from him, despite the pain shooting up my forearm. What is he made of? Flaming rocks?
“He’s hurting her!” I whisper savagely back to him.
“He’s the crown prince.”
Rage fills me. “That doesn’t mean—”
“Yes,” he says softly. “It means he can do anything he wants. Don’t worry, he won’t harm her, but if you barge in there, I cannot guarantee that you will not meet that fate. Besides, watch.” There’s a gravelly inflection in his voice that makes goose bumps rise all over me.
I turn back, and both of Prince Javed’s hands are occupied—one still wrapped around her throat and the other pressed between herlegs. Her head is thrown back, and she looks like she’s in the throes of... pleasure. Not pain. Well, maybe a little pain. Heat winds up my neck.
“More,” she gasps out.
My cheeks are on fire as Prince Roshan leans in. “It’s called breath play. And some of the chosen hope to get ahead of the game to gain his favor.”
“I know what it’s called, you ass. Don’t prince-splain me.” Not that I have actual, empirical experience, but those shadow tendrils in my dreams came pretty starsdamned close last night.
The prince grins and crooks a finger for me to go with him. I glance back to the fountain one last time, because I wouldn’t put it past Prince Javed to bypass consent altogether. But the lady is... dropping to her knees, andthat’smy cue to turn away. No judgment, but getting an eyeful of the crown prince’s jewels is not how I want to remember today.
In silence, I hurriedly track Prince Roshan’s footsteps until we reach another glade in the depths of the maze. Inside a whimsical folly with slender marble columns and a gabled roof, a small, ornate bench sits between two statues. Vines and fragrant roses curl over them.
“This was my mother’s favorite place,” he says in a normal voice. “Don’t worry, we can speak freely. The hedges are enough of a sound barrier.”
I frown at him, realizing how close he’d been behind me earlier. I hadn’t heard a thing. “Were you following me?”
“I live here.”
“You live in the maze?” I say dryly, and glare at him. “You let me believe you were a servant.”
