“Stop,” Alizeh shouted, clapping her hands around her ears. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she needed air, needed to flee the crush of the crowd. “Get out, get out of my head—”
Beware the gold, the crown, the eye
One is a king who is loath to die
Ford the darkness, scale the wall
Two have a friend who is foe to all
“Leave me alone! Please, just leave me alone—”
The serpent, the saber, the fiery light
Three will storm and rage and fight
Alizeh caught a marble column around the middle and sagged against it, pressing her uncommonly overheated cheek to its cool skin. “Please,” she gasped. “I beg you— Leave me be—”
Always the jester will interfere
For there cannot be three sovereigns here
Something broke, smoke unclenching from around her throat, and just like that, he was gone.
Alizeh felt dizzy in the aftermath, breathless with fear. She pressed herself against the glossy marble, felt the cold penetrate her skin through her gauzy gown. She’d been so certain she’d freeze in this dress, but she’d not anticipated the crush of bodies, their collective heat, the unusual warmth she’d feel this night.
Alizeh closed her eyes, tried to calm her breathing.
She didn’t know where she was and she didn’t care; she could hardly hear her own thoughts over the sound of her heart, beating wildly in her chest.
She’d not even been able to decode the first riddle she’dreceived from the devil—how was she supposed to understand this second one?
Worse, so much worse: his visits had proven over and over to be an omen. It was just days ago that he’d filled her head with whispers of misery, and oh, how she’d suffered the consequences. How dramatically had her life changed and collapsed since she last heard his voice in her head? What did that mean for her now? Would she lose every crumb of hope she’d recently collected?
There was no precedent for this precipitous visit from Iblees. Alizeh usually experienced months, not days, of a reprieve before his torturous voice infected her mind again, bringing with it all manner of calamity and unrest.
How, now, would she be tortured?
“Alizeh.”
She stiffened, turning to face an altogether different torment even as she grasped for purchase at the cool column. Alizeh’s heart pounded now in an entirely new fashion, her pulse fluttering dangerously at her throat.
Kamran stood before her, magnificently turned out in a heavy green coat, the open, buttonless front cinched closed with a complex emerald harness, his neck wrapped up to his chin in more gleaming jewels. His eyes were made impossibly darker with kohl, more devastating as they searched her now. But it was the glint of the circlet in his hair that sent a terrifying bolt through her heart.
He was a prince.She’d nearly forgotten.
“Alizeh,” he said again, though he whispered it now, staring at her with a longing he did nothing to conceal. Theinfinite darkness that was his eyes took in every detail of her face, her hair, even her gown. Alizeh felt weak standing this close to him, disjointed in her mind. Nothing was going according to plan.
How had he even spotted her in the melee?
She’d glimpsed him, briefly, from afar, watched him coolly receive a long line of guests she’d been certain would distract him through the night. Surely he had responsibilities he could not abandon—surely someone would soon be along to collect him—
The prince made a sound of distress that startled her, sharpening her instincts; Alizeh drew closer without thinking, stopping just short of touching him. She watched as Kamran winced a second time, gently tugging the collar away from his neck, doing his best to find relief without disturbing the artfully constructed ensemble.
“What is it?” Alizeh asked softly. “Are you in pain?”
He shook his head, attempting a brief laugh that did little to deny his obvious discomfort. “No, it’s nothing. It’s only that I find these costumes suffocating. This coat is supposed to be made of silk, but it’s frightfully stiff and coarse. It was uncomfortable before, but now I swear it feels as if it’s full of needles.” He grimaced again, pulling at the lapel of his coat.
“Needles?” Alizeh frowned. Tentatively, she touched him, felt him stiffen as she drew her hand along the emerald brocade, its raised embroidery. “Do you— Do you have a sensitivity to gold?”
