“Yes.” The prince blinked, shaking himself free. “Yes. Have her escorted to the morning room at once.”
Omid grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and bolted down the hall.
Kamran remained where he stood, his mind reeling.
He hated the way his body reacted to the mere mention of her; to the sound of her name, spoken aloud.
Alizeh still had this hold over him, and he couldn’t fathom why. He’d known the girl but a matter of days—and then she’d proven herself to be the worst kind of monster. Why, then, did some pathetic part of him protest the assassinationof her character? Why did he feel as if he were missing something—lacking some essential piece of information?
Without a doubt she’d bewitched him.
Why else would his heart beat this hard at the prospect of discussing her? Why else did he feel a strange flutter in his chest, a terrible joy at the thought of looking through her things?
Kamran remembered her carpet bag.
He remembered watching her stuff the small luggage to its limits, jamming every article she owned into its depths. Her entire life had fit inside that bag; these were the most essential items she owned; the possessions she cherished the most. He felt almost light-headed at the prospect of unraveling her secrets.
He expected he would only ever be rid of these feelings once she was dead.
Eight
CYRUS MADE NO MOVE.
He only stared at Alizeh, hatred flashing in his gaze with a fervor that—for a moment—nearly scared her.
It was a good thing, she reasoned.
Cyrus had been vicious with his tongue, true, but he’d been otherwise docile, presenting no threat of physical harm—which had lulled her into a false sense of security. This was dangerous; were Alizeh to underestimate him she’d pay dearly for the oversight—as Cyrus, she would take care to remember, could be quite frightening indeed. She’d not allow herself to forget how easily he’d murdered Zaal; how casually he’d suggested killing Miss Huda; how confidently he’d lifted his sword to slay Kamran.
Kamran.
She still didn’t know whether he was dead.
A sharp pain bore through her at the realization, steeling her resolve anew. If he’d killed Kamran, she’d gouge his eyes out. She’d gouge his eyes out and force them down his throat.
“I said choose your weapon,” Alizeh repeated angrily.
Still, Cyrus did not move. “And you? From where will you procure a weapon of your own?”
“I do not require one.”
He actually laughed at that, a dry sound that inspired no change to his stony expression. “Of all the trials I’ve recently endured,” he said, turning his face up to the sky. “You are by far the most excruciating.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
“It’s not a compliment,” he said with some heat, meeting her eyes again. “And I will not fight you.”
“Then let me go.”
He made a small bow, a faint gesture with his hand. “Go.”
Alizeh stared at him a beat, then spun around, taking in the landscape to which he’d gestured, the sights she’d already seen: the cliffs, the waterfalls, the devastating drop to the river below. He was all but suggesting she die to escape him.
Heavens, but she was dealing with a madman.
Cyrus shook his head at her, almost smiled. “Is the fall not worth your freedom?”
Her anger only intensified. “You are despicable.”
