No, her eyes had not deceived her: his face was altered.
Something like a strike of lightning had bisected his left eye, splitting open a narrow, chaotic vein of gold along his skin, the peculiar striation glittering under the sun. His affected iris was now an inhuman color, the transformation somehow only heightening his beauty – rendering him otherworldly, and not a little terrifying.
“Your Majesty,” came Hazan’s low, urgent voice.
Alizeh turned back to him, her pulse refusing to calm.
“Forgive me, but I must ask you quickly: Have you consented to marry the king of Tulan?”
NINE
ALIZEH NEARLY ROCKED BACKWARD INastonishment. She couldn’t fathom how news of Cyrus’s proposal had traveled so quickly to Ardunia, though she could imagine no other reason Hazan might’ve encountered such gossip.
“No,” she said softly, eyes still round with wonder. “I’ve not consented to marry him.”
“Hells,” Hazan said on an exhale, the harsh word a contrast to his obvious relief. “I can’t tell you how gratified I am to hear it.”
“But – Hazan, I must tell you” – she placed a hand on his arm and he stiffened – “I’ve been giving his proposal serious consideration…. Cyrus has offered me his kingdom in exchange –”
“No,” he said, brightening with alarm. He tossed a furtive glance at Kamran’s approaching figure. “I beg you, do not consider it – It would be a mistake, Your Majesty –”
“What would be a mistake?”
Alizeh turned slowly toward the voice, steadying herself under the prince’s imposing stare. She bristled with uncertain energy; she didn’t know what to make of him, not now that she knew he harbored some wish to hurt her. He, on the other hand, remained implacable – just until he took inventory of her face and slackened in shock. His voice, when he spoke,was all the more lethal for its softness.
“Your throat,” he said. “Your cheek – You are injured –”
“I’m quite well,” she countered, not understanding her own impulse to lie. It was just that her head was so muddled and his mood so changeable that she felt at a great disadvantage. Alizeh disliked the way he towered over her, and she wanted space from his heated eyes, wanted a moment alone with her thoughts in the wake of these upsetting revelations. She attempted to lever herself into a standing position but lost steam in the effort, the unfinished action causing the unfastened flaps of her cloak to gape open.
Hazan swore loudly at the reveal of her bloodied dress, the epithet so off-color it shocked her – but it was Kamran who spoke, whose voice shook her with its fury.
“What happened?” he demanded. “What has that bastard done to you?”
Hazan, unfortunately, was no calmer. “Is this why you were on the ground? Were you in fact unconscious?”
“I don’t –” she tried to say.
“Why is it you bear every indication of abuse?”
Alizeh shook her head, and a sharp pain pierced the back of her skull. She was dizzy and dehydrated, and her limbs were trembling, she realized, with much more than unease.
“Pray do not upset yourselves,” she said breathlessly. She looked around, assessing the situation through new eyes. “Heavens, I wonder why we haven’t yet been swarmed by palace staff. Or intercepted by the Queen Mother herself.”
“Oh, the servants are all watching, miss,” Omid piped in from afar. “Their faces are pressed against every window.”He waved at someone in the distance, and a faint chorus of giggles were issued in response.
“How nice,” said Alizeh, forcing a smile. “More gossip.”
Kamran’s eyes were shrewd. “What do you mean?”
She was spared responding to this when Hazan cut in. “Your Majesty,” he said, “where is the king?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said, and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, which had broken out in a light, cold sweat. She felt nauseous. “But I promise you, the situation is not as it appears. He is no true danger to me –”
“I beg you do not make excuses for him in the interest of our protection. It is good of you to be concerned for our welfare, but you need not worry that we will prevail over such a brute.”
“You must understand,” said Alizeh wearily. “You, of all people, Hazan.This” – she gestured to her stained gown – “is not my blood.”
“No – of course,” came Hazan’s stilted reply, his eyes sweeping over the endless spatter of red. “But the cut at your throat –”
