He couldn’t believe –The nerve of her –He never tolerated such insolence from anyone, much less an ill-tempered, illegitimate miss of no distinction. Even Omid, who’d once tested his patience to the hilt, had quickly learned deference. That she would dare insult him and speak of him with such condescension, as if he were beneath her – and he, the impending king to the greatest empire on earth – Hell, it was his prerogative to have her banished from Ardunia forevermore should he choose to do so, and yet, somehow, his bafflement was so complete he was unable to form the words necessary to express this outrage.
Very well.
His eyes narrowed. If this was how she wanted to proceed, he would more than match her ire. Kamran was nothing if not masterful in the pursuit of vanquishing his rivals.
“Ah, there’s a fine lady coming toward us now,” announced Huda. “Perhaps she’ll know where we might find something to eat.”
At once Hazan took advantage of his stupor to step forward, shielding Cyrus’s crumpled body from view. “A final warning, Kamran,” he said quietly. “I don’t take orders from you anymore. My queen issued a command to keep this fool alive and I will honor that, even if I don’t understand it. Try to kill him, and you’ll have to go through me.”
It was a moment before Kamran recovered himself, tearing his mind away from the horrors of Huda to this, the more present catastrophe, and when he did, disappointment dampened his fervor. “Of all the scenarios I might’ve imagined,” he said finally, “I never thought you’d stand against me in this. That you would defendhim.”
“I never imagined I would, either,” Hazan said with a long-suffering sigh. He dragged a hand through his hair before glancing again at the prone body of the southern king. “At the very least, I need him alive long enough to discover what happened to Alizeh – and what he did with her. Until such a time, he will remain under my protection.”
“You would really fight me?” Kamran said, regaining a shade of his earlier temper. “If I challenged you now – you’d be willing to die for him?”
“Forher,” Hazan corrected. “Without hesitation. Though you flatter yourself if you think you could best me in a fight. You’ve never truly known me, Kamran, and I’d hate for you to make my acquaintance only as you draw your final breath.”
The prince raised his eyebrows.
It was the way Hazan had said it – without arrogance or swagger – that gave him pause. In fact, Hazan seemed to mean the words sincerely, as if he’d indeed regret a bloody conclusion to their friendship. Except –
“If that’s true,” said the prince, “why didn’t you fight back when the guards dragged you away at the ball? If you’re as capable as you claim, you might’ve saved your queen then.”
Hazan looked away. “I should have.”
“And yet?”
“My greatest failing that night,” he said gravely, “was that I didn’t anticipate Cyrus. I’d no idea another plan for her had been hatched alongside my own; hell, I didn’t even know Cyrus was in possession of hername, much less a scheme to spirit her away. My own plans for the evening had been compromised; all I wanted was her safety and anonymity, and I’d hoped the distraction of my betrayal would afford her an opportunity to run. Never did I imagine that in my absence she’d take her exit through the palace wall, on the back of a Tulanian dragon. Never did I imagine she’d end uphere, in this godforsaken hell,” he added angrily, meeting the prince’s eyes. “I’ve gone through it in my mind dozens of times, hating myself more each time for failing her. Understand me now: I refuse to fail her again.”
The prince was silent as he appraised Hazan a moment more: the set to his jaw, the grim resolve in his gaze. “I see that you’re determined,” he said finally. “And I’ll grant you this one concession, Hazan, but never again. You may keep him alive until your queen is found, but when the time comes for him to die,be certain that I will set the terms.”
“So that’s it, then?”
Everyone turned at the sound of the new voice. Kamran was surprised to discover a regal, older woman drawing carefully toward them. Her fiery hair color and glittering diadem left little doubt as to her identity, and though Kamran knew he should bow, or at least incline his head, he refused.
He only stared, stonily.
She nodded at him, unbothered by his silent disrespect, then at the others who’d circled back from their breakfast search, now frozen in various states of debasement. Omid had attempted a curtsy.
“I am Queen Sarra,” she said with a strange smile. “And you must be Prince Kamran, of Ardunia.” Carefully she cataloged his fresh scar, the glittering vein of gold that split through his left eye. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, of course. My condolences.”
Kamran maintained his silence, though he was resisting an urge then to destroy something. That she might stand there and offer him condolences as if she were remarking upon the weather – and her ownchildresponsible –
“Are you quite certain,” she said delicately, “that you’re not going to kill my son?”
“There was a serious misunderstanding, Your Majesty,” said Hazan, stepping forward. “The king appears to be unwell.”
She glanced at Cyrus’s collapsed, bleeding body. “I can see that.”
At this cold reaction, even Kamran frowned. The woman’s son was half-dead on the ground,and she inspected him as if he were diseased. She was either demented or dangerously malicious; Kamran hadn’t yet decided. When she continued to smile at him, he found himself leaning toward the former.
“Well,” she said, and took a sharp breath. “I suppose you must all be tired from your journey. Do come inside. Breakfast is well underway.”
“Breakfast?” Hazan echoed.
“Breakfast,” Omid said eagerly, then hesitated. “Wait” – he stepped back – “you’re not going to throw us in the dungeons, are you?”
Sarra tilted her head at the boy, then responded to him in his native tongue. “You speak Feshtoon, how lovely. And where are you from?”
