“If I may – where has your bride gone, sire? She was out even earlier than the servants this morning –”
“Is it true they’ve come for peace talks? Do you imagine things will be different –”
“– then they just flew away! Five of them – in a shot of light!”
“Sire?”
“Sire?”
“Where are you going, sire?”
“Oh, sire, you really shouldn’t –”
It had been an effort, politely evading their questions while synthesizing the pertinent revelations. How Kamran’s unworthy team had managed to acquire, as transportation, the legendary Simorgh and her family was truly a wonder, but the knowledge was a gift, too, for it was comforting to know that only a literal miracle had allowed the Ardunians to breach their borders.
Cyrus had thanked his staff once more, promising answers before the end of the day. His injured hand and leg, he’d noticed, had been washed and bound; the cool salve under his bandages offering him considerable relief. He’d meant to tend to these wounds straightaway with magic, but when the butler informed him that his mother was breakfasting with the foreigners in the dining room, he knew his injuries would have to wait.
Now Cyrus felt himself sag a little more against the priceless wall paneling, its fabric woven with gold and lotus silk,a gift received nearly a hundred years ago from the Shon empire. He felt as if his brain was lurching in his skull, as if he were surviving a succession of small heart attacks.
“If you do not leave here of your own volition,” he said with difficulty, “I will have you all forcibly removed. Should any of you refuse removal, you’ll be thrown in the dungeons, to be executed shortly thereafter. You will, however, be allowed to choose your preferred method of execution –”
“Are you such a coward,” interrupted the prince, “that you would leave my death to another? Are you so afraid to fight me yourself?”
Miss Huda gasped. Sarra’s eyes widened.
Cyrus knew better. He knew better and still he rose to this weak bait, angrily shoving away from the wall as a burst of adrenaline blurred his better reasoning skills.
“No, you’re right,” said Cyrus, reaching for the scabbard still slung at his waist. “Best if I kill you now, isn’t it? Best to do what I should’ve done the other night, and spare this world the heft of your useless, pathetic weight.”
Another flare of remembered sound, of sensation – Alizeh laughing, smiling at him – and Cyrus flinched, looking up in time to see Kamran bolt out of his chair. Hazan threw out an arm to hold back the prince, catching him around the chest with painful force – but Kamran shook him off, breathing hard. He was staring furiously at Cyrus.
“What motivation do you claim for such blatant malice? You act as if we’ve ever been acquainted, as if you have any reason to harbor such hatred toward me, when it wasyouwho murderedmygrandfather –”
“I have my reasons,” Cyrus exploded.
Kamran tried again to lunge at him and, once more, Hazan grappled with the prince, wrenching him back. “You have no reason,” Kamran practically roared. “You’re just a demented scion of the devil –”
“I don’t need a reason to detest you,” Cyrus said, making an effort to rein in his anger. “Nor do I need a reason to kill you, for it’s provocation enough that you exist. Still, I need only to recall the events of this morning to fan the flames of my contempt –”
“You would deny me the right to revenge? After all that you’ve –”
“I speak of your actions toward Alizeh!” Cyrus cried. “I refer to your unmitigated arrogance! You expect to be king of the largest empire on earth, responsible for the countless needs and protections of innumerable citizens, and yet over and over you exercise that imperious, self-satisfied speck of a brain only in the service of yourself, putting the lives of your dependents –innocents– at risk, in order to slake the thirst of your revenge, meanwhile you needed only to askif I would face you in a duel, for I would have readily accepted –”
“And who areyou,” Kamran thundered, “murderous, barbaric king that you are, to educate me on caring for the lives of innocents?”
Cyrus stilled, the familiar burn of fury scorching him from within. “King Zaal was no innocent.”
Kamran began to speak before thinking better of it, his jaw visibly clenching as he sent a furtive glance at the former street child. Omid was sitting stock-still in his seat, his big eyes wide with manifest fear.
How many young orphans had the late king murdered in order to keep himself unnaturally alive? How many skulls had he shattered for the brain matter within? How many years had the man spent feeding the serpents at his shoulders in exchange for more time to rule upon this decaying earth? Killing Zaal had been the one task Cyrus had performed with pleasure.
“You admired your grandfather a great deal,” he said finally, softly, “despite the horrors owned by his soul. If you would receive guidance from such a man, surely you might listen to a word of advice from me.” Cyrus looked him in the eye. “Your thickheaded, self-righteous behavior has no place on the throne. If you do not learn to set yourself aside in the service of others, you will never deserve your crown.”
Kamran recoiled at that, the anger in his eyes dissolving into something like alarm. He glanced at Hazan before saying urgently: “Why did you say that?”
Cyrus frowned. “I thought I made my reasons clear.”
“Who told you to say that?” insisted the prince. “What do you know of my crown –”
