Page 13 of A Filling of Fables and Firelight

Chapter Eight

KAMARAN

As first a prince, then a Sultan, there were few times in Kamaran’s life that he felt truly trapped.

The half-hour in the small parlor with a woman whose eyes watched his every move like a hungry lioness was one of those times.

“It’s been too long, Your Majesty.” Lady Yasmin’s smooth, sultry voice filled the space between them that had gone silent once the initial pleasantries were out of the way. “I’ve missed you.”

Yes, I’m sure you thought of me often while you made your way through most of the available—and a few of the unavailable—men in the court.

Somehow, he was able to keep his expression bland. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” She nodded, pulling one corner of her dark stained lip through her teeth. “We have so much catching up to do.”

“Do we?”

“I can’t believe you’re the Sultan now. How does it feel, being the most powerful man in the Adhavi Empire?” Yasmin leaned into his space, resting long, jeweled fingers on his arm. She was already dressed like a queen, with gold silk falling from her shoulders and hugging her curves in a way that Kamaran guessed was supposed to be enticing.

And perhaps once upon a time it would have been.

He would have taken her hand and smiled and flirted and used the interaction to help him forget that he was nothing more than a disappointment. He would have enjoyed the attention and the feeling of being wanted, losing himself in whispered promises and the thrill of stolen kisses.

But that was before he learned that her pretty words were only true as long as they were convenient for her, and the hunger in her eyes was not as much for him as it was for his crown.

He smiled tightly, shifting his arm from her under touch. “It feels like it should be my father’s position.” His voice quavered against his will.

“Of course. I’m so sorry for your loss.” The sympathy in her words rang false.

Kamaran acknowledged the words with a nod anyway. He cleared his throat, remembering the script of questions he was supposed to ask. “Tell me, Lady Yasmin⁠—”

“It’s just ‘Yasmin,’ Your Majesty. There’s no need for such formality between old friends.” She batted long, thick eyelashes.

“Lady Yasmin,” he repeated firmly, ignoring the exaggerated pout of her lips in response. “Tell me more about yourself. Are there any pastimes you enjoy?”

“I think you already know some of the ways I enjoy spending my free time.” She smiled coyly as she twisted a loose strand of her long, dark hair, and not for the first time did Kamaran regret that he had ignored his father’s warnings to keep his distance from her.

By the time that Zamar appeared to announce the end of their time together, Kamaran was ready to bolt. He held himself together just long enough to bid a polite farewell before exiting the room as quickly as he could. He hurried down the halls with no particular destination in mind, caring little about where he ended up as long as he was moving in the opposite direction as Yasmin. It wasn’t until he turned a corner down a wide, brightly lit hall that he realized his feet had carried him back to a familiar, cozy sitting room.

He paused just before the threshold, hesitating. His emotions were already a jumbled, chaotic mess, and his thoughts weren’t in any better state. There was no telling what kind of trouble he might get himself into if the sharp-tongued princess were inside.

And yet, after spending a day navigating conversations full of empty flattery and fawning compliments, the thought of Rana’s complete lack of deference was enticing. He craved the feeling of being Kamaran, the man, and not Kamaran, the Sultan, even if only for a few minutes.

Although I suppose things might be different now that the contest has officially started. But then again, perhaps the fact that she’s not participating like the others means something.

With his mind finally settled, he stepped through the door. His eyes sought out the divan where Rana had been sitting the night before, only to find it empty. A strange disappointment spread through his chest.

“Can I help you?”

Kamaran jumped at the unexpected question and turned to the side. Rana was on the floor in front of the fire, leaning back against a pile of cushions with her legs stretched out in front of her and Zade curled by her feet. A pile of blue linen spilled from her lap and her needle moved through the fabric with quick, precise movements.

“You’re here.” The words fell from his mouth in a quiet exhale of relief.

“I am. I’ve been here all evening.” She raised her eyebrows. “The question is, why are you here?”

“I…” His words died as he looked around helplessly, as if some kind of answer to give would emerge from one of the corners of the room.

She snorted. “You’re hiding, aren’t you?”