Page 23 of A Filling of Fables and Firelight

I don’t think any woman I’ve met before has ever been so unafraid of expressing themselves. Even Aida was reserved until provoked.

He froze as a sudden realization washed over him. “You called me Kamaran.”

Rana stilled, her eyes widening as a rosy blush appeared on her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. Aida always calls you that, and I suppose it just kind of…slipped out.”

His eyebrows rose. “You know Aida?”

“Of course. That’s why I’m here.”

Kamaran nodded slowly.

I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised. Aida is a princess, after all. It would make sense that she would have friends amongst the upper class. It also explains why Rana was so set on disliking me from the beginning.

“I really am sorry, Your Majesty,” Rana continued, obviously mistaking his silence for displeasure.

“Don’t be. It’s nice to be reminded every once in a while that I do, in fact, have a name.” He emphasized the words with a self-deprecating laugh that cracked slightly at the hard lump of emotion that suddenly appeared in his throat. Other than Yasmin’s forced attempt at familiarity, the last time his name was used in casual conversation was the night before his father passed.

Her head tilted to the side, as if she were trying to solve a particularly interesting puzzle. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, trying for a cool, nonchalant attitude. “It’s generally frowned upon for subjects to refer to their rulers by anything other than titles and honorifics. Names are reserved for family usage, and, well, I don’t have that.” His efforts at remaining unaffected were thwarted by the rebellious tears that were trying to stage a coup in the corner of his eyes. He blinked, switching tactics to humor instead. “I’m a poor orphan Sultan in need of a family, hence, the contest.”

The corners of her mouth pulled down into a frown, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that she could see past his mask into the raw corners of his heart that he kept hidden. “You’re allowed to be sad, Kamaran,” she said softly.

A bitter laugh escaped him. “No one wants a sad Sultan. The people want strength. Stability. Economic growth and peaceful borders. Heirs that promise a peaceful transfer of power down the line.” He took a shuddering breath. A warning voice in the back of his mind shouted that he was being too free with his emotions, that he was sharing too much, but now that he had started, he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Father was barely cold before I was being ushered into a room with the Council of Viziers and plans were being made for my coronation. The crown was on my head the moment his body was sealed in his tomb. Grief is a luxury, and one that I can’t afford if our country is going to maintain the health and prosperity that Father worked so hard to bring about. The people already regard me as a disappointment; I don’t need to add weakness to my list of crimes.”

Rana’s eyes glistened with unshed tears that matched his own, and he both hated and craved the empathy he saw there. “He was your father. I doubt anyone would blame you for grieving his death.”

“Not as long as the actual grieving took place behind closed doors,” he amended. “But on the outside, the country still needed to function. Life didn’t stop just because Father no longer has a part in it. People still wanted reassurance that everything was going to continue just the way it had before. A Sultan doesn’t have time to mourn.”

The words were hardly eloquent, and he doubted whether they were even coherent, but in the silence that followed, Kamaran felt a weight rise from his chest, as if he had been suffocating so slowly that he had hardly realized it was happening.

“I lost my parents, too.” Rana’s voice was quiet.

“I’m sorry,” he started.

She shook her head. “I’m not telling you to diminish your feelings, but because I want you to know that I understand, at least a little. No one should ever have to walk through something like that alone.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “It’s been almost two months. I should probably be over it by now.”

“A loss like that never really goes away—and there’s no reason it should. You’ll never stop loving your father, which means that you’ll always feel the ache that comes from having nowhere for that love to go. It will get easier to manage with time, but it will always be a part of you.”

Kamaran blew out a long breath and swiped away the lone tear that refused to be contained. “Those are some wise-sounding words.”

“My Teta is a wise woman.” Rana slid the plate of Adhavian Delight closer to him. “And foremost among her wise sayings is that a sweet treat can fix almost anything.”

He eyed the plate cautiously. “I won’t incur your wrath by touching your plate again?”

She smiled. “There’s no wrath, just desserts.”

Kamaran chuckled at the callback to their first meeting as he carefully selected another piece of candy—green this time, with bits of pistachio hidden in the soft, chewy center. “I don’t suppose you would be willing to forget this all happened, would you?”

Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Why?”

“Not everyone needs to know that their Sultan can be so easily manipulated by a plate of candy.”

She made a show of looking around. “There’s a Sultan here? I only see a Kamaran.”

The words hit him with far more of a punch than she likely realized, and Kamaran knew, in that moment, that he was done for. He was like a man who, after stumbling about in a desert, had finally caught sight of an oasis, and he would do everything within his power to reach it.