Page 3 of A Filling of Fables and Firelight

“Certain…choices…that may have been previously overlooked when your father was still present to hold Adhavi together will not be viewed with quite as much tolerance. Your people are looking for assurance that you will keep their best interests at the forefront.”

“And that requires that I marry a stranger?”

Zamar sighed, age and exhaustion etching worry lines into his brow. “It requires that you make a commitment. As until now you have been satisfied with sampling the options offered by our allies⁠—”

Kamaran’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Can we choose a different metaphor? You make it sound as if I take a bite out of them and send them back.”

The vizier raised an eyebrow. “What would you call it?”

“What it is!” He threw his hands up. “Entertaining foreign guests. Let’s not forget that, as the host, it’s my duty to ensure that they feel welcome and enjoy themselves. I dine with them, dance with them, and show them the best that Adhavi has to offer, but never more than that—certainly not to the extent that you seem to be implying.”

“Never?”

“Princess Aida was different. She gave every indication that she was interested in a marriage alliance, and she was one of the few that Father actually seemed to like. Although,” he added with a harsh laugh, “in the end I think he liked her too much, and he decided that I wasn’t good enough for her.”

At the very least, not as good as the puppy-eyed tailor who seemed to always be around.

“There have been other alliances with offers of marriage.”

“Yes, but there was never any spark. Call me old-fashioned if you want, but I would prefer to actually like my wife,” Kamaran drawled. He paused. “On second thought, this whole contest is the result of outdated traditions, so maybe I’m not old-fashioned after all. I’m progressive. A trailblazer. A real leader in matrimonial happiness amongst the ruling class.”

Zamar gave him a flat look. “Are you finished?”

“I don’t know. Is my marital future still going to be decided by an antiquated competition?”

“This isn’t up for debate, Your Majesty. The Queen’s Contest is happening. The council has already drafted an announcement.”

Kamaran crossed his arms. “This whole Sultan position is turning out to be a lot less convenient than one would think.”

Not that he had particularly wanted it in the first place.

“Responsibility rarely is, Your Majesty.”

“So I’ve been told.”

He didn’t have to say who it was that said it; Zamar had been present for enough of the Sultan’s lectures over the years. And yet, despite how annoying and tiresome Kamaran had found his father’s monologues on leadership and accountability, he would have given nearly anything to be on the receiving end of just one more.

“You have large shoes to fill.” Zamar punctuated his words with a sympathetic smile.

He laughed humorlessly. “If that was supposed to be encouraging, it’s not exactly working.”

“If I may be honest, Your Majesty?”

Kamaran gestured wordlessly for him to continue.

“Your father did everything in his power to prepare you for this position. You have been given all the training and tools you need to do it well, but all of that is meaningless if you won’t take it seriously. You’ve made no secret of your disinterest in attending to many of your royal duties and responsibilities, which means you will have to work twice as hard to gain the confidence of your people. Take this competition as what it is—an opportunity for you to find a queen who will be uniquely qualified to help you carry out your role and at the same time demonstrate to the people of Adhavi that you are committed to securing both their future and yours.”

A long silence stretched between them as Kamaran let his words settle. As loath as he was to admit it, the vizier had a point. Finally, he asked, “Do I at least get some say in the participants?”

Zamar shook his head. “There is already a process in place for vetting the first round of candidates, which is overseen by a representative from each of the major guilds and the Council of Viziers to ensure that there is no favoritism.”

“So my only choice is to hope that whoever makes it through to the end is someone at least remotely palatable.” Kamaran pressed his lips together in a tight, sarcastic line. “Wonderful.”

“Your input is taken into consideration in the case of each elimination. You will not be entering the marriage completely blind.”

“No, just unwilling.” He exhaled heavily in defeat. “When is this all happening?”

“The contest itself will commence in approximately two weeks, though preparations will begin immediately.”