Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
KAMARAN
“I’m so sorry, could you repeat that?” Kamaran leaned forward in his chair, turning his head slightly as he strained his ears to catch the words of the woman seated across from him.
“I like gardening.” The current subject of his interview, Laila, raised her voice enough to be barely audible as a deep blush spread from her neck up to her cheeks.
Her eyes made contact with his for only a few seconds before dropping back down to her lap, where her hands were folded together nervously.
I don’t know how this poor girl got past the selection committee. She seems sweet enough, but anyone in the court with political ambition would eat her alive.
He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile, though he doubted she could see it. “Gardening is an admirable pastime. We have several here at the palace that you’re welcome to visit any time you wish.”
Laila’s head lifted at that, and she finally held his gaze for longer than a breath. She looked younger than her age—a fact that was emphasized by her timid, quiet demeanor—with large, doe eyes and a doll-like face. “Really? I’ve seen the rose garden before, and the topiaries, but not the others.”
“The one on the east side with the fishpond is my favorite.” He relaxed into his chair, relieved that she was finally giving him more than two- or three-word answers. “If you ask one of the gardeners, they’ll let you feed them. My father and I used to do it every morning when I was a boy.”
Grief, sharp and heavy, crashed over him like a wave at the memory. His eyes burned with unshed tears that he willed away, shoving the emotions down into a mental box that he could set to the side and ignore.
They already think I’m irresponsible and unqualified. The last thing I need is to add “weak” to my list of faults.
He swallowed against the painful lump in the back of his throat and forced his face into a charming smile. “In fact, I would be happy to take you on a tour sometime, if you like.”
Laila’s eyes widened like a frightened rabbit caught by a fox. She squeaked, “Th–that’s very kind of you, Your Majesty.”
Kamaran breathed out a self-deprecating laugh, recognizing her unspoken discomfort. “Or you could always visit them on your own, if you would prefer to experience them in solitude.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
The rest of their interview was composed of intervals of awkward silence, broken only by his many failed attempts to draw her back into conversation.
By the end of their allotted half-hour, Laila seemed just as eager for their time to be over as he was, and she practically darted for the door as soon as Zamar entered to escort her back to her waiting attendants.
Kamaran leaned his head against the back of the chair, closing his eyes as he let out a long, slow breath.
“I take it everything is going well?”
He cracked one eye open and gave the chief vizier a baleful glare as Zamar lowered himself into the seat that Laila had just vacated.
“Getting a word out of her was harder than pulling a cobra’s teeth. Why on earth is she even a contestant? She wouldn’t last a week as queen.”
“You might be surprised,” Zamar commented dispassionately, producing a pad of notes and a pen. His pen moved with a speed Kamaran envied as he scribbled something down. “As to why, both her parents are extremely well-connected and liked—something you could benefit from.”
“I see.” He closed his eyes again. “How many more interviews are there? I’ll admit I’ve lost count.”
“Just one.”
“Really?” Kamaran straightened, his mood immediately improved at the thought of the cheeky, needle-wielding princess he had met a few nights earlier. Despite the other contestants’ regular presence at meals and other social activities, he hadn’t seen so much as a hint of Rana.
It’s an interesting strategy, I suppose, though I have to admit the element of intrigue is working in her favor.
Or perhaps it was the fact that she was so obviously disinterested and unimpressed by his position. He grinned at the memory of how her eyes had flashed as she threatened him, totally unconcerned with the fact that she was addressing royalty.
“Am I to assume, based on that expression, that Lady Yasmin is the current favorite?”
Zamar’s droll comment quickly wiped the grin from his face. Kamaran blinked in confusion. “Yasmin?”
“Yes, the final contestant.”
“But what about Rana?”
“Rana?” A brief flicker of surprise flashed across the vizier’s face, but it was gone so quickly Kamaran was almost convinced he had imagined it.
Zamar referenced his paper again, adding a note to something.
“Ah, yes. She will be conducting her appointments later in the week. Were you not given a copy of today’s agenda? ”
He had, but other than noting the general times, he had set it aside without further effort in interpreting the already difficult-to-read scrawl of his secretary.
“Of course. I must simply have gotten the names mixed. There are so many of them, it’s hard to keep them straight.
” He waved his hand, adopting a careless attitude in an attempt to cover his mistake.
Zamar studied him, a keen, observant light in his eyes that made Kamaran want to squirm in his seat. “None of the contestants have so far stood out?” The disappointment in his voice was incongruous with his face. “Inara?”
“Seems like a wonderful person to be with at a party, but I have a feeling her sense of humor would give the Council of Viziers a heart attack.”
The vizier scribbled another note. “Lady Fatima?”
“Confident, but brash. I don’t think the woman has heard the word ‘no’ a day in her life.”
“Nour? Her father is the current head of the Merchant’s Guild; he would be a helpful connection to have.”
Kamaran sighed and rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his eyes. “So far the most practical of the bunch, though I get the impression that she’s here out of a sense of duty, not that she wants to be.”
“And that matters?”
He gave Zamar a flat look. “I believe I made my position on mutual affection rather clear at the start of all this.”
“So you did. Well then, what about Lady Aliyah? She seems agreeable.”
“She adopts the opinions and manners of anyone she’s with, which means there’s no way of knowing what she actually thinks about anything.
And since you’re writing this all down,” he added, noting the way that Zamar’s pen hadn’t stopped moving for more than a second or two at a time.
“Lady Yasmin knows how to work a room and play a role, but she’s a terrible flirt and will bat her eyes at any breathing man who she thinks might get her what she wants, which is usually an addition to her wardrobe.
” He laughed hollowly at the reminder of whispered words and pretty smiles that he once thought were meant just for him. “We’ve met before.”
Zamar nodded. “I see. Well, then, I regret to inform you that you will be meeting with her again in about five minutes.” He rose. “Thank you, Your Majesty; this has been most enlightening.”
Kamaran frowned up at him. “It has?”
“Yes. For someone who claims to be unable to tell the difference between these women, you’ve certainly made some astute observations.”
He froze, suddenly realizing his slip. He opened his mouth to make an excuse, but Zamar silenced him by placing a fatherly hand on his shoulder.
“I know you seem to believe for some reason that you need to hide your intelligence from the rest of the world, but you don’t have to hide it from me, Your Majesty.
” He gave Kamaran’s shoulder a squeeze that threatened to rip off the lid of the box of emotions the young Sultan had so painstakingly stashed away. “Enjoy your interview.”