Chapter 8
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?”
“What?” Kamaran’s attention snapped back to her. “I’m not—”
“Fatima or Yasmin?”
“Yasmin,” he sighed, giving up the illusion of self-possession and throwing himself into one of the low, cushioned seats and letting his arms and legs sprawl to the sides. “We had a brief courtship a few years ago and it seems to have made her very…bold.”
“How terribly awkward for you.”
“You don’t exactly sound sympathetic.”
“Good. I’m not.” Rana shrugged and returned to her sewing.
Kamaran leaned his head back, exhaustion pulling his eyes shut. “What have I done to earn your wrath?”
“It’s not wrath, Your Majesty, it’s just deserts.”
Indignation pulled him forward, and he propped his elbows on his knees. “How do you figure that?”
“You can’t flirt with every woman in your court and not expect them to think you’re interested.”
Her words, a sharp echo of Zamar’s earlier accusations, cut deep, but he hid the sting behind a roguish smile. “I don’t flirt with every woman. Just the pretty ones.”
She rolled her eyes. “See?”
His smile slowly melted. “I don’t, actually, but you certainly seem to.
Are you implying that if the roles were reversed—if you, for instance, were a queen in need of a suitor—that any man whom you had previously shown an interest in before would have full permission to be as boldly suggestive as they wanted? ”
Her needle stopped. “What? Of course not.”
“So your principle only applies to men? Or is it just me that’s special?”
Rana opened her mouth and closed it again, pressing her lips together into a thin line.
“Lady Yasmin and I were once an item, but she broke things off,” Kamaran continued, filling her silence.
He threw himself back and crossed his arms. “She expected that, as the crown prince and heir, I would have both unfettered access to the royal treasury and the desire to shower her with expensive gifts. When it became clear that I had neither, she left me for the son of a wealthy silk merchant. Now that there’s both a throne and a crown to be won, she’s back.
” He paused, breathing deeply through his nose before adding bitterly to himself, “I wonder what kind of broken promises that poor fellow is reeling from.”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the low crackling of the fire. Kamaran’s spirits sank lower than the setting sun that cast its dying rays through the tall windows, and he had just made up his mind to leave when Rana finally spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
He exhaled slowly, releasing the nervous tension that had gathered in his shoulders. “Apology accepted.”
She looked up at him in surprise. “Just like that?”
“Did you expect I would hold it against you? I know I have a reputation for many things, but holding a grudge isn’t one of them.”
Rana hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose not.”
She picked up her needle again and stillness once more filled the room. Kamaran shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the minutes stretched on and Rana seemed perfectly content to ignore him. He cleared his throat, unable to bear the silence any longer.
She might not be on the interview schedule for this evening, but I suppose now is as good a time as any to get things started.
“So, Rana, are there any pastimes you enjoy?”
She started, as if she had truly forgotten he was in the room with her. “Pastimes?” She blinked. “I like to sew.”
He eyed the pile of fabric on her lap. “So I’ve seen. Anything else?”
“Needlework. I’ve also been known to knit on occasion, but it’s incredibly slow.”
“I’m sensing a theme here.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I never claimed to be interesting. What about you, Your Majesty?”
“I’m very interesting.” He punctuated the words with a wink, which earned him an eye roll.
“I’m sure you are.”
“You don’t agree?”
“I thought I just did.”
“Your words said one thing, but your tone said another.”
Rana gave him an arch look. “I suppose you’ll never know, then.”
He chuckled softly, uncrossing his arms and relaxing back into the cushions. His heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. “So, other than activities involving needles, what else do you like?”
“I like stories,” she answered simply, leaning forward to scratch Zade behind the ears. “Do you?”
Kamaran’s heart fell, losing some of its lightness. “I can’t often spare the time for reading,” he answered, choosing his words carefully.
“Neither can I.” Rana gave her fox one last scratch under his chin before straightening. “But I asked about stories, not reading.”
“I didn’t realize there was a difference.”
“Of course there is. Didn’t anyone ever tell you a bedtime story?”
He blinked slowly. “No. I can’t say I’ve ever had that experience.”
She clicked her tongue and shook her head.
“You poor, deprived little princeling. Everyone should have at least one bedtime story in their life.” Her eyes grew distant as a soft, fond smile took over her face.
“My Teta is the best storyteller. She can make you feel like you’re in a completely different time and place, one where there’s always a happy ending, even on the worst days. It’s like magic.”
A sudden rush of longing came over him. He wanted the feelings of love and peace that he could see reflected in her eyes, craved the idea of escaping, just for a while, the weight of grief and responsibility and fear that had been slowly suffocating him since the first moment his father’s crown had touched his head.
The words tumbled out before he could stop them.
“Tell me a story.”