Chapter 37
Incense hung heavy in the air of the temple—resin, sage, and some other scent Tariq couldn’t place.
Gruisean nobility sat in rows according to importance, something his mother had insisted on.
Silence pressed down on Tariq as he stood in the centre, robed in ivory and deep blue.
His back was straight, his features steady.
Farrah stood nearby, still dressed in mourning black despite it being over a month since King Hamza had passed.
Though she had her veil pulled back for the occasion.
It was Coronation Day.
Jamil stepped forwards, a carved staff in his hand. He looked at Tariq with grave intensity. ‘This crown is not only inherited,’ he began, his voice low and carrying. ‘It is also earned. It is given. And it may be taken.’
Interesting way to open.
‘Tariq, son of Hamza,’ he continued, ‘do you swear to govern with wisdom, to hold the good of Gruisea above your own ambition, and to shelter your people from harm?’
Tariq’s voice was steady as he answered, ‘I swear it before the gods.’
Jamil turned to the pedestal beside him, where the iron crown rested on blue velvet, and lifted it carefully. ‘Then, by the authority of the temple and the will of our forebears, I name you king.’
The crown was placed on Tariq’s head, and he could feel his mother exhale. Every noble in attendance bowed their heads in a silent nod of allegiance.
Jamil stepped back and lowered his staff. ‘Rise in fire and rule in light, Tariq of Gruisea.’
Guests rose from their seats, responding in a unified cry, ‘Long live King Tariq.’
Nothing moved on Tariq’s face. Nothing moved inside him either.
It was his turn to speak. They were the same words spoken by every king before him. Assurances of peace, loyalty to tradition, and the promise of strength and prosperity. The nobles applauded politely, no doubt trying to figure out how much of his father lived on in him.
His mother was the first to approach, kissing the back of his hand, then touching her forehead to it. ‘Your Majesty.’ She straightened with what appeared to be pride in her eyes. ‘Well done.’
Tariq bowed his head, his gaze drifting to the arched doors where sunlight was pouring in. Aisha should have been standing beside him. His queen.
‘Your Majesty,’ Kaidon said. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’
His mother looked towards the exit. ‘As will I.’
Next came the procession from the temple in the heart of the capital to the castle.
It wound its way through stone streets, which were lined with pennants and banners.
People gathered, cheering and tossing petals in his path.
Tariq sat atop his horse, waving at them. It was muscle memory more than spirit.
When he finally dismounted at the castle, there were more displays of obeisance and well-wishes as he made his way to the feast in the great hall.
The room hadn’t been used since his wedding day.
Long tables overflowed with meat, rice, pomegranate stews, and honey-soaked pastries.
Cups were filled and refilled, servants moving between the guests with military precision.
Laughter rang out. Cups clinked. A musician played.
Tariq sat at the head table, his mother on one side and Jamil on the other.
He barely ate but sipped frequently from his cup, welcoming the numbness the wine provided.
He responded politely when addressed and accepted every blessing with gratitude.
And when dancers entered the hall, veiled and spinning, he watched them without seeing.
One thought persisted through the numbness.
Aisha.
It should have been a day for both of them.
Aisha.
He sat through the first toast.
Aisha.
Then the second.
Aisha.
He was finally free to leave.
Farrah reached for his hand as he stood. ‘Stay a little longer. They will notice if—’
‘Let them notice.’ He gently pulled out of her grasp and walked out of the hall, Kaidon a few paces behind him.
They passed through the corridors, where guards bowed and servants stepped aside. Tariq slowed as they neared his quarters, waiting for Kaidon to catch up.
‘Tomorrow, I get to work,’ Tariq said.
The guard nodded. ‘I figured as much.’
‘We start with the mines, as planned.’
‘Remove every child under the age of sixteen.’
‘No exceptions,’ Tariq said firmly. ‘Every single one of them will return to their schooling.’
‘And families will be compensated through the transition. Don’t worry. I’ve not forgotten the plan.’ He flicked his gaze to Tariq. ‘And you’re prepared for the backlash?’
Tariq looked over his shoulder, half expecting to find his mother behind him. ‘They’ll adapt.’
They came to a stop.
‘Then we hit them with the Ashwaq Mine closure,’ Kaidon said, crossing his arms, ‘sending people spiralling once more.’
‘Correct.’
Footsteps approached down the corridor, and even without looking, Tariq knew they were his mother’s. Her gown trailed like a shadow, and her veil was lowered once again. She stopped before them, looking between the two men with blatant suspicion.
‘Commander,’ she said. ‘Might I have a private word with the king?’
Kaidon inclined his head. ‘Of course, Your Majesty.’ He gave Tariq a look that translated to ‘Good luck’ before leaving them.
Farrah waited until he was far away before speaking again.
‘What is it, Mother?’ Tariq asked, already losing patience. ‘It has been a long day.’
She studied him for a moment. ‘First, congratulations on an exceptional coronation. I have heard nothing but praise from everyone I have spoken to.’
‘And second?’ Tariq asked.
‘With the coronation now behind us, I need to know what you plan to do about the failed marriage.’
It took all his effort not to recoil at her words.
‘The nobles are whispering, and soon the foreign courts will follow. With the crown secure, you must annul the marriage quickly and reassert control of the narrative before the Emperor twists it to his advantage.’
Tariq had known the conversation was coming, but that didn’t mean he wanted to have it. ‘The Emperor will say and do whatever he pleases, regardless of my actions.’
‘At least give the people something else to talk about. Why not take a new bride? Create a new alliance. Show people that you have a plan.’
‘I do have a plan.’
Her eyes moved between his. ‘One that you plan on sharing with your council, I hope.’
‘Yes. First thing tomorrow morning.’
Farrah studied him a moment. ‘You cannot remain married to the woman who killed your father and king. Please tell me you understand that.’
She was right, of course. He couldn’t stay married to Aisha. The union was beyond broken, and staying in it would ultimately damage trust with his people. And yet the annulment seemed so… final.
‘You cannot let sentiment dictate your reign. You are king now.’
‘I am well aware of my position.’
She looked doubtful. ‘Thank the gods the marriage was never consummated. It should be a straightforward process.’
Tariq made the mistake of looking down.
Farrah narrowed her gaze. ‘The marriage was not consummated because there was no opportunity between the ceremony and your father’s death. Correct?’
That part was true. ‘Correct.’
Her eyes sharpened like a hawk sighting prey. ‘I am well aware of the visits to her chamber that took place at all hours of the night before the wedding. But we are going to forget all about those, yes?’
Those moments were burned into his brain and weren’t going anywhere. ‘My memories are one of the few things you can’t control.’
Farrah pressed her lips together. ‘My point is, no one else need know. Do you understand me?’
Tariq simply blinked.
‘You will annul the marriage,’ she went on. ‘Quietly, respectfully. Let the scribes handle it. Then you will never speak of her again. Understood?’
He was agitated now. ‘You’re forgetting yourself.’
‘No. You are forgetting how inexperienced you are. This is no longer a matter of the heart. This is governance. Now get some rest. As you said, it has been a big day.’ She left before he could respond.
Tariq remained there, every muscle tense, until she disappeared from sight.