The Shrouded Queen (The Shrouded Queen #1)

Chapter One Samira

ONE SAMIRA

Don’t trip, don’t trip, don’t trip.

I clutched the tray of food tightly in my hands as I wove through the labyrinth of the palace, keeping my eyes trained on the ground. With each step I took, with each rattle of the gold-trimmed plates and silver chalice, my heart gave a fearful kick in my chest.

My princess had asked me personally to fetch her midnight snack. To be addressed by her, to be offered such an important responsibility, was an honor I never thought I’d receive. I held the golden tray in my sweaty hands and stared at every groove in the limestone floor with paranoia.

My back was still tender from the last time I’d failed my princess—showing up to her rooms with a stain on the thin linen dress that was my uniform—and I’d be damned to the Underworld’s Trench before I let her down again.

Two guards came around the corner, and I quickly ducked into one of the many divots in the wall created for the exact purpose of making sure slaves could get out of the way.

I moved too fast. My heart stopped beating as the chalice of water tipped. If it spilled, I’d get so much more than a whipping. There was such little water in Ashorah, the gods would surely strike me down if I allowed a cupful to splash across the ground.

But then the chalice settled, only a trickle of water falling over the lip. I swiped it away with my finger, pushed a wayward grape back in place, and was able to breathe again.

As the guards came closer, I bowed my head and sank farther into the shadows of the divot, pressing my back into the warm stone wall and biting my lip as my cheap linen shift scratched the barely healed lash wounds.

They hardly spared me a passing glance, and I let out a sigh of relief before I scurried down the hall, grateful that the several hanging lanterns hadn’t yet been doused.

Shadows flickered against the alabaster walls, illuminating the various hieroglyphs etched into them.

Flashes of blue and sunshine yellow. The history of Ashorah etched with an expert artist’s hand.

I passed scenes of war, the blood spatter made beautiful by inlaid rubies.

Various Gods-Chosens—half-human, half-god heroes—stood tall and proud throughout the centuries, and in the dim light, King Zaid’s usually serene smile looked cruel.

The emeralds used for his bright green eyes sparkled dangerously.

I shook my head, cursing myself for even remotely thinking such a thing. My king was not cruel. My king had sacrificed everything for us. I lowered my head and quickened my steps.

My sandaled feet padded noiselessly along the floor until I reached the golden doors that led to my princess’s suite. One of the two stationed guards opened them for me.

Tabia, a slave who had been at the palace nearly twice as long as I had, greeted me.

Her brown eyes drooped at the corners from the late hour, and the edges of her lips were pinched.

My heart rate hitched. Something must have happened while I was gone.

Maybe I’d taken too long. Maybe I’d angered my princess.

Maids weren’t permitted to speak unless spoken to, but the fact that she was standing at the door instead of fanning our princess spoke volumes. I tried to ask her with my eyes what was wrong. Tabia just shook her head and stepped aside, ushering me in.

My princess’s rooms were meant to awe. Vibrant colors filled the space, curtains and pillows and lanterns of bright pinks and greens created a kaleidoscope of beauty.

The walls were painted with real gold, stretching high above my head where they met a ceiling with an image of an oasis painted on it.

My princess was sitting on her desk, feet crossed at the ankles and swinging idly back and forth, still fully dressed despite the late hour.

Princess Amunet Khada was beautiful in the way that all the royals were.

Bright green eyes shone out of smooth tan skin, a slender nose above full lips.

Though all the royals shaved their heads, Princess Amunet always wore intricate wigs, deep black and twisted in elaborate braids.

Pearls dusted both her wig and her silken red gown.

It was a new dress, gifted to her by one of the four jinn-descended princes of the nearby regions hoping to win her hand.

A useless gesture. It didn’t matter if the princes had a jinni ancestor centuries ago. My princess would not marry. She didn’t need to. Not when she was Gods-Chosen.

Usually, I was eager to drink in the sight of my princess.

As her maid, I was one of the few who had the honor of being able to look upon an actual child of a god, and I tried to take advantage of every second.

But tonight, my eyes slipped off Princess Amunet to land on the drenched young girl standing before her.

Her name was Nailah. A scullery maid I’d glimpsed a few times in the kitchen, almost fourteen years old. Her ear-length hair hung around her in a soaked mop, and her sopping linen dress clung to her trembling, bony frame.

Princess Amunet looked up at me, and a wide smile broke across her face, lighting up the entire room. I felt my own lips twitch to match the expression even as my eyes darted to the girl in front of her. “Excellent!” my princess said, and hopped down to her feet. “Set it here.”

Nailah dared to glance up at me, her large brown eyes pleading.

I quickly looked away and set the tray on the desk.

If Nailah had done something to upset my princess, there was nothing I could do.

There was nothing any of us could do. We all learned that within our first year at the palace.

If the lesson had somehow missed her, she was going to learn it now.

As soon as the tray was out of my hands, I retreated to my spot in line with the other maids standing against the wall and assumed the default posture—hands clasped in front of me and head down.

But I peeked up to see Tabia across the room.

She fanned our princess with a long palm leaf, fighting against the oppressive heat that even this late at night hadn’t let up.

She did her best to keep her expression blank, but years of reading her face told me the glint in her eyes was one of worry.

Princess Amunet rounded her desk and sat in the plush chair. She lifted the elaborate chalice of water from the tray and set it on the edge of the desk, directly in front of Nailah. She stared at the scullery maid expectantly. “Go on, then.”

Nailah’s clasped hands flexed as terror shone in her eyes. “I—I don’t understand, my princess.”

“You’re thirsty. Here is water.”

The scullery maid’s gaze moved from the cup to the royal, the drip, drip, drip of her clothes going off like drums in the nearly silent room.

“I’m not thirsty,” she answered, voice small.

“It gets so hot in the kitchens, my princess. I just wanted to cool down. I didn’t drink from the river, only swam in it, I swear. ”

Princess Amunet nodded as she tore off a piece of bread and chewed contemplatively, not taking her eyes off Nailah.

The heat in the kitchens did grow to nearly unbearable conditions. Just the short amount of time I’d spent there gathering my princess’s snack had been enough to make sweat coat my entire body, and the natural Ashoran heat didn’t help matters.

My princess pointed at the chalice of water.

“The Lotus River sustains every single person in Ashorah. It is blessed by my father, Shaya.” My whole body reacted to the mention of the Underworld god.

I stiffened my spine against it as my princess went on.

“It is not your bathing tub. It is sacred. And you thought you would just… swim in it.”

In a tiny voice, Nailah said, “It was only five minutes.”

Stupid, stupid girl. My stomach twisted in knots as I mentally braced myself.

Everyone knew the strict rules about using and rationing water.

Just sneaking a single extra glass of it from the kitchens led to my princess carving an X over my heart in punishment, a mirror of the injury I’d inflicted on the gods with my insolence.

I’d been forbidden from bandaging the wound, and it had gotten infected.

Now it was a permanent scar on my chest, a constant reminder of my guilt and shame.

I deserved it.

And Nailah was about to get what she deserved, too.

Princess Amunet sighed. “You spit in the face of the gods and your own people.”

The girl’s eyes drifted closed in defeat.

Princess Amunet set the bread back on the tray and stood. Nailah’s whole frame shook as the Gods-Chosen passed her and came to a stop beside her large brass bathing tub. Flower petals bobbed on the water’s surface. My princess pointed to the floor beside her and ordered, “Kneel.”

Nailah trembled harder as she obeyed, lowering herself so that her chest was parallel to the lip of the tub.

I curled my fingers into my palms, resisting the instinct to speak or step forward.

This might feel wrong, I reminded myself, but it was for the best. Nailah deserved her punishment as much as I had. It was the only way we’d learn.

Still, nausea built in the back of my throat.

“Five minutes, you said?” Princess Amunet confirmed.

Nailah nodded haltingly.

“That seems fair.” Princess Amunet seized the back of her head and shoved her face into the water.

I steeled myself against my flinch.

Nailah didn’t fight at first, accepting the Gods-Chosen’s punishment.

But that only lasted a few moments. Her instincts kicked in, and she splashed up water as she struggled violently, seeking air.

Princess Amunet held her down, face blank, regal.

She never looked malicious or unkind when carrying out punishments.

She was a righteous goddess meting out justice.

Nailah’s movements slowed. Princess Amunet yanked her out of the water. The girl drew in a deep gasp, sputtering, her hair sticking to her face.

“How long was that?” my princess asked.