The Prince
The shahdokht swayed before falling backward.
I caught her. Her head hung, her chadar slipping back, revealing a portion of tar-black hair.
I blinked, forcing myself not to stare as I pulled her scarf up to conceal it.
She was paler than I had ever seen her, appearing half dead.
Her lips were dry and cracked, her eyes closed, thick lashes sweeping over her sand-coated cheeks.
I hefted her up into my arms and glanced at my men.
“Stop,” I ordered.
They froze at the command and looked at me expectantly.
“Bury the altizar. Not a single part of its body will be desecrated.”
They glanced at one another before bowing their heads. I strode toward Azarkhosh. Zeki stood beside my horse, holding his reins. He tilted his head, a question lurking in his gaze as his eyes dropped to the shahdokht before returning to me.
“Take her,” I told him, depositing the princess into his arms.
He exhaled as he absorbed her sudden weight. He frowned, examining her features. Discomfort twisted my gut. I pushed the feeling aside and mounted my horse, then motioned at Zeki.
He jerked out of his appraisal and lifted her to me.
I pulled her in front of me, using one hand to grab the reins and the other to keep her from sliding off the horse.
Her head settled against my shoulder. I glanced down.
She appeared so fragile it was hard to imagine the vicious warrior that had erupted from her.
“She’s a fiery one, isn’t she?” Bahir’s voice snapped my head up.
I turned toward him with a mask of indifference. “You are not making a good impression on her.”
“I doubt any of us are,” he replied. “After all, you didn’t stop it.”
“You know very well why I couldn’t.” My tone dropped to a hiss.
Bahir shrugged. “You are weak, Dayyan. The weak are exploited.”
He slapped the reins of his horse and galloped forward.
I inhaled my annoyance and clicked my tongue.
Azarkhosh broke into a trot, catching up with Bahir’s mount easily.
Half of the soldiers accompanied us; the other half remained to bury the altizar.
We rode hard. The princess’s head bounced against my chest. I couldn’t get her scream out of my head.
Such rage and pain . . . I doubted I could ever wash my mind of it.
Guilt warred with hopelessness as I stared at Bahir’s back.
He pumped a fist into the air as the border came into sight—a well-fortified wall that ran for miles, separating the North and the South, once governed by a tribe of peacemakers before Shah Jihangir ordered their deaths.
Now turquoise-and-silver flags hung from the watchtowers.
The silhouette of a long vine was etched around the border of the fabric.
The Marz had blocked the way between the two lands for centuries, giving equal amounts of ground to rule.
But Shah Jihangir would not cease fighting until the North claimed their due: the golden roots giving the South life.
The gates heaved open as the men on watch spotted our flags.
We rode through, hooves clomping on a stone walkway.
Beyond the wall was a garrison full of Northern troops.
Shah Jihangir was taking precautions. I glanced at the buildings rising around us, constructed of stone and sheer strength.
Spearmen stood behind small holes in the barrier wall awaiting their weapons to pierce assailants through.
Soldiers bowed their heads as we passed.
A tall slender man emerged from one building, his hawkish features wrenching a scowl onto my face.
“Shahzada, you have arrived.” Though he said prince in plural, his focus was on Bahir.
My brother dismounted and approached him. Wazir Elmas swept his hand through the air and across his chest before tilting his chin down. Bahir gave him a nod in return.
“I am in need of a bath to get the horrid air of the South from my skin.”
“Of course, shahzadem.”
They continued up the steps of the inn.
“And my father? How is his health?”
I gripped Azarkhosh’s reins as they conversed.
“Quite well when I left the palace to witness your arrival. He will be more than pleased when he sees his heir’s accomplishment.
With this victory over the South, we are even closer to claiming the golden roots.
” Wazir Elmas’s eyes flicked to me, his mouth curving into a seditious grin.
“And you, Shahzadeh Dayyan? Shall we draw you a bath as well?”
He would likely add poison to the water.
I didn’t deign to reply and swung my leg over the saddle, sliding down while keeping the shahdokht in my arms. She was still unconscious.
Her warm skin was pallid. Was she getting a fever?
Sweat dotted her brow. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was.
She had lost so many loved ones in the span of a few short days.
“Who is this?” Wazir Elmas’s brows flitted down. “A prisoner?”
“A bride.” Bahir smirked. “The Southern shahdokht, Farani.”
The wazir’s features sharpened as he examined the princess.
An urge to hide her from view consumed me, startling me with its strength.
I stepped toward them, ready to plow through them and into the inn rather than remain an instant longer under their calculative gazes. The wazir lifted a hand, stalling me.
“She may be your bride, Shahzadeh Bahir, but the shah would never condone a Southerner to rest within a Northern building until your marriage. She will sleep outside.”
My arms tensed, not from the princess’s weight, but from a simmering anger that thirsted for the wazir’s cowardly head. Before I could speak, Bahir nodded, forcing my mouth to clamp shut.
“Dayyan will find an appropriate spot for her and choose a suitable soldier to keep my bride in check. Won’t you, biyoder?” Brother.
A devious gleam flashed in Bahir’s eyes.
He was enjoying this far too much. The power over me that our father had granted him.
Bahir entered the inn without waiting for a response.
Wazir Elmas stared at me a moment longer, and I skewered him with a look I hoped he could interpret.
Your days are numbered. He scurried after my brother, and the inn doors closed in my face with a bang.
“Shahzadem?” Zeki called.
The remaining soldiers faced me with their horses’ reins in hand.
“We are camping outside tonight.”
They all bowed their heads in acquiescence, not daring to object despite knowing a storm lurked on the horizon.
Several orders later, bedrolls were laid out in the open plain of the Marz a short distance behind the fortifications.
A large canopy rested over the soldiers’ spaces and a smaller one where I stood.
I settled Farani onto the bedroll I’d purposely kept separate from the others.
If the princess was to arrive at the palace in one piece, I had to watch over her.
Even protect her from my own men. A Southerner would always be seen as an enemy to destroy, no matter the cost. She slumped onto the bedroll.
It was the most vulnerable I had seen her.
It would be so simple for someone to slice a blade through the delicate skin of her neck.
I unbound her hands and they dropped limply by her sides.
“The supplies you requested.” Zeki ducked down beside me, handing me a wet cloth and a bowl of water.
I gestured for him to leave. A quick glance behind me showed that the other men had gone for a meal.
It wasn’t every day they could access a hot meal.
There were no witnesses as I gripped the cloth but hesitated above her face.
A sliver of doubt rushed through me. I ignored the warning bells erupting in my mind and brushed the cloth over her skin in slow languid motions.
The water-soaked rag dragged across her burning cheeks.
I stroked her thick brows and long nose, memorizing the tiny bump on the bridge and the little scar below her brow, which was unnoticeable at a distance.
The cloth drifted lower, halting at the corner of her mouth.
Her lips, dry and cracked, parted as though sensing water.
I traced the curve of her upper lip, following the dip in the bow. The words she had spat at me returned.
I hate you.
My hand stilled, my fingers tightening around the cloth.
You. Are. Unworthy. Of. Love.
What was I doing? Aiding my brother’s wife to be? Aiding a Southern enemy? I tossed the cloth aside, snapping out of my trance, and strode away. I reached the water storage and opened the cover of a barrel, using the ladle to scoop out the water within.
Unworthy. Of. Love.
Her words seeped into my mind. I couldn’t vanquish or cast them out. I removed my turban and spilled water over my head. My face tilted upward, basking in the coolness. Strands of hair clung to my brow. I splashed my face with water, hoping to cast the princess of the South from my mind for good.