The Bodyguard #2
Her appraising cerulean gaze flitted over me, seeing everything—every scar, every mark.
I felt like prey as I stood fully bare in a room full of servants and this queenly woman with eyes that didn’t seem to miss a detail.
I glanced at the floor, fighting the urge to shield what I could with my hands.
The woman nodded after a long pause, and they began dressing me in layers upon layers of clothes.
The soft material caressed my skin, so delicate and fine, finer than anything I had ever seen before.
I found myself in front of a mirror. The woman staring back at me was unrecognizable.
The layers of sheer fabric over glittering silver clutched my waist before loosening at my hips and flowing into a river of blue at my feet.
The women powdered my face and added kohl to my eyes.
They crushed pomegranates into a paste and spread it over my mouth.
With the addition of the crimson lips, the look was complete.
The queen mother stepped up beside me, and the servants retreated a pace, heads lowering in reverence.
She gazed at me through the mirror, her proud chin tilted up.
“Shahdokht Farani. Bahir says you are the one the prophecy speaks of. The princess who will guide us to the golden roots and bring forth an era of fortune and healing to the North.”
I stiffened. The North’s intentions were clear.
If not for their belief that I would lead them to the golden roots, they would have never allowed me to step foot into their palace.
But the location of the roots was always passed down from sultan or malikeh to their daughters, and if they had no daughters, to their sons.
Until one day the princess the prophecy spoke of would be given a divine sign to journey to the source of the roots and unveil them.
Unfortunately for the North, they had the wrong princess.
“Is that what you believe?” I replied.
Gasps slipped from our audience of servants. It took me a moment to realize why. I had addressed the malikeh madar informally. Her face was expressionless as she spoke again.
“You were raised in the South with no knowledge of the way things work here. Despite your status as a princess, you have much to learn. Esana will instruct you on royal protocol.”
I spotted Esana bobbing her head behind us.
“Will you parade me through the city?” The words slipped from my mouth, and the woman’s sharp eyes snapped to me. “I thought you would keep me locked away as your prisoner.”
Her lips flattened, and a servant at her shoulder glared at me.
“You will show respect, Southerner. Standing before you is the malikeh madar. Mother of Shahzadeh Bahir, heir of the North.”
The woman lifted her hand, silencing the servant before addressing me. “As I said, you have much to learn.”
The malikeh madar snapped her fingers, and a servant approached with a velvet pillow. Her hand darted over it, snaring the fabric folded on top. She shook it out with a gentle motion and placed it over my loose hair. The material obscured my vision with a blue sheen as it settled over my face.
“You are now a shahdokht of the North. You will know your place.” Her voice carried a note of warning and a cold reminder of my new truth.
With those final words, she swept from the chamber, the other servants trailing behind her. Only Esana remained with me. She was back to her nervous ways, eyes darting to the floor, hands fidgeting with her skirt.
“It must have been quite a shock to be tasked with tending the enemy.”
Her head shot up before she mumbled, “It is a pleasure to serve you, Shahdokht Farani.”
I grew rigid at the name. I hadn’t grown accustomed to it yet.
“You don’t have to fear me. If there is one thing I can promise you, it is that no harm will come to you from me. I have no wish to be here any more than you wish to serve me.”
Her large brown irises met mine, and they softened. Her fingers ceased fidgeting.
I cleared my throat and changed the subject. “You said last night that Shahzadeh Bahir is the heir. Isn’t Shahzadeh Dayyan firstborn?”
She hesitated, glancing toward the door with uncertainty in her posture. “Shah Jihangir had a dream many years ago and called for our jadugar to perform a ceremony to understand its meaning. The jadugar interpreted the dream to mean that Shahzadeh Bahir was destined to be the next shah.”
“That must have caused a rift between the brothers.”
“It is not my place to say. But they are full brothers. Malikeh Madar Morvarid is their mother. There is no rift.”
She filled me in on the names of other nobles and officials. I had no trouble storing the information away. My uncle had always prized my mind for remembering important things. Although that wasn’t always a blessing.
A short while later, Esana led me from the room. More servants joined us to hold the ends of my dress so I could make it down the curved staircase without hassle. The servants accompanying me hummed a haunting tune and carried candles, adding to the dark aura.
My breath caught as we entered the throne room.
The spacious floor was crowded with people.
Someone announced my entrance, but the words were a buzz in my ears.
All gazes shifted to me, but I focused ahead on the path straight toward the formidable throne and the man perched upon it.
The shah of the North was as intimidating as I had expected, with steely eyes set below thick brows.
His face seemed to be frozen in a permanent scowl, and the silver in his thick beard overwhelmed the black.
I searched for the princes in his features but only found the slightest resemblance in the cutting cheekbones.
The shahzada had taken after their mother.
My brow furrowed. This was a man who was responsible for the death of my people.
For continuing the endless war instead of pursuing the peace my uncle had pleaded for.
I stopped a suitable distance from the throne, and the servants spread around me, their candles flickering.
Whispers flitted about, pulling my attention from the shah to the stonelike people on either side of his throne.
The queen mother, Morvarid, was at his left side, and another woman was to his right, though she stood on a lower step.
She was younger but carried the same haughty expression and clear disdain.
She must have been the shah’s other jawahar, Malikeh Madar Sanaz.
Her hand rested on the shah’s shoulder, brandishing her polished glittering rings.
It was clear she was attempting to intimidate Malikeh Morvarid.
In mere seconds, I came to the estimation that she was trying to hold an appearance as the closest to the shah.
Sanaz was a beauty and younger than Morvarid, but even so, she could not compare to the older jawahar’s stunning features and powerful stance.
Two figures stood on the lower steps on Morvarid’s side of the throne.
Her children, I presumed. Shahzadeh Bahir was first, watching me with eager anticipation.
He was dressed in turquoise and silver, like the rest of the family.
A young woman stood beside him. Based on her resemblance to the shahzadeh, I determined her to be Shahdokht Bazmara.
Shahzadeh Dayyan was nowhere in sight. Two younger children stood before Malikeh Sanaz.
She had a firm grip on the little boy’s shoulder and yanked the other girl’s ear when she tried to dart away.
A woman tucked a good distance behind Bahir glared daggers at me.
She must have been the jawahar Esana had told me about, Mahnaz.
Shahzadeh Bahir stepped out of his place and approached me.
I could see his sickening grin through my veil.
He took my arm and tugged me toward the decorative cushions, where he settled down and yanked me to join him.
I gritted my teeth. Claps resounded around the room as soon as we sat.
I remained rigid and unmoving as his hand drifted to my hip.
My chest tightened. That familiar suffocating feeling arose, but I couldn’t let it overcome me.
Not now. I counted my breaths, praying for strength.
Without intending to, I found myself searching for blue eyes, for a tall lean form.
And as Shahzadeh Dayyan entered the throne room, a line of women was led in behind him, linked to one another with chains.