The Prince
I didn’t know what had possessed me to stop Farani’s execution or what moment had engrained the notion to marry her.
Had it been the second I witnessed her flung to the ground?
Or had it been her lips trembling as she recited her last prayers?
All I knew was that when Bahir struck her, an animalistic rage had filled me.
I had never wanted to thrash my brother more than I did then.
There was only one thing racing through my mind . . .
She couldn’t die. Farani couldn’t die.
I watched her across from me, her features partially hidden by the veil. She sat with jawahar and a few maids. They were applying henna to her hands. A throat cleared, and though it startled me, I remained rooted to my spot among the other men.
“I did not know I would witness your wedding today,” Zeki said, a brow lifting. “A little forewarning would have been appreciated.”
“Neither did I,” I replied.
“Something tells me you did the correct thing.”
He was the only one who thought so, of that I was certain. Bahir’s opinion had been very clear. My father’s disapproving stare still bored into me. And my mother was heading my way that very moment.
“Malikeh Morvarid does not look pleased.” Zeki never missed a thing.
“How about you do something helpful and make a distraction?”
I needed to extricate myself from the confrontation—and fast. My mother was sure to ask my reasons for demanding to marry Farani, and I did not know how to answer her, seeing as I didn’t know the reason myself.
Zeki darted off just as my mother neared.
“Shahzadeh,” she said, shooting daggers at me.
“Malikem.” I took her hand and placed a kiss above her fingers. She softened the slightest bit, as she always did. Though she showed her ice to the North, she spared what warmth she had for her children.
“What do you think you are doing?”
“What I must,” I said, as though I had a complete understanding of my actions.
“You challenged your father, overshadowed your brother. Bahir’s worth has diminished in the eyes of our people because of your actions.”
The one thing my father required of me not to do. I was the shadow, the executioner, the one who removed the problems in secret. Bahir’s duty was to shine before the North. But I found I couldn’t regret it.
“Jihangir is looking for a reason to cast you out. Why do you give him one?”
“He cannot do so.”
“He can. It would be a whisper in the ears of his commanders before all the North held his same suspicions.” Her blue eyes, so similar to mine, were pools of worry. “He would have done it years ago if not for the fear of his tarnished honor.”
I gritted my teeth. “His ‘suspicions’ are unfounded baseless claims. He needs far more than that to remove me.”
She gripped my arm. “We know that. The people don’t.”
I searched her features. The stress my father had made her endure years ago had turned portions of her hair gray before its time.
Had driven grooves into her skin, wrinkling it.
Yet the people still proclaimed her the beauty of the North.
Sometimes, I wondered if my father’s doubts had truth to them, if my mother had truly—
Loud drums sounded, and voices sang in unified harmony.
It was a traditional dance performed by shahzada on special occasions, such as circumcision ceremonies or when their jawahar carried another life and once, long ago, before the North and South separated, for weddings.
I spotted Zeki smirking at me. This was his doing.
All eyes turned to me in expectance. I strode across the room without another word to my mother, stopping before Farani and extending my hand.
I saw her wide eyes and read her expression.
I could practically trace the word flee across her face.
Then her features settled into one of determination.
She slipped her hand into mine, and I marveled at how right our joined fingers looked. Molded together. Like it was fate.
I led the way to the center of the room.
The dancers had cleared away, leaving us on the floor.
The drumming continued and the voices spilled around us, melodic and powerful.
Our palms slid over each other, calluses brushing.
I wondered how she had earned hers. I never would have expected the shahdokht I had once presumed to be a pampered princess to have toughened hands.
They spoke of dedication and time. I suddenly longed to know their bearer better.
She turned, and her hands rose, wrists twisting in elegant motions.
I stomped one boot in time with the drums. Once, twice, thrice, before stepping around her.
Her blue veil rippled like waves, masking her expression.
My skin pulsed every time I brushed hers.
I drew my shamshir, earning claps of applause.
I weaved the blade through the air with practiced movements, spinning around her before slamming the hilt to my chest. Farani reached forward, wrapping her hand over mine until I relinquished the blade.
She gripped it as tightly as she had my hand during the ceremony.
For a moment, I wondered if she would wrench it through me and drain me of my lifeblood. But instead, she circled me.
The dance was a story, a promise. The shamshir represented our hearts according to the tradition.
Forged of fire and passion, it could be shaped with emotion, and when it broke, it left behind a jagged edge.
We were the wielders of our hearts, and as long as we swore to entrust them to each other, we carried a shamshir.
At any moment, we could shatter them, pierce them, or we could protect them with everything in us. Or so said tradition.
The angelic voices heightened, the drums quickened, and the sharp edge of my shamshir trailed over my robes.
I slammed my boot on the ground in time with the music.
She stopped in front of me and extended the weapon toward me.
I grasped her fist in mine, and our fingers both curled about the weapon.
I yanked her toward me. Her skirts swished in a flurry of silver and turquoise.
I placed the shamshir to my chest again, this time binding her hand over my heart as well.
We remained that way until the song came to an end.
A hush swept through the room before faltering applause filled it.
I looked up, seeing my father leaning forward on his throne, watching me with a calculating gaze.
He was always watching, always searching for a way to sink his claws into me.
Shah Jihangir’s eyes flicked to Farani, and a slow predatory smile tugged at his mouth.