The Prince
I was well acquainted with fear—I breathed it in every time Delara’s sickness had worsened—but I had never known desperation.
Not until now. I charged into the healing quarters, grabbing the attention of all the healers present, and placed Farani onto the bed.
Her copper skin was sallow, her pink lips pale, her beautiful eyes shuttered from view.
“I believe she’s been poisoned,” I told Ustaad Saf.
He listened to me with attentiveness while his assistant poured hot water over his hands.
I watched him check Farani’s pulse, running my fingers through my hair.
I should have been more careful. Ordered her to be guarded properly.
Or even left Zeki behind when we set off in search of the roots.
The assassin had struck again. My fists itched with the need to do something.
Another healer joined Ustaad Saf, Banu Reema, the midwife. She helped him tilt Farani up and brought a chalice to her lips.
“What are you giving her?” I demanded.
“Be calm, shahzadem,” Ustaad Saf said. “It is simply a medicinal tea that will ease her pain. Shahdokht Farani will be fine.”
I exhaled a relieved breath, and then my brow furrowed. “What afflicts her?”
The midwife said, “She consumed the monthly test.”
I watched her blankly.
“At the orders of the malikeh madar, as we have done for hundreds of years, we test the jawahar for pregnancy each month. If they have an adverse reaction to the dose, it means their womb is empty. Shahdokht Farani is not carrying as of now.”
I exploded with rage. “This will never happen again! Do you understand?”
“But, Shahzadeh, your mother, Malikeh Madar—”
“I will speak to her,” I interrupted. “Farani will not experience this again.”
The midwife nodded, though doubt lingered in her eyes. I took a moment to lean over Farani and brush my fingers over the petal-soft skin of her cheek, noting the swelling there was still bright and noticeable. The reminder of what she had already endured incensed me further.
I remembered the steps to the harem. I had only gone there a few times since my childhood years had ended and I no longer needed the care of my mother and nurses.
I strode to my targeted chamber, hearing the whispers of jawahar as I burst past them.
Guards spotted me and snapped to attention, bowing their heads in respect.
I nodded at them to hasten, and one of them threw open the chamber door, announcing with a boom, “His Highness, Shahzadeh Dayyan!”
I entered before he finished, my gaze narrowing on the queenly woman sitting on a toshak splayed across a long seat.
Handmaidens stood all around her, examining the fabric she held.
Bazmara stood at the malikeh madar’s side, appearing forlorn as she listened to her.
My mother looked up at my entrance. Her brows rose the slightest bit.
She sensed my anger. I had no doubt every soul in the room did. She handed the fabric to a handmaiden.
“Leave us.”
The command was followed through as each of her maids filed out of the room, and the door was closed with a soft thud, leaving us alone with only Bazmara as a witness.
“Dayyan,” my mother said, her mouth rising in her supercilious smile. “What brings my dear son to visit me?”
The distance between us disappeared as I stepped close to her.
Close enough to see through the powders attempting to conceal the wrinkles marking her skin.
She remained unfazed despite my nearness.
Her lips were still in that collected smile, her chin forced to tilt up to meet my gaze.
She hated that, I knew. Which was why she preferred to sit on her little throne and look down on her female servants.
Power. It was the reason she had lasted this long. She did everything for it.
“Farani will not take your concoctions again.”
My voice was a blade in the stillness. I heard Bazmara’s intake of breath at my challenge. My mother’s smile only seemed to grow wider.
“It is a protocol all us women follow in this harem. She has no choice.”
“She is not just any woman here. She is my wife,” I stressed.
“Will you go against our customs and traditions that have lasted hundreds of years for some Southerner?” Malikeh Morvarid’s eyes shot ice with each word.
I leaned closer, towering over her. “If you do not wish to lose what respect I have for you, you will keep your distance and plots away from her.”
I held her gaze until her smile wavered and a crack of emotion slipped through her features.
“She is that precious to you.”
The whisper stabbed me with how true it was. I swallowed before nodding.
“She is.”
My mother’s lips clamped together, and she blinked as though trying to hold back tears.
“So be it, my son. It will be as you say.”
I turned and left the chamber, feeling my mother’s and Bazmara’s gazes clinging to me.