The Star-Touched Queen (The Star-Touched Queen #1)(6)

“But, Your Majesty, they turned on the capital.”

“Exactly. Their desperation means they have nothing to lose. We are the only losers in this war,” he said. “We cannot fight from the fringes. We need to bring them here. Now, do as I say and arrange the swayamvara.”

A wedding? His tone sent a frisson of ice down my spine. But all of my half-sisters of marriageable age are already betrothed. The only one who isn’t is—

“—the moment the rebel kingdoms hear about Princess Mayavati’s horoscope, they will not go through with the wedding,” said another of my father’s advisers. Jayesh.

On any other day, I liked him. His voice was soft-spoken, his perspective far more liberal than the rest of the court. But in that moment I hated him, hated him for the words that leapt out of his mouth and chained me to the spot.

Everyone, including me, had thought my horoscope was enough to ward off any proposals. In seventeen years, it hadn’t failed me. But now the possibility of a life lived in unwed freedom disappeared, pulled out from under my feet in a matter of seconds.

“Your Majesty, I mean no disrespect, but the princess’s horoscope is reputed to have foretold a rather disturbing marriage. One that would partner her with death and destruction. We could offend the—”

The Raja raised his hand. “Hearsay has no place in diplomacy. Our duty is to our people and I will not see them harmed because of superstition. We need to bring the enemy to our court. We need to end this war.”

End the war. I knew he was right. Even from the sidelines of the court, death pressed all around us. Jayesh bowed and sat down. I knew they were saying other things. Exchanging details and days, parsing out my life between them like it was ribbon fit for tearing. It was a miracle I didn’t stumble through the gap in the rafters. I knew my father better than most did. I had watched him for years. Beneath one plan was always ten. Usually I could find the cracks in his words, pry them open and see what lay beneath the layers of diplomacy, sweet talk and vengeance. But not now. His voice was monotone. Pained, almost. He spoke with the finality of stone and my heart broke beneath it.

“The swayamvara will be in a few days’ time,” continued the Raja. “The rebel leaders will be welcomed as guests and suitors for my daughter’s hand. Draw up a new horoscope and hide any evidence of the original. Make it convincing.”

A tremor snaked from my head to my toes. Distantly, the clang of the court notary’s bell echoed through the walls. Feet shuffled. Voices, sonorous and hard, yielded and blended into one another until only silence remained in the sanctum. I pulled my knees to my chin, back pressed against the wall. Marriage. All I knew of marriage was what I saw in the harem wives—pettiness and boredom with only the comfort of silk and gossip.

There were times when I saw my betrothed half-sisters lost in thought, their faces aglow with hope and wonder. Maybe they thought they would be leaving Bharata behind for a new city that would welcome them with sweet-smelling arms and a husband waiting with a smile fashioned just for them. But I had listened to the stories of the wives and I saw what lay ahead. Another harem. Another husband. Another woman scurried away behind a lattice of elephant bone, staring out to a scene forever marred by the patterns of a gilded cage.

I glanced below me at the empty sanctum. In every tomorrow I had imagined, this was never one of them. There were never any prospects beyond the life of a scholarly old maid, but that was a fate I had looked forward to—to live among parchments and sink into the compressed universes stitched into lines and lines of writing. To answer to no one.

There was another sorrow, tucked beneath my surprise. Although I had never envisioned marriage, I had thought of love. Not the furtive love I heard muffled in the corners or rooms of some of the harem wives. What I wanted was a connection, a shared heartbeat that kept rhythm across oceans and worlds. Not some alliance cobbled out of war. I didn’t want the prince from the folktales or some milk-skinned, honey-eyed youth who said his greetings and proclaimed his love in the same breath. I wanted a love thick with time, as inscrutable as if a lathe had carved it from night and as familiar as the marrow in my bones. I wanted the impossible, which made it that much easier to push out of my mind.





3

FAVORED DAUGHTERS

Somehow I left behind the rafters and climbed down the rungs and left the honeycombs of Bharata’s archives. I didn’t care if anyone saw me or asked questions. Bharata had already discarded me. I was no more than a guest in my father’s home, whittling away the time until a palanquin bore me away to a different cage.

I was halfway to the harem when I heard feet pounding the walkway behind me.

“Princess Mayavati, the Raja Ramchandra of Bharata requests your immediate presence in the gardens.”

I drew my veil over my head before turning. Why did every guard always say the “Raja Ramchandra”? As if I didn’t know my father’s name. Oh, that Raja. I thought you meant one of the other rulers. Fools.

“Now?”

The guard blinked. He was young and handsome in a vague, unmemorable way. I had half a mind to ask if he was going to throw in his name with the pack of wolves that would come to Bharata and claim my hand in the swayamvara. I must have unknowingly grinned because the young guard masked a flinch. He probably thought I had unleashed some curse on him.

“Yes, Princess. He’s waiting for you in the gardens.”