The Tiger at Midnight (The Tiger at Midnight Trilogy #1)(83)

The music started like the beginnings of thunder, low and soft, but transformed into a powerful beat. Drums echoed against the corners of the room and the woman swayed, undulating with the rhythm and the harmony.

Now Kunal wanted to avert his eyes because he did recognize her.

A crack resounded through the hall and Kunal’s eyes grew wide as Esha weaved her whip through the air like a floating ribbon, carefully missing its thin end as she twirled and tumbled across the room, the agile notes of a sitar punctuating her every move.

The drumbeat rose in a frenzy and her movements became faster, and she unfurled her second whip, joining in her dangerous dance. It was a performance of strength, grace, and death.

Kunal couldn’t tear his gaze away, and it wasn’t simply because it was Esha.

He didn’t need to see her eyes to speak the language of her body. It spoke like she did—coy and teasing, yet artful.

Kunal didn’t realize he had moved forward until one of the guards glared at him in warning. He pulled back to rest his hands on the back of one of the seats.

The woman in the seat turned to him in annoyance. The momentary diversion had distracted him from Esha, and gasps surrounded him. When he lifted his head, he gripped the back of the seat harder, knuckles turning white.

At the end of the room, Esha was deflecting knives thrown at her with her two whips, a spiral of cloth and air and technique.

It was a breathtakingly beautiful sight, but his gaze darted to the prince, a low fury building in his stomach.

The prince’s eyes were already on him. He’d been watching him, watching Esha.

So, that was his game.

Kunal’s nostrils flared out and he didn’t back down from the stare.

The prince wanted Kunal to see this. To see her be the deadly Viper with adoring fans. Kunal could think of only one reason the prince would do this—to scare him or threaten him.

Why? Why did he matter? What harm was he in a foreign city where he had no friends, no weapons, and no agency?

Kunal looked away as the applause started, searching through the standing crowd for Esha’s gold-and-green mask. Her posture was triumphant, her whip raised with knives scattered around her. But Kunal couldn’t see her eyes, and he was suddenly desperate to do so.

The claps slowed and Esha swept into a low curtsy, her knees bending to almost touch the polished stone ground with her hands pressed together. She tossed kisses to the crowd, who were desperately clinging to every step of her leather-clad feet as she moved up to where the prince sat.

The prince watched her, unmoving from his high-backed gold seat. Slithering up the steps of the dais, she took her place beside him, resting her forearm on the arm of his throne.

They looked like a fierce pair. The prince and his Viper.

But something bothered him—Kunal still couldn’t figure out why the courtiers were here.

“Welcome, everyone. To start off, thank you to our gracious guest of honor, the Viper herself. Some of you have literally been begging me for several moons to have her attend our parties. I finally convinced her—seems she might believe in our cause as well. Who would’ve known?” He gave a small laugh and the room tittered with him. The coy smirk on Esha’s face didn’t budge.

“And I thank you all for joining us. A reminder, though: this is our secret,” the prince said. “If my father knew I was raising money for the Blades, we’d all be in trouble. You know how he feels about my various ‘projects.’ Though I do think that peacock fountain was a great idea.” A number of the younger nobles laughed and the prince winked at them.

“So, let’s keep this between us.” He smiled and it made his already striking face shine, like rays of sunlight after a storm. “And if it gets out, well, let’s just say I’ll know exactly who to look for. Or send our friend here after.”

That same smile was still on the prince’s face, but now it was razor sharp.

Had the guards moved in closer, or was it just Kunal’s imagination? He took a step forward, noticing that many of the nobles were sitting a little straighter in their chairs.

“But on to why we’re all here. Now is the time for us to act to overthrow the Pretender King and bring balance back when the cease-fire is still new.”

Kunal could’ve sworn the prince sent him a look as he said those words.

“The Pretender King of Jansa, Vardaan. Our dear king’s brother—and my uncle. He took the crown by force, disrupting the natural order of the world. Our brothers and sisters across the mountain are suffering as their land dries up, the river no longer held to their land by the sacred bond.” The prince’s voice became stronger, commanding. “Do not think he’ll be happy with just Jansa. He wants our land too, he will need our land soon, and we will not let him take it.”

He rose to his feet, his palms outstretched toward the crowd, a yearning look on his face.

“Help the Blades, donate to their cause, and together, we will protect our lands, restore the rightful heir, and find my sister, the lost princess,” the prince said, beseeching the crowd. Kunal saw a tear run down the face of the woman who sat in the chair in front of him and had scowled at him.

Sun Maiden’s shield, he was good.

And now Kunal understood. It was a brilliant move to find patrons among the nobles and merchants who had lost much from the closure of the borders—no longer able to travel or trade as they liked. Some might even be as loyal to their country as they appeared to be, and this would only strengthen their hearts.