This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(35)

She tried to affect calm as she opened the bag and was uncertain of her success. One at a time, she withdrew the packages, balancing them carefully in the crook of her arm. They were all there, only slightly worse for wear.

Alizeh couldn’t quell the sigh of relief that escaped her then. Fresh tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them away, composing herself as she returned the bag to its owner.

The prince froze as he accepted the satchel.

He appeared to be staring at her, but with much of his face so hidden from view, Alizeh couldn’t be sure.

“Your eyes,” he said quietly. “They just”—he shook his head an inch, as if to clear it—“I could’ve sworn they just changed color.”

Alizeh retreated farther, putting several pieces of furniture between them. Her thudding heart would not slow. “Please accept my sincerest gratitude,” she said. “You’ve rendered me an unaccountable service by returning my packages. Truly, I do not know how to thank you. I am in your debt, sir.”

She winced.

She should have said sire, should she not?

Thankfully, the prince in question did not seem to take offense. Instead, he pulled back his hood, revealing his face in full for the first time. Alizeh took a sharp breath and a step back, catching herself against a chair.

It was mortifying, truly, that she could not bear to look at him.

She’d seen his face in her nightmare, but rendered in real life the effect was entirely different; he was startling to behold in the flesh, the sharp planes of his face illuminated by firelight. He had piercing eyes the color of coal, his olive skin so golden it seemed to glow. Indeed there was something almost unnaturally illuminated about him—as if he was limned with light around the edges—and she could not pinpoint its origin.

He took a step toward her.

“First they were blue,” he said softly. “Then brown. Silver. Ah. Now they’re brown again.”

She stiffened.

“Blue.”

“Stop, I beg you.”

He smiled. “I see now why you never remove your snoda.”

Alizeh lowered her eyes and said, “You cannot know that I never remove my snoda.”

“No,” he said, and she heard the humor in his voice. “I daresay you’re right.”

“I must bid you good night,” she said, and turned to go.

“Wait. Please.”

Alizeh froze, her body turned toward the exit. She wanted desperately to take her parcels up to her room, where she might reapply the miraculous salves to her injuries. Pain was lancing across her palms, her throat.

She held the back of her hand to her forehead.

That she was warm at all meant she was warmer than usual, though she consoled herself with the knowledge that there might, at the moment, be several reasons for her elevated temperature.

Slowly she turned around, locking eyes with the prince.

“You must forgive my inability to grant you an audience at this hour,” she said quietly. “I’ve no doubt you are generous enough to comprehend the difficulty of my position. I’ve precious few hours to sleep before the work bell tolls, and I must return to my quarters with all possible haste.”

The prince seemed taken aback by this, and indeed took a step back. “Of course,” he said softly. “Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” She bobbed a neat curtsy.

“Yes.” He blinked. “Good night.”

Alizeh turned the corner and waited in the dark, her heart racing, for the sound of the back door opening, then closing. When she was certain the prince was gone, she returned quietly to the kitchen to lock up and bank the fire.

Only then did she realize she was not alone.





Fourteen





SLEEP, THAT ELUSIVE FIEND, CAME so unwillingly to the prince that it refused to remain long. Kamran awoke before dawn with a sharpness that surprised him, for he was both abed and then out of it before the sun had even met the horizon. His body was fatigued, yes, but his mind was clear. It had been running all night; his dreams fevered, his imaginings frenzied.

He’d begun to wonder whether the girl had cursed him.

She clearly knew not what she’d done to him, nor could she be blamed for her success in so thoroughly disordering his faculties, but Kamran could not conceive a more elegant explanation for what had overcome him. He was moved neither by a base need to physically possess the girl, nor was he deluded enough to think he might be in love with her. Still, he could not understand himself. Never before had he been so consumed by thoughts of anyone.

The girl was going to be murdered.

She was going to be murdered by his own grandfather, and it seemed to Kamran the worst kind of tragedy.

The prince was one of the few people who knew, of course. He and Hazan both knew of the prophecy, the foretelling of a creature with ice in its veins. Every king in the history of the Ardunian empire had received a prophecy, and King Zaal had felt it his duty to manage the prince’s expectations of such an event. Long ago his grandfather had explained to him that, on the day of his coronation, Kamran would receive two visits.

The first, from a Diviner.

The other, from the devil.

The devil would offer him a bargain, the terms of which Kamran should under no circumstances accept. The Diviner, his grandfather had said, would make a prediction.