This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(39)

“Your reasoning, while admirably impassioned, will not weather the storms of the real world. This is not about rights, child, but reason. It is about preventing the kind of bloodshed so horrific it would keep a man from ever again closing his eyes. What astounds me most is that you, the impending heir to this throne, would even consider allowing the birth of another monarchy on your own land.” His grandfather hesitated a moment, studied Kamran’s face. “You’ve met this girl, I take it? Spoken with her?”

Kamran tensed; a muscle jumped in his jaw.

“Yes,” said the king. “As I thought.”

“I do not know her, Your Majesty. Only of her, and from afar. My arguments are not influenced b—”

“You are young,” said his grandfather. “As such, you are well within your rights to be foolish. Indeed it is natural at your age to make mistakes, to fall for a pretty face and pay dearly for your folly. But this— Kamran, this would not be foolish. This would not be folly. This would be a travesty. No good can come of such an alliance. I gave you a direct command, bade you find a wife—”

A moment of madness prompted Kamran to say, “This girl has royal blood, does she not?”

King Zaal rose to his feet, abandoning his throne with an agility that belied his age. He carried a golden mace, which he slammed against the glittering floor. Kamran had never seen his grandfather angry like this—had never seen him unleash the weight of his temper—and the transformation was chilling. Kamran did not see a man in that moment, but a king; a king who’d ruled the world’s largest empire for nigh on a century.

“You would dare make a tasteless joke,” he said, chest heaving as he stared down at his grandson, “about a creature predestined to orchestrate my demise.”

Kamran swallowed. The words felt like ash in his throat when he said, “I beg you will forgive me.”

King Zaal took a deep breath, his body trembling with the effort to remain calm. It felt like centuries before he finally resumed his throne.

“You will now answer me honestly,” said his grandfather quietly. “Knowing the might of Ardunia—tell me sincerely whether you can imagine the eventual victory of such a revolt.”

Kamran lowered his eyes. “I cannot.”

“No,” said the king. “Nor I. How would they ever hope to win against us? Our empire is too old, our armies too strong, our bases scattered generously across the land. It would be a long and bloody war, and all for naught. How many lives would be lost in the pursuit of an impossible revolution?”

Kamran closed his eyes.

“You would consider risking the peace of millions,” his grandfather went on, “the unnecessary deaths of tens of thousands—to spare the life of one girl? Why? Why spare her when we already know who she will become? What she will go on to do? My dear child, these are the kinds of decisions you will be forced to make, over and over, until death strips your soul from this world. I hope I never led you to believe your task here would be easy.”

A length of silence stretched between them.

“Your Majesty,” the prince said finally. “I do not dare deny your wisdom, and I do not mean to take lightly such a prophecy from our Diviners. I only argue that perhaps we wait to cut her down until she becomes the enemy once foretold.”

“Would you wait for poison to ravage your body, Kamran, before taking the antidote you hold all the while in your hand?”

Kamran studied the floor and said nothing.

There was so much the prince longed to say, but this conversation felt impossible. How might he hope to argue in favor of leniency toward a person believed to be the provocation of his grandfather’s demise?

Were the girl to make even the slightest move against King Zaal, Kamran’s choice would be clear, his emotions undiluted. He would not scruple to defend his grandfather with his life.

The problem was that Kamran could not believe that the girl—as she existed now—had any interest in overthrowing the throne. Murdering her as an innocent seemed to him an action dark enough to dissolve the soul.

Still, he could not say any of this for fear of offending the king, in addition to losing what little respect his grandfather had left for him. They’d never fought like this, never been so far apart on such an important issue.

Even so, Kamran felt he had to try. Just once more.

“Could we not consider,” he said, “perhaps—keeping her somewhere? In hiding?”

King Zaal canted his head. “You mean to put her in prison?”

“Not— No, not prison, but— Perhaps we could encourage her to leave, live elsewhere—”

His grandfather’s face shuttered closed. “How can you not see? The girl cannot be free. While she is free, she can be found, she can be rallied, she can become a symbol of revolution. So long as I am king, I cannot allow it.”

Kamran returned his gaze to the floor.

He felt a savage pain lance through him then, the blade of failure. Grief. The girl would be sentenced to death because of him, because he’d had the audacity to notice her, and the self-importance to announce what he’d seen.

“Tonight,” said the king gravely, “the girl will be dealt with. Tomorrow night, you will choose a wife.”

Kamran looked up in an instant, his eyes wild. “Your Majesty—”