This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(64)
King Zaal made a sound at that, a disbelieving huff. “You think I took pleasure in making the decision? I did what I had to do—what I thought was right given the overwhelming circumstantial indications. Had you assisted the girl tonight you would have become a traitor to your crown, to your empire. I did you the mercy of sentencing you to so gentle a fate as imprisonment, for here, at least, you might be safe. Had news of your treasonous actions been discovered by the public, you’d have been disemboweled by a mob in short order.
“Surely you can understand,” the king said, “that my duty must be to my empire first, no matter how agonizing the consequences. Indeed you should know that better than anyone. You go too far, Kamran.” Zaal shook his head. “You cannot believe I enjoyed suspecting your part in this, and I refuse to listen to any more of this dramatic nonsense.”
“Dramatic nonsense?” The prince’s eyes widened. “You think me dramatic, Your Highness, for taking umbrage at your readiness to sentence me to this”—he gestured toward the dank cage behind him—“without a shred of real evidence?”
“You forget that I first allowed you the opportunity to defend yourself.”
“Indeed, you allowed me first to defend myself against a vicious attack ordered against me by His Majesty himself—”
“Enough,” his grandfather said angrily, his voice rising an octave. “You accuse me of things you do not understand, child. The decisions I’ve had to make during my reign—the things I’ve had to do to protect the throne—would be enough to fuel your nightmares for an eternity.”
“My, what joys lie ahead.”
“You dare jest?” the king said darkly. “You astonish me. Never once have I led you to believe that ruling an empire would be easy or, for even a moment, enjoyable. Indeed if it does not kill you first, the crown will do its utmost to claim you, body and soul. This kingdom could never be ruled by the weak of heart. It is up to you alone to find the strength necessary to survive.”
“And is that what you think of me, Your Highness? You think me weak of heart?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” The prince laughed, dragged both hands down his face, through his hair. He was suddenly so tired he wondered whether this was all just a dream, a strange nightmare.
“Kamran.”
What was this, this feeling? This static in his chest, this burning in his throat? Was it the scorch of betrayal? Heartbreak? Why did Kamran feel suddenly as if he might cry?
He would not.
“You think compassion costs nothing,” his grandfather said sharply. “You think sparing an innocent life is easy; that to do otherwise is an indication only of inhumanity. You do not yet realize that you possess the luxury of compassion because I have carried in your stead the weight of every cruelty, of every mercilessness necessary to ensuring the survival of millions.
“I clear away the darkness,” the king said, “so that you might enjoy the light. I destroy your enemies, so that you might reign supreme. And yet you’ve decided now, in your ignorance, to hate me for it; to purposely misunderstand my motivations when you know in your soul that everything I have ever done was to secure your livelihood, your happiness, your success.”
“Do you really mean it, Grandfather?” Kamran said quietly. “Is what you say true?”
“You know it is true.”
“How then, pray, do you secure my livelihood and my happiness when you threaten to cut off my head?”
“Kamran—”
“If there is nothing else, Your Majesty.” The prince bowed. “I will now retire to my room. It has been a tediously long night.”
Kamran was already halfway to the exit when the king said—
“Wait.”
The prince hesitated, took an unsteady breath. He didn’t look back when he said, “Yes, Your Highness?”
“Spare me a minute more, child. If you truly wish to assure me of your loyalty to the empire—”
Kamran turned sharply, felt his body tense.
“—there is a task of some importance I wish to charge you with now.”
Twenty-Five
ALIZEH WAS ON BOTH KNEES in a corner of the grand sitting room, hand frozen on her floor brush; her face was so close to the ground she could almost see her reflection in the glossy stone. She dared not breathe as she listened to the familiar sound of tea filling a teacup, the burbling rip of air as known to her as her own name. Excepting the elixir of water, Alizeh had never much cared for food or drink, but she loved tea as much as anyone in Ardunia. Tea drinking was so entrenched in the culture that it was as common as breathing, even for Jinn, and it sent a little flutter through her chest to be so close to the brew now.
Of course, Alizeh was not supposed to be here.
She’d been sent to scrub this particular corner only after a large bird had flown through the window and promptly defecated all over the marble floor.
She’d not known Duchess Jamilah would be present.
Though it was not as if Alizeh would get in trouble for doing her job; no, the girl’s concern was that if anyone saw her in the same room as the mistress of the house, she’d be promptly dismissed and sent to work elsewhere. Servants were not allowed to dawdle for long in rooms where occupants of the house were present. She was to do her job and be gone as quickly as possible—but for the last five minutes, Alizeh had been scrubbing the same clean spot.